At least 400 children occupied the hotel - some sort of rained out Summer Camp, I assume. Everything looked even more enormous and faded as the backdrop to its tiny, energetic clientele. It was like a Roald Dahl novel about a hotel just for children. At breakfast, we were offered a choice between hot milk and hot chocolate. The cleaning lady unlocked our door each morning at 8:30am. Above the age of 12, it was like we were invisible. By the second day, my clothes were beginning to smell less like smoke and more like hot dog. The hair salon spent their days braiding fine, blonde hair into cornrows. These "vacation hairstyles," that are usually meant to signify a trip to an island somewhere, only made the lack of natural light in the hotel more noticeable.
The new children were destined to be less cooped up and less stir crazy. The weather was changing. The girls smacked around a volleyball and the boys pushed each other on skateboards as they waited for their turn to check-in. They'd undoubtedly take full advantage of everything this pretty resort town has to offer. They'll kick soccer balls over tennis nets and miss foul shots on the basketball court. They'll drink limunada at the cafe tables and buy their moms porcelain teddy bears that say "I <3 Sokobanja" They'll stow a few pieces of bread and cheese away in a napkin during breakfast and eat it for lunch at a picnic table set up along the hiking trail to Sokograd. At least, I would if I were them.