Ricostruisca tutta la speranza, voi che eneter qui!!, reads the sign over the door. The air hasn't moved in a decade, even though the hardwood wainscoting gleams and the ancient Turkish carpeting seems as though it were put down just last year. In the background there is a faint sound of banjo music playing slowly, and a drip of water from somewhere, and the sound of snoring from behind the high, ornate, polished wood desk. It's another day in the sleepy hollow known as the Belacqua Hotel....where the handshake is a little slower.