My wife and I, in view of our own less than lavish accommodations,
tried to imagine that we were in touch with Davos’s roots as a
destination for a spa cure—literally the place about which Thomas Mann
wrote The Magic Mountain.
Mann, of course, had no idea quite how magic the mountain would become.
Walking through the metal detector into the welter of activity in theKongress Hotel’s lobby, it was once again clear. A small pride of women
swaddled in mink and all manner of tasteful bling glided past looking
vaguely predatory and, frankly, frightening. Behind them came their
husbands, a group of U.S. senators including John McCain of Arizona. p. 16
↑Mann, of course, had no idea quite how magic the mountain would become. Walking through the metal detector into the welter of activity in theKongress Hotel’s lobby, it was once again clear. A small pride of women swaddled in mink and all manner of tasteful bling glided past looking vaguely predatory and, frankly, frightening. Behind them came their husbands, a group of U.S. senators including John McCain of Arizona.
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