Arnon Grunberg



L’Albergo della Regina Isabella on Ischia is a lovely hotel with a beautiful private beach. The hotel reminded my girlfriend a bit of the hotel in Visconti’s movie “Death in Venice”.
One of the concierges at L’Albergo della Regina Isabella is probably the best concierge I’ve ever seen in my life. I could marry him.
But this afternoon around 1:30 a female front desk manager called me.
“We need the room,” she said.
“I’m busy packing my suitcase.” “We need the room,” she shouted.
“I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.” “Do you know what time it is?” “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.” I was in my underwear, I was about to take a shower, I had just returned from the beach.
“Fifteen minutes?” “One five. Yes.” “We need the room now. This is…” She didn’t finish her sentence. So I repeated: "I’m packing my suitcase. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.” “Fifteen minutes?”
“One five. Yes.” “Do you know what time it is?” Then I decided to hang up the phone.
A lovely hotel, and I’m willing to forgive the front desk manager, perhaps she had diarrhea or she just survived a car accident, but next time when I’ll go to Ischia I’m not sure if I’ll think of L’Albergo della Regina Isabella.

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