Mad Dogs and (orange) Englishmen Go Out in the Midday Sun


How unfit am I at the moment? Not as much as I was this time last week. How unfit was I last week? Very (wheeze).

I‘ve got to admit, I was almost dreading the day when I’d attempt to resume my “fitness regime” again. It wasn’t so much a lack of motivation to exert myself physically (although I’d choose eating and sleeping every time), rather, a certain apprehension of discovering how out of shape I’d actually become. It’s easy to try and kid myself into thinking that the last 8 months spent pacing around Gasthof Stern was in itself some form of exercise. I could use the worn out shoes, the hideously smelling socks as “evidence” of running about so much, always being on my feet? Maybe not. On the other hand I can just be brutally honest and admit that I did a grand total of ZERO HOURS of exercise during my time in Germany. In the long run it’s better to overcome this obstacle (accepting the fact that you’ve been a lazy bastard), swallow / digest this truth, and do something about it (before you become a fat bastard).

So I resolved, basically as soon as I arrived back in England, that I’d attempt to get myself into shape again. The lack of real exercise, mixed with a high-calorie German diet for 3/4’s of a year (the Bratwurst, the cakes, the beer), meant that I was in no fit state to be on standby for the European Championships in case Roy Hodgson needed me. Something had to be done.

If I’m being honest, I don’t look that professional.

Fail to prepare = Prepare to fail

Why do people even do exercise? It can hurt! Half way through a bike ride, a football match, a run, I inevitably find myself asking the question, ‘why am I subjecting myself to this physical torture?!’ It was no different yesterday when I set off on the first bike ride with my best friend Ollie towards One Tree Hill; my heart was screaming at me to stop and my legs clearly weren’t in the mood. We managed it mind you (two whole hours up and down hills and through the woods), but our preparation (or rather lack of) for the ride hardly set us in good stead:

  • 28 degrees of heat = Could Ollie and I have picked more appropriate weather conditions? Probably. It doesn’t really get much hotter in Britain, and it doesn’t help matters with the sun beating down and no sign of a breeze. Ollie was sweating even before he got on the bike!
  • Flat tyres = Despite Ollie having  repeatedly asked me whether I was completely sure that my tyres were fully pumped up, it took me a quarter of a mile of cycling to decide to turn back home and sort them out before we went any further. If anything that was the best decision I’ve made all week. At best my tyres were at 40% of their maximum capacity (clearly I’d overestimated originally at 80%).
  • Mum’s home-made cake = Now there’s nothing wrong with mum’s home-made cakes. In fact, they’re almost always delicious. However, contrary to my previously held beliefs, there is certainly a time and place for cake, and as I quickly discovered, the middle of a gruelling cycle ride isn’t one of them. I’m sure you can imagine that by the time we’d reached the summit of One Tree Hill (a couple of steep hills later) in the blistering heat after an 8 month-long sabbatical from exercise, that Ollie and me were exhausted. Collapsed on the floor, I rummaged through my bag in search for something to eat and drink (typically Ollie had forgotten to bring anything with him!). At first I thought I’d struck gold when I pulled out some of Mum’s home made-cake, but Ollie’s response gave me a reality check somewhat: “Kit this is the first time I’ve done exercise in 8 months, my body is overheating in this sun, my asthma pump expired in 2006 and my throat couldn’t be any dryer. Now you’re telling me that the only thing you’ve brought with you is some dried out cake? You might as well offer me a packet of cream crackers mate.”

