Abstract

It is a hot summer afternoon, and crowds of tourists seek shelter in the shade the shining streets of the Umbrian town of Assisi. I push a stroller with a thirsty one-year-old baby in front of me; my fiveyear-old girl wants a sandwich and my three-year-old son would like to see the dragon on the door hook of the San Francesco Hotel from close up. So our family takes a turn to the hotel lobby; perspiring, in khaki shorts, with swollen bags of diapers and picture books, chattering chaotically, we make our way passing the solemn modernistic paintings on the walls, the bored receptionist, and the temptingly luxurious armchairs. Surprisingly gentle music can be heard from the invisible loudspeakers. Although we only pass the lobby and settle on the terrace, I am suddenly overwhelmed by a recurring experience. What overcomes me is that same feeling of uneasiness I had regularly experienced in the big hotels of western Europe and the United States. It is a feeling of uneasiness and vague trepidation that the porter will mercilessly throw me out if I make but one wrong step - one that will fatally reveal that I am not familiar with the code of communication and with the spontaneous self-confidence that marks people who know their rightful place in the world.

Full Text
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