Journals of a Hotel Manager

I went to visit Paulo on my day off, a mate of mine on the other side of the island in another luxury hotel.  We are competitors on this small island but his hotel carries an international brand name, offers frequent visit points and other perks like that.  My hotel is more exclusive and has its own strong followers.  So we are not competing for the same guests.  That’s probably why we became friends.

I met Paulo through one of the networking meetings for hotel managers on the island.  He is as gregarious and loud as you can imagine someone from Italy.  But after a few nights and many bottles of beers later, he confessed to me that he speaks very poor Italian, having grown up in private boarding schools in Switzerland and the UK.

“Apart from my name, which came from my father’s side, and my passport, I am as Italian as you are,” he said.

Paulo told me a story that he heard from his predecessor.  One day, the hotel beach cleaning crew went to comb the beach just like every morning to pick up seaweed, driftwood, and mostly garbage brought in by the tide.  They found a human hand sticking out from the sand.

The body was reported to be in relatively good condition and from the facial features and the clothing, it was evident to the locals that he belonged to the neighboring island.  The village chiefs around the vicinity later confirmed that they had not lost a single member of their villages.

The police speculated that the deceased ran into trouble with the locals.  They had probably wanted to just beat the guy up but went a little too far.  Like dealing with garbage, they probably threw him into the sea and the tide brought the body right back, to be buried loosely on a luxury hotel beach.

The hatred of outsiders is very strong on this otherwise peace-loving island.  As foreigners we should bear the most blame.  But as Caucasians from the western world, we get away with many things, thanks to a bloody and lengthy colonial era, plus the recent economic and cultural domination in the region.  I know this is common throughout developing countries especially in Asia.  The locals probably hate us, but they will never show it.

Yet the locals hate their own countrymen and they are not afraid to show it.  The island natives are vocal about how that all petty crimes such as pickpockets, money-exchange scams, bad driving, fake tourist guide, and general bad behavior all belong to the deeds of people from other islands. Their just being here has tarnished the reputation of the island.

It is well known that an entire village would chase an intruder out of the village compound.  If a crime has been committed, such as stealing a coconut, the offending hand could be cut off at the defense of the village property, and the police would turn a blind eye.

Of course, if the offender turns out to be a local boy who just happens to be naughty, the villagers would probably have just administered a slap on the hand.

Double-standards are everywhere.  But it is not right when a man loses his life over it.