                                                  Fish & Chips, Jumbo Jets and Amateur Balloon Performances (only in Southend)
I love Southend-on-Sea, I really do. It’s one of those places where street signs aren’t always necessary to work out which town you’re in; you can just feel it. Now I was in Southend with my family on Saturday afternoon / evening, and if you had simply plonked me right on the edge of the seafront that afternoon, I could have told you instantly where I was. Orange-smeared, topless men with bullet proof abs or a six-pack of rolls (you take your pick), and thousands upon thousands of even more orange-smeared mums wheeling about little screaming kids in pushchairs. There was only one place I could be, and I was there.
Aside from the sarcasm, like I said earlier, I do like Southend a lot. Which is why I was there on Saturday with the family for a meal at the seafront establishment the Fisherman’s Wharf, suitably located a 100 or so metres behind the beach, situated on a raised point where you’ve got a great view of the sea and Kent on the other side. You can probably guess what we all ordered to eat. Yes, that’s right, FISH AND CHIPS (why order anything else when you’re in Southend?!). It took a while to order mind you, and not because of the reasons that might normally spring to mind. No, in fact, on that Saturday afternoon the “Southend Air Show” was taking place (how lucky). Conveniently enough, just as we were starting to order, it was time for the Jumbo Jets to start flying directly over our heads. When I say directly, I mean directly. The planes were spinning, doing loops, dropping at seemingly dangerous angles, and in my opinion, flying as close as they could to the beach to try and scare people below (which was really funny). The amount of times that the waiter said to us, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” as we were attempting to order our food, was possibly a record for how often you could add that phrase into one conversation. Anyway, ten minutes later we managed to order.
Among other memorable highlights of that afternoon (besides the food and the half the Royal Air Force relocating to Southend-on-Sea), was the impromptu (and amateur) balloon show that we were treated to from the table directly next to us in the restaurant. Typically Essex with the estuary accent, pinching the waiter’s bum every now and then, this group of middle aged Essex boys were actually quite funny. Their rather drunken antics were a source of entertainment that’s for sure, but the best bit was near the end of the evening when they encouraged all the surrounding tables to turn around and watch as one of the group attempted to “swallow a balloon.” Now as far as tricks go, this was one of the better ones I’ve seen (to the extent that I only realised it was a trick when my dad bluntly said, “that was a trick”). I was quite disappointed to be honest when reality sunk in that this was a trick, because it was really funny at first when this guy seemingly polished off a metre long sausage balloon. Either way, that’s just how life rolls in Southend-on-Sea.
It’s good to be back.

The perfect dinner-time ambience: Jumbo Jets and the beach.


“Waiter waiter, there is an insect in my salad…


Not him again, he’s in here every night!”

It’s true. I am back (in England that is). If you weren’t sure at first whether to believe the Twitter feeds, Facebook statuses and unofficial ‘sightings’ concerning my whereabouts, you can now rest assured; I am back! As of May 22nd I have been residing again in the U.K., and, by the looks of it, I’ve brought some tropical German weather with me. Life’s normalcy (the good normalcy) is slowly returning and the die-hard student habits (at one point almost eradicated through German work mentality) are gradually resurfacing. Sitting in my back garden with the laptop, basking in the May sunshine, the feeling of being home is indescribable. I have spent 8 fascinating months in Germany that I will never, ever forget, but boy, am I now glad to be home! Before I start looking forward however, let me update you lovely readers on the last 3 weeks at Gasthof Sternwhich were very, very busy.

My colleagues at the Gasthof always said that May was arguably the busiest month of the year in Göβweinstein, and to their credit they weren’t far off. To mark the arrival of May we witnessed the annual opening of the village’s outdoor swimming pool (not that I made it there!) and the re-instatement of the Riesenwindbeutel (a “cream puff” summery dessert) into Stern’s menu. Virtually every room in the hotel has been booked for a good few weeks now, meaning much longer opening hours, whilst thousands of Catholic pilgrims from different corners of Germany have steadily begun to make their ways towards the Fränkische Schweiz as part of their yearly pilgrimage. I’m going to be perfectly frank with you guys and say right now that I’m not too clued up on the history of German Catholicism, and, despite living on the edge of one of its focal points for almost one year, I didn’t make much effort to investigate the background behind German, Catholic pilgrimages. So, what I’m trying to say is, is that I can’t explain to you why there were a lot of pilgrims travelling through Göβweinstein this last month, rather I can tell you what goes on (as I was an eye-witness for a few weeks).

A start contrast to the horrors of the London Riots.

A good day out.









For a person who has lived his life in a rather modern and growingly secular country, watching hundreds of pilgrims marching through the streets of Göβweinstein with banners, flags, megaphones and numerous trumpets and other brass instruments came across as rather bizarre. Not that I’m not a religious person myself, it was just something that I’d never really witnessed before! Anyway, in a roundabout way, that’s what the pilgrims get up to in Göβweinstein throughout this month. There are about 5 or 6 set dates in May, all Feiertage (celebratory days), with special names like Fronleichnam and Goldener Sonntag, where thousands of these pilgrims meet in different villages within Franconian Switzerland, leading these processions. As I’ve already mentioned, there are a lot of trumpets and trombones involved, men dressed up in weird (medieval I think) outfits, religious banners being waved about, ancient hymns being sung in unison, and a guy for every procession of pilgrims reciting Christian texts through a loudspeaker. It’s a quite spectacular scene, and a very, very old tradition. There are a couple of catches however… Number one: The processions normally start around 5am. This, as you can imagine, for somebody who often finishes worked around 1am or even later, is very inconsiderate. Believe you me, the sound of trumpets (and sometimes very out of tune ones at that) waking you up, can be very irritating. Number two: The trumpet blowing, singing and marching goes on ALL. DAY. LONG. All you want to do during your break at times, is simply fall asleep. With a brass brand circling your house all day, that can be very hard to do.

