At first glance, the shiny new media centre at the 21-nation APEC conference on Russky Island, Vladivostok, looks very impressive.
It's a gleaming, 11-storey building - part of the massive development on the hitherto uninhabited island which has been built especially for these few days of international talks and will eventually become a new campus for the Far Eastern Federal University.
They've gone to a lot of trouble but things here are never quite as they seem and don't always work in the way you might expect.
Just like our accommodation up the (new) road in Building 9, the joint is staffed by enthusiastic young "volunteers" who've come from all over Russia.
At breakfast this morning, a pale young man called Vasily whisked away my plate and asked in careful English "Are you Australian?".
When I said "yes" and asked if he was from Vladivostok he replied brightly "No, I am from Siberia".
He was very cheerful but didn't appear to be inclined or authorised to say any more.
At the information desk in the media centre this morning as I perused the latest clutch of available documents, another young woman smiled and asked: "Have you seen the interview of Vladimir Putin?".
I had seen it, as had everyone else who works in this building, as it's been on a loop on Russia Today television, the Kremlin's TV network.
Last night in the dining room, all of the TV screens began running promos for the interview and then suddenly in swept the President himself, with his own TV crew in tow, and plonked himself down at a table next to some of the Australian media contigent.
He didn't say hello or make any form of conversation to anyone but the folks he came in with, allowed himself to be filmed and photographed and then left.
Even the everyday workability of this building is just not quite as sensational as it looks at first.
To be fair, they have really laid it on.
There's a bank to change dollars into roubles and each accredited media rep gets a "press kit" which includes a stylish windbreaker embroidered with the APEC logo, a retro-style nylon bag, an embossed pen and notebook and the grand prize, a Russian electronic tablet, the size of a Kindle, which can apparently do all sorts of things but which is hard to navigate because it's all in Cyrillic and so are the instructions.
The food in the dining room is good, if sometimes a little curious (yesterday's Ear of Rudd soup remains a delightful mystery) and the coffee and cold drinks are on tap, which is a huge help when you're working long hours tucked away in a small room down some distant corridor.
They've installed free international telephones and banks of free-access computers in front of a wall of windows looking out across the bay.
The phone numbers, as published, aren't quite right and the internet seems to come and go a bit. But it all looks fantastic and is mostly pretty functional.
Most of the elevators only go to certain floors, or between certain floors.
The first 5 floors are serviced by escalators but after 3 floors, you have to cross to the other side of the building to go up the final 2.
Then, you take an elevator. The floors on the elevator buttons are numbered 1-7, except they take you to floors 5-11, so there are special sticky labels beside each button to tell you which floor it will send you to.
Each can only carry 8 people. After that, it emits a piercing electronic objection and someone has to get out.
There appears to be only one elevator, hidden away in a side corridor, which can take you all the way from the 1st floor to the 11th floor dining room but there is usually a queue to get in it because it can save you a good 10 minutes, each way.
This morning, those on board, descending, and planning to alight on floor 2, where our TV booths are located, were greeted when the doors opened to a floor awash with raw sewage which had overflowed from the toilet nextdoor and a poor cleaner trying to mop it up.
We are wondering if someone not originally from Siberia is now being sent there for letting it happen.
And we are back using the escalators.
