It was once a hotel of lust and a designer's paradise... It's Friday. I'm sitting in the office, the hands of the clock show half past three, and the loud "peak" can be heard on the radio, announcing the daily news and, of course, the weather. "The weekend that follows will be sunny and beautiful, after a long time one of the few when we can leave the umbrellas at home, and above all it will be ideal for one last jump in the sea, because the outlook for next week is no longer so sunny and rosy."
I'm already starting to put together a schedule of commitments for the coming week, when the thought crosses my mind that there would be nothing wrong with extending the weekend and I'm going to sea, for a few days until the rain drives me home. As usual, I go to the island closest to us, to our neighbors, in cozy house by the sea at the end idyllic fishing villages, where there is not even a shop far away, where there are only a small hotel and two seaside taverns.
#190 City Magazine - Modern interior by City Magazine
While lying on the beach and reading magazines, my views often stop at a mysterious hotel, which stands on the other side of the bay. I decide to do a bit of research, so I'm already browsing on a device that's smarter than me, and I find titles like "The rise and fall of the Yugoslav hotel of peace and pornography" well "The dark side of Croatian tourism", "Haludovo on the verge of collapse, Russian investors left", "Once the most luxurious and depraved hotel in the entire communist world, today a gaping ruin" ... I remember that years ago I read something about this once mighty hotel, which was considered to be a city of sin and a designer's paradise. Even today, the mighty man represents both hell and heaven on Earth, with all shades in between, from glory to ruin, and vice versa. Maybe I'm a few years too young to know all of its history... Never mind, my last day of vacation will be a day to satisfy my research appetites, and since it was already thundering at night and the south was blowing, the decision was somewhat appropriate. First I drive to the coast, take a walk, the water is turquoise blue and crystal clear. The mighty pine trees hide the park that separates the beach from the hotel, but this too is unfortunately abandoned and overgrown, rare species of shrubs and flowers indicate that it was once beautiful here an oasis of Mediterranean plants and flowers, and the park should be decorated with unique sculptures of the renowned of the Croatian sculptor Fran Kršinić. I continue the path past the mini golf and tennis courts to the dance floor and past the dilapidated apartments to the hotel. It was in the late 60s when he did American multimillionaire and publisher of the adult magazine Penthouse, Bob Guccione, fell in love with this mysterious place and decided to build a paradise, but above all, he saw the path that was supposed to collapse cold war wall. He appointed as the chief architect Boris Magaš, which signed the projects of very famous Yugoslav buildings, and a resort for leisure lovers began to be built. Just entering the mighty lobby makes it clear that there used to be a treasure of top designer pieces, the tiles in the saunas and the beauty salon indicated prestige and wealth. The large kitchen is rumored to be crammed with lobsters and caviar. The hotel had indoor and outdoor pools, and one of them was said to be filled with champagne throughout. She was supposed to be serving the most beautiful girls who wore mini costumes in the style of French maids, they were like some Playboy bunnies, croupiers and hostesses. Famous world statesmen and the Yugoslav "red bourgeoisie" found their rest in the hotel. But the place, which was supposed to be a meeting point for important political figures from different parts of the world, was spending too much to survive. The path went downhill, and only the ruins are witnesses to mysterious stories that stir the imagination. The journey home was marked by a quiet reflection that perhaps the once graceful vision of the Brooklyn money mogul might just return...
