Miles Collins

An Englishman abroad…Day one

It’s a wednesday morning in July of 1992, I am horizontal in the worst bed in Western Europe. I look across the room at an unopened suitcase garnished with the previous days clothes, passport and wad (small) of Deutsche marks. I look to see if Mrs Collins has left a mug of tea on the bedside table as usual but there is no Mrs Collins and no tea, or a bedside table come to think of it. I am in Germany and I am on my own.

I get out of bed and walk downhill to the sink in the corner, the floor is so uneven I feel sea sick. I have one towel, a grey prison issue blanket and a glass tumbler in case I have false teeth. Feeling about as welcome as Hannibal Lecter in solitary confinement I check the door to see if I am locked in. I am not but the sight of a young waitress with armpit hair made me wish I was. I could not help but stand and stare, the brass section of Earth, Wind and Fire were alive and well and living under Monika’s armpits.

I met the hotel owners for lunch at midday, we sat on the terrace and I entertained them with my own brand of German, Herr N. was a large Swiss man with a chef background, he didn’t suffer fools but seemed to be in agony listening to me. He looked beaten already, I’d only been there four hours, Chef Barker had it for four years and looked a hundred and three.

Lunch was a simple affair I was told, Germans like to eat a good lunch (as well as breakfast, afternoon cake, dinner and supper) so I had a regional speciality called Kase Spatzle (apologies for the lack of umlauts) or cheese noodles served with green salad. Very nice I thought but why was Herr N. grinning at me like a mad axeman? “You like ze noodle?” he said in english/swiss/german and a little cantonese. “Wunderbar” I said sounding like a 1970’s sitcom.

“You vill learn how to make ziss noodle” he said and left the table with an evil laugh. I looked around me, the place was packed with hungry germans. I looked in the restaurant, that was packed with hungry germans, Frau N. showed me the conference rooms, they were packed with hungry germans. This was more than a coincidence, “A busy day today, Frau N.?” I asked, praying that it was. “Nein, normal, it gets busier towards the weekend”

Everyone seemed to be eating spatzle, tons of it. I saw Herr N. and the chef laughing in my general direction. I’m the new spatzle boy I thought. The kitchen was full of skinny twenty year olds, sweaty, pale and malnourished, I’ll fit right in here I told myself.