Leave your shoes outside your room before you retire so that Otto the shoe-shine boy can set fire to them. Otherwise he will attempt to crawl through the spy-hole to get them and will crash through the ceiling onto your bed in the middle of the night, bringing the poultry with him. Observe the psychotic gleam of cunning in his eye as he pretends to be a hen. The hotel restaurant is the place to eat out in Vulgaria,' says the brochure for the Hotel Krass, and again this is unarguable. A trip to Vulgaria may not be the absolute high point of a gastronome's life.
Fresh meat can be difficult to obtain in a country where sodomy is the national sport.
Few people will be willing to slaughter an erstwhile sexual partner for food unless they have taken a sudden violent liking to you. The waiters at the Hotel Krass are the remnants of a lost SS unit and, while they can be both sudden and violent, they have not liked anyone since Rudolf Hess died. Be warned that they have been known to snap diners' clavicles simply for making eye contact with them. No-one has been foolish enough to ask them for a menu since 1949, but their heavy machine gun is still mounted in a corner of the dining room just in case. In any event, the chef is a sack of potatoes with a white hat and a face drawn on.