My senses are shocked back to life when I hear the obnoxious sound of the telephone. I reach my arm out from under the sheets and feel around the nightstand until my hand connects with the phone. I pick up the receiver and place it to my ear, while I continue to keep my eyes closed, holding onto the last remnants of sleep.
“Dobroye utro, Gospozha Medea, this is the front desk,” greets the masculine and contrite voice on the other end of the line, addressing me by my current alias.
It takes a moment for my semi-asleep brain to translate the Russian being spoken to me and realise I have to respond in kind. This is the one downside to international travel. While I speak many languages fluently, I am not a fan of being woken up in order to do so.
“Dobroye utro,” I say back tiredly, a yawn e