So if it wasn’t the pilgrims keeping us busy at work, it was all the other guests who were visiting the region for climbing, biking, walking, or just general sight seeing. It’s definitely a lot more fun working when there’s more to do and more people around, even if it does mean longer hours! One of the busiest days I experienced, just days before I left to head home, was the 19th of May. Champions League FINAL day. Living in Bavaria, an hour and a half away from Munich, it’s hardly surprising that most people in these parts support Bayern Munich. And there was no way that people at the hotel (also big football fans), were going to miss the big match between Bayern and Chelsea, hence we set up a big projector screen in one of the suites which was reserved for just the football fans. It was a great atmosphere and a really interesting experiencing, serving all the fans their beer, trying to catch glimpses of the game myself. There was lots of banter, partly because quite a few of them knew that I was English already, and, rather unluckily, because they were so confident (almost to the point of arrogance!) that Bayern were going to win. The roar that erupted from the crowd when Mueller scored the first goal was almost deafening, and I almost dropped my tray of drinks with it. On the other hand, when Didier Drogba converted his penalty to win Chelsea the cup, the silence was surreal. Needless to say, as an English patriot, I was beaming with joy! ENGLAND 1, GERMANY 0.

Did England just beat Germany on penalties?! Oh dear!





The last few weeks then in Germany were busy, hectic, quick, but most of all, fun. There were lots of opportunities for me to go out with friends from work, which mainly consisted of heading to other restaurants for food and alcohol! The last two days were spent celebrating with friends and my newly acquired German family, having dinner round at people’s houses, and Stephan (the new boss) cooking the first BBQ of the year. It was such a nice send off from all of the Germans, and they genuinely convinced me that I am going to be missed there (despite not being half as strong or efficient as them!), so in a funny way that made me smile. I’m definitely going to miss all the Germans too, that is without doubt. I’ve spent virtually every day with most of my work colleagues; Christian, Stefan, Anka, because even on our days off we would normally hang out together. Family Vogl always treated me like a son, so it was touching saying goodbye to them, but I’m sure that it won’t be too long before they’re on the way to visit me in England. All in all, I’ve been treated like a true part of the team / family, and have learnt more during these 8 months than I probably have done in the two previous years at university (no offence intended!). I can’t wait to head back to Exeter soon, mind you :).

The journey back home was a bit lengthier than the normal trip, not that this was unexpected! I’d decided a few months back to take the train home rather than fly, mainly because I get all claustrophobic (with incredibly sweaty hands and armpits) on planes. By booking well in advance I’d saved myself an arm and a leg, so thank God for my mum nagging me to get it done. I took a taxi from Göβweinstein to Nuremberg, a train between Nuremberg and Frankfurt (approximately 2 hours), changed there and headed to Brussels, Belgium. I got a bit lost at this point when I changed in Brussels for the Eurostar, as I couldn’t read any of the signs (as they were in French), but after a brief moment of panic I found my way. After a short wait for the Eurostar to arrive, I boarded, headed for Lille in France, and then next stop was London St. Pancras! 8 hours later and I was back in England, with Grace and my Dad waiting to pick me up. My sister would have been there too, but for her train breaking down at Barking due to signal failure (that was when the penny dropped that I was truly back in England). After dinner at Pizza Express in London, we all headed back to Essex, where a big hug was in store from my sister and mum. Ahhhhhhh!

So yes, the year abroad is over. Fertig. I really, really can’t believe it! It feels like yesterday when I was sitting inside my house composing my first blog post, telling you guys what sort of a challenge I was about to embark upon, believing it was going to be the easiest year of my life ;). Man, how time flies and what lessons life can teach you in such a short space of time. I will NEVER forget these last 8 months.

The good news is, however, (apart from the fact that all my friends and family can see me again), is that I’m not going to simply stop writing this blog, take the site off-air, delete all living memory of the year-abroad. Oh no. I’ve decided that I’m going to keep on writing :). Why not eh! I lead a relatively interesting life (that’s if you don’t compare me to George Michael or Paul Gascoigne), I’ve still got a whole summer and final year of student life to tell you all about, and, besides, I enjoy writing this blog! So yes, it’s goodbye for a few days, but like I said, I’ll be back with more tales. Only this time, English tales.

Bye bye!

“Waiter waiter I can’t eat this meat, it’s crawling with maggots…


Quick Sir, run to the other end of the table and grab it as it goes by!”

Thank goodness I’ve got a day off! Finally I can start working on my tan again (back home I’d start this process around January); the shorts are back on. Today I have been attempting to catch as many rays as possible in a bid to make up for all the days I’ve spent wearing trousers at work, neglecting my legs’ cries for sunlight. One factor behind this was the well and truly scorching weekend we’ve just experienced in Göβweinstein, with temperatures reaching around 30 degrees at points (35 degrees in long trousers). The hotel was absolutely jam-packed day and night, with most guests dining outside in the Biergarten. I can’t describe how painful our legs and feet were after that weekend, having been serving 4 days virtually non-stop! It seemed at points that the kitchen was open almost ‘all hours.’ Some guests did push it a bit far mind you, ordering roast duck at midnight to be eaten outside.

The terrace is almost always full now.

Spring cleaning before the guests arrive.

I always knew that my last couple of months at Gasthof Stern would be rather busy, and so it has turned out to be! But, funnily enough, the busier it has been the more fun we’ve had working (despite running around for hours on end). Easter was particularly brutal. Traffic in the village almost came to a complete standstill at points over the Easter week, as there were literally hundreds of bus loads of visitors travelling through Göβweinstein and the surrounding areas. The traditionally tranquil village turned temporarily into the Nürnburg Ring. Many buses would stop off in the afternoons in the village, the guests would have coffee and cake in the restaurant and then carry on with their travels. This was all indeed very pleasant, saying hello to the OAPS and helping them on their way, but I’ve got to admit that when 4 bus loads of OAPS turn up simultaneously, that it can be quite demanding! Due to the sublime weather we’ve had of late, all of the walkers, climbers, bikers and locals have come out of their shells, adding to business at the hotel. Things normally kick off around midday, with guests arriving for lunch, and carry on until around 1 or 2am. Hence, we’ve been very tired of late! I can’t complain though, it’s always lots of fun when the hotel is buzzing, and what with blues skies and the sun beating down, the village looks absolutely idyllic.

Recently I had a very funny experience. Petra’s little sister Sophie had asked me whether I could go one morning into the local school, and help one of the classes practice English. I basically had to stand in front of a class for approximately two hours whilst a group of hyperactive, neurotic and spotty 14 year-olds fired questions at me from all angles and subsequently laugh at every answer I gave (regardless of how seriously I said it). I’m really not sure how much of what I said they understood, but they certainly seemed to find it all quite funny (even if the answer I gave was simply “yes”). I didn’t know whether I was putting up a good show or just making myself look stupid! One thing that did strike me however was the amount of times that I was asked (predominantly by boys), whether I’d seen film ‘x’ or film  ‘y’, which were always films about the peculiar theme that is “English football hooligans”. Three different boys asked me within the two hours whether I’d seen three separate films, all of which are about hooliganism in England. This left me for hours thinking; how have these young German teenagers come across these sorts of movies? And more importantly, why are they so interested in them?! Of all of the classic British films that you can enjoy, how and why would a German teenager watch a film like Green Street?!

English hooliganism is popular amongst German teenagers it seems!

I’ve got to say that Grace and me were treated like royalty when she came to see me a few weeks back. Our own room in the hotel, room service from Florian when we least expected it, bottles of champagne, the whole shabang. On one evening Heike and Bernd arranged that a whole suite in the restaurant (candle lit and all!) was reserved for Grace and me, whilst Ingo concocted one of his finest dishes for us. It was truly lovely! Christian said that I’d really earned it, and that the whole Stern team wanted to use the weekend as a way of saying thank you for my hard work and that they’re very proud of me. All of which made me feel very happy! It was a great weekend with Grace obviously, and, like always, I can’t wait to be seeing her again once I’m home for good in 3 weeks :).

So, I’ve got three weeks left of hard work before I finally return home to England for good. Time has passed quickly, yet I’ve learnt and experienced so much. There are a few more things that I’d like to do here before I start getting all reminiscent however, which includes visiting the local Freibad (outdