Face in Hole Update

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Hotel Cosmos

When in Moscow, the Lewises choose to stay at the Cosmos Hotel Complex.

If hotels had to keep their history in cups, then the cup of the Cosmos would quite literally be overflowing and making a big mess of the surrounding area. The building itself was designed by a crack team of Soviet and French architects for the 1980 Moscow Olympics; to commemorate this collaboration, in 1996, a large and odd statue of Charles de Gaulle was unveiled in the hotel's forecourt. 

In between 1980 and 1996, some other famous things happened: in 1989, the hotel hosted the first Miss Charm contest (the USSR's answer to Miss Universe), and, some years later, the chess champion Garry Kasparov stayed in one of its twin rooms (one of his best moves). 

Similar to the other 1,800 rooms in the hotel, ours had quite a view. That big road is called Prospekt Mira. At night, Prospekt Mira looked like this:

 

Also at night, the Cosmos switched on its colossal neon sign, and turned up its heating so high that (given a bath tub and the right utensils) I'd have been able to bain-marie myself. 

But forget about all that stuff; without a doubt, my favourite part of the Cosmos had to be the toilet phone. 

I thought about making a joke about this, but come on. Toilet phone writes itself.

The БK-1500

In Havana, we stayed in a room with this killer air conditioning unit.

The БK-1500. Smooth, reliable and made in a country that built things to last. Longer than itself. 

Ahhh, you just got burned, USSR! You just. got. burned! (Don't hurt me.)

I guess you could say that

I was cruising down our street the other morning when I was stopped at the curb by a middle-aged couple. The woman had aeroplane-affected hair and was holding a large fold-out map of London. Her husband was standing a few feet away with their suitcases, scowling.

'Excuse me,' the woman said in a thick accent, 'are-you ... vell known ... here?'

I couldn't pick her native tongue, so I wasn't quite sure how to put it:

Yeah—I'm kind of a big deal around here.

Well, that's no reason to snap at me

Our last night in Cuba, we stayed in a French casa in Centro Habana. Its main plus (besides a cake-and-Nutella breakfast) was its collection of free-roaming reptiles: seven turtles and a small crocodile.

The turtles didn't move much, but the crocodile went wherever he pleased. He wore a collar that had a piece of rope tied to it, but the other end of the rope wasn't actually tied to anything. Still, the hosts were laid-back about him, so we decided to be laid-back too. Crocodiles aren't dangerous; they're lovely.

We had a drink in the courtyard. For some time we smiled like idiots at the turtles and the crocodile (Look! look! etc.). Before long, however, we realised they weren't exactly doing any tricks. It was time for the bill.

We stretched our necks and looked inside, but nobody came. The time dragged. We could see them on the other side of the dining room, but couldn't get their attention.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I tip-toed to the doorway. One of the hosts caught sight of me then. She—how shall I say—raised her voice at me and told me to stop, pointing to the crocodile a few metres away. She motioned emphatically for me to go back to my seat, and told one of her helpers to take me the bill.

Having taken an unexpected knee to the groin, my bravado took a seat in the courtyard. Well, I thought, what the hell is he doing on the loose?

Crocodiles are dangerous.