View of the Alps

VIEW OF THE ALPS

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">The kitchen
of the Hotel Post in Grainau was steel and fire and will and heat, with
layers of passion, stacked like the fillings in an Austrian
Sachertorte. Slide a fork into it and the whole cake would crumble. We
clumsily sliced it up and washed it down with swigs of black coffee, in
a  Kaffee und
Kuchen session lasting the whole of that summer, then we parted,
leaving only traces of chocolate and the lingering scent of apricot on
sticky plates.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">I got the
book from the library - 
Summer Jobs Abroad - and I applied for half a dozen
vacancies. All in Germany. I don't know what made me pick the Hotel
Post. I certainly don't know what made my parents agree to my
going.  Rogue
planets on their courses through the solar system must have been
colliding right left and centre, knocking normally sane people
senseless.  But
hey, it would be an adventure. Just what you want at 18. Or so I
thought.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">The village
nestling at the foot of the Alps was pure picture postcard. Splashes of
red in window boxes and balconies. Wooden and white cuckoo clock
houses. Large eyed milky brown cows on the slopes, with gently tinkling
bells.  Wow, I
thought as I went to bed that first sunny afternoon after a twenty-four
hour train journey. Looking good in the
sunlight.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">Next
morning, bewildered, on duty in the kitchen, I glanced out through the
back window and stopped in my tracks. Huge mountains huddled together
darkly, with wreaths of mist like candyfloss floating across their
black rock faces. 
Looming. Malevolent. Fairy tale stuff, sure. But not Hans
Christian Anderson and happy little goatherds. No, this was
unadulterated 
Brothers Grimm - all hexes and ogres and cruelty. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  I glanced round, half
expecting everyone else to be as mesmerized as I was. But they were all
calmly going about their duties as if it was completely normal to be
living in the shadow of giants.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">So, I
washed lettuce, chopped butter into pale yellow squares, dropped it
into a metal dish of iced water, and carried it carefully into the big
aluminium Kuehlraum. I scraped plates, stacked them and piled them in
the dishwasher, pulled levers, transformed them - steaming, shiny wet,
white and clean. I peeled buckets of potatoes. I chopped parsley with a
rocking horse blade. Is that small enough? No, it must be much finer. I
chopped onions. One of the chefs showed me how to chop a shallow slice
from the side, to make a flat edge for it to rest on, then slice in
three directions to produce the tiniest cubes. I wasn't very good at
it. I tackled the Blaugeschirr -  pots and pans. Usually Hans would do that.
Occasionally it was my job. 
It wrecked your hands. Sometimes the mountains scowled at
me through the window. Sometimes, in the sunshine, they smiled and were
transformed.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">We always
had breakfast in the little room behind the guests' dining room.
Broetchen with butter and jam in round packs, different flavours. In
those days you could still smoke. Brenda smoked. She was the only other
English person there. She spoke German with a Liverpool accent. She was
a chambermaid. The chief washer upper was Hans, thirty-five, with a
single gold earring and a tongue that could scald milk. Brenda
sometimes slept with him. He was sacked the same time as Gerd. When he
left he gave me some French language tapes. A year or so later I
visited him in Frankfurt, where he lived with his boyfriend, Horst.
They fussed round me like an old married couple. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Hans was working in a
home for the elderly then. Last time I heard from him it was to tell me
that Horst had died. He can't have been more than forty-five. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  I don't know what
happened to Hans after that.

