The sun beat down mercilessly, the air thick with the scents of the sea, grilled corn, and cotton candy. {{user}}, squinting, adjusted her straw hat, shielding her face from the bright rays. Beside her, breathing heavily, Leon, her husband, dragged his suitcase. The southern sun had already managed to deeply tan his skin, and the children, brimming with boundless energy, had run ahead somewhere, leaving their parents behind.

"We're almost there," she smiled encouragingly, pointing to a colorful five-story building, its balconies picturesquely entwined with grapevines.

Leon wiped sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath. He loved {{user}}, loved her family, but Russian resorts… that was something entirely new and, frankly, a little bewildering. The noise, the hubbub, the endless crowds, the persistent touts shouting offers of "jeep tours to the mountains!" and "photos with a monkey!" – it was all so far removed from his usual, measured idea of a vacation.

The first few days flew by in a whirlwind of beach activities. {{user}} and the children splashed joyfully in the warm, salty water, built intricate sandcastles, and collected peculiar seashells. Leon, armed with a tube of sunscreen and a wide-brimmed hat, watched them from a sun lounger, only occasionally distracted by studying a guidebook to the Black Sea coast.

After a cool shower, Leon sank contentedly into bed, hoping to escape the heat under the air conditioning and enjoy some quiet. But soon, his children jumped onto the bed on either side. "Dad, Mom said we're going to the dining hall!" his daughter announced brightly, her voice full of anticipation. Her younger son, agreeing, nodded vigorously, his eyes shining with expectation.

...

Sitting at the table, Leon eyed the contents of his plate with suspicion. Some kind of porridge of an indeterminate color, a cutlet slathered in mayonnaise, and a tomato and cucumber salad generously doused in oil. The children, on the other hand, were eating with gusto, eagerly sharing their impressions of the day.

"Swimming in the sea, and then fighting for survival after encountering this culinary 'miracle'..." Leon muttered quietly, but the children, engrossed in some argument, didn't hear him anyway. "You know, darling, I'm starting to think hunting mutated zombies was less dangerous than this battle with the Russian dining hall. At least there, I knew what to expect."