Green Pub
This was my favorite thing to do after a nice family evening at ████████, where I usually spent some time drawing or running around outside near the tennis court with █████, before indulging in a three-course meal of shrimp in garlic sauce, a steaming dish of cannelloni, and ice cream for dessert. I loved it when mom and dad got slightly tipsy and ignored our usual bedtime in favor of another hour of partying.
This usually happened spontaneously whenever we passed through the large marble floored hotel lobby with its coloured glass shard mosaics and paper-maché parrots, on our way to the bungalow near the tropical garden. Just before the staircase leading home we had to cross the pool-view balcony, crowded with people smoking, drinking and swaying to pop hits from the last decades. This magical place was called Green Pub and I loved hanging out there despite being so young. Mom would light a cigarette and order some wine at the bar while dad started dancing in his peculiar way that █████ and I found both funny and embarrassing.
The room was tinted in shades of green and flecked with the racing stars from spotlights bouncing off discoballs and glass mosaic pillars. Grown-ups danced and smoked everywhere and there were sometimes film projections behind the bar. I remember one mesmerizing video of a bird flying across the sea and through clouds in slow motion (probably "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" from 1973). Sometimes we danced with our parents; other times, while they danced, we ran around collecting coasters, paper parasols, and glitter palm tree picks from empty cocktail glasses.
Today I would probably roll my eyes at the tacky hotel disco with its sticky floors, dated music, and questionable drinks. But back then it felt like stepping into a dreamlike emerald cave, where time stood still and treasures waited to be discovered.