Our peaceful, empty hotel has been invaded by hordes of small people. Their coaches are in the car park.
When we went for dinner, I asked the manager if they were new Russians.
He said no, lowered his voice and hissed, Kosovo. Then he changed the subject.
The Greeks do not seem to like them.
They are wearing clothes that we gave to the Salvation Army 30 years ago.
They pile as much food as they can onto their plates. Just like Israelis.
My wife, who is a better person than me, says they must be starving. They do not look underfed.
Quite the opposite. They are all chunky. They look like the bad guys in a Hollywood movie.
For the Kosovarians it may be the holiday of a lifetime. We are slumming.
I prefer to be one of the haves.
When we went for dinner, I asked the manager if they were new Russians.
He said no, lowered his voice and hissed, Kosovo. Then he changed the subject.
The Greeks do not seem to like them.
They are wearing clothes that we gave to the Salvation Army 30 years ago.
They pile as much food as they can onto their plates. Just like Israelis.
My wife, who is a better person than me, says they must be starving. They do not look underfed.
Quite the opposite. They are all chunky. They look like the bad guys in a Hollywood movie.
For the Kosovarians it may be the holiday of a lifetime. We are slumming.
I prefer to be one of the haves.
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