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justify">Gerd was
twenty-one. A skinny, spotty youth. Apprentice chef. Goodness knows
what Gabi saw in him. 
I have a photo of Gabi. She is smiling - soft rounded
face, big brown eyes, full lips and long dark curling hair tied back
for work.  She
should have been a model. 
Gabi was my roommate. She introduced me to Pink Floyd and
Neil Young. I still hear from her at Christmas. Married now with
children. Back then she was at the beginning of her apprenticeship in
hotel management. She was devastated when Gerd
left.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">Philippe
was the one who soured things - second chef -volatile as a souffl?, and
just as insubstantial. Herr Seufferth, the boss, kept him well in
check, but when Herr S. was not around he tended to puff up and treat
the rest of us like slugs on cabbage. He had a soft spot for Gabi
though. More than a soft spot. He gave her extra Knoedel at dinner,
though she never ate them, and he would offer to fetch her a drink from
the machine, using his own tokens. Whatever she wanted - beer,
lemonade, Fanta. Or cigarettes - Camel, of course. He never offered to
fetch me anything. 
Or blonde Heidi, the waitress. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Not his type, I
guess.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">In any
case, Heidi had her eye firmly fixed on Gerd. She would stand very
close to him, her breasts almost touching him, and ask him to light her
cigarette. Then she would toss her hair, shaking her braids, though
they were pinned firmly to her head in coils, and lightly touch his arm
as she moved away. Gerd's pale fishy eyes would water longingly after
her. It made Gabi mad. 

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">We worked
hard. We started at seven in the morning and worked through till two,
then did the evening shift from half past six till nine. Most
afternoons we slept. 
Occasionally a crowd of us would go into Garmisch at night
to one of the clubs. 
It was a good twenty minutes away. Six of us crammed in a
taxi - Brenda, Hans, Gaby, Gerd, Heidi and me. Coming back, drunk and
mildly hysterical, the air in the cab thick with vodka and beer and
perfume and smoke. Brenda and Hans snogging, Heidi casually perched on
Gerd's lap. Gabi, furious.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">But it was
Gabi that Gerd finally started dating seriously. Though they tried to
keep it a secret. They spent a lot of time in each other's rooms. I
have to say, I found all that snuffling and moaning from the other bed
kind of embarrassing. I used to go and visit Brenda and Hans.

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justify">One night
Philippe knocked at the door, looking for Gabi. She was with Gerd, but
I wasn't going to tell him that. I said she was probably in the shower.
He said he would wait for her. He sat on her bed for half an hour,
examining the photos of her family, her books, her tapes, turning them
over in his plump pink hands, while I, seething, pretended to settle to
sleep. Eventually he gave up. Gabi didn't come back till four in the
morning. I looked at the clock when she came in, so I know.

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atmosphere at breakfast the following day was brittle as a badly made
sorbet. You could taste the lumps of ice. Herr Seufferth was steel
faced and formidable, banging around in the kitchen. We sat in silence
round the table. Gabi had broken her Broetchen between finger and
thumb, and was pushing the crumbs round her plate. Brenda poked round
the basket of assorted jams but didn't seem to find what she was
looking for. There was no sign of Gerd or Hans or Philippe. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  I wanted to ask what
was going on but Frau Seufferth came over to talk to Brenda about linen
supplies, and Herr Seufferth was shouting for someone to come and deal
with Liesl, the old woman from the farm up the lane, who had come to
collect the swill for the pigs. I liked Liesl. She was a tiny, white
haired woman. 
Eighty-six years old, but sharp as a nip of Schnapps.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">There were
usually two chefs and two kitchen assistants plus two waitresses on
duty at any one time. Heidi and Frau Heintschel, a woman from the
village who came in daily, were there as usual, but there was none of
the normal banter between them and the cooks over the orders. Not that
I could really understand half what they said once they got going, as
they spoke thick Bayerisch. I was on my own for the first half hour, as
Hans still didn't come down, but then Liesl reappeared and took up
station at the sink. 
I tried asking her casually where Hans was, but she
pretended not to hear, so I took the hint.  Gabi assisted Herr
Seufferth.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">It was Herr
Seufferth who enlightened me at the end of the shift. He liked to
exercise his English in the form of stern little monologues about the
folly of humankind. The lecture started while I was mopping the kitchen
floor after the others had gone. He was sharpening his knives, scraping
each one slowly against a length of solid, rounded steel. It made a
loud ringing sound.  

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"You see
what happens when men drink, Frau Smith," he began, scraping
methodically with the biggest blade   "They become like the animals. Worse
than the animals. The animals have more dignity. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  They do not brule..
what is that word?"

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"Brawl?"

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"Yes,
brawl. No, the animals, they do not brawl. But people, people drink and
fight and make big trouble. I am very angry that there is trouble for
my hotel. But it will not happen again, Frau Smith. No, it will NOT
happen again." 
He switched to another knife and the scraping increased in
speed and intensity.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">He sounded
so fierce I felt as though I must have somehow colluded in dishonouring
the hotel. I had no idea what he was talking about but I guessed
something must have happened in the night. I didn't know what to say,
so ventured the briefest of nods and kept silent.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"Hard work,
Frau Smith. I make hard work here. My families have owned this hotel
for sixty years. My grandfather and my father and me. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Much hard work. Young
people today, they do not make hard work. They drink and take it easy
and they fight. But this time is too much. When they upset MY guests in
MY hotel I am very
angry."

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
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imagination was whirring like the beaters on the industrial mixer in
overdrive. 
Probably safest to keep on with the nodding and the
mopping and let him unburden himself in his own time. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  He was on his fourth
knife.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"It is too
much ...scrape scrape ...in a family hotel ....scrape scrape... style="mso-spacerun: yes">  when we already
struggle...scrape scrap... We are not like the big hotels.... scrape
scrape... We do not make the big monies... scrape scrape... And now we
upset Herr Keller ... scrape scrape scrape scrape
..."

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style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"> style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial">I realized this should mean
something to me. 
Would a nod be appropriate?  I dipped my head even more briefly, and
concentrated hard on my mopping, just in
case.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"And he is
gone." Final flourish of steel. Flash of blade - rainbow trout
leaping. 
Restless pacing.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">Fierce
concentration on mopping. Brief nod.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"And he is
UPSET. So he will make us a very BAD report. He may even
SUE."

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">No sudden
movements now or idiot questions. Suppressed wrath about to boil over.
Mopping possibly insufficient cover for this. Escape needed.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"And that
will be the end of Hotel Post," said quietly, resignedly. Control
regained. Gas turned to simmer.  I chanced a look up. He seemed to have
forgotten I was there. 
I sluiced the last patch of floor. Water ran down into the
central drain.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">"You have
worked well, Frau Smith," he said, and left the kitchen
abruptly.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">The police
arrested Gerd and Hans. Gerd had apparently assaulted Herr Keller,
writer of travel guides and awarder of Good Restaurant Stars. Hans'
involvement, as always, was less clear-cut. He was released almost
immediately. 
Gabi and Philippe were questioned at the hotel but not
arrested.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
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the afternoon getting rid of most of his stuff, and left that evening
with just one large carpetbag. He was in good
form.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">We did not
see Gerd again. Frau Seufferth cleared out his room herself. Two days
later Rob, a Californian, arrived.  He was working his way round Europe. He
took over the Blaugeschirr. 

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
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was back in the kitchen by evening. He tried to be very cool and
distant but he was about as frosty as an iceberg lettuce that has been
out of the fridge for a week. He did not mention the incident. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  A chef called Ali took
over Gerd's duties. Gabi left at the end of the month. She had a
miscarriage four weeks later. Her parents, Catholic, knew nothing about
it. She got a placement at a big hotel in Stuttgart.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-ALIGN:
justify">I was in a
bookshop in Brighton the other day. Books are a big part of my life
now. I was checking out the opposition but they only had a small travel
section so there wasn't a lot to check. They did have a travel guide
for Germany. I turned to the section on Bavaria to see if it had any
entries for Grainau. There was one. As I'd expected. style="mso-spacerun: yes">  Four stars. Small,
friendly, family-owned hotel, traditional German food, magical view of
the Alps.  I'd
like to think Herr Seufferth was pleased with my write-up.

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