(THIS ARTICLE IS ONLY MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
Vitalij's stomach tipped over the waistband. He says something in Russian that I don't understand, and I deliver the few words I can: "Will I – one night – one room – please?" Vitalij's body sighs, and he looks up at the hotel he manages, it flows like a mother ship in the sky. We stand at the landing place, behind us the sea of Sevan waves against a rocky beach. Armenia's Riviera, or at least it could have been so. And once it was just that.
The future of the past
To this hotel came the great writers of the Soviet Union to rest, invited by the Armenian Writers' Association of the Armenian Socialist Soviet Republic. It was the association that owned the hotel and nicknamed it "The Author's House".
Also foreign authors. . .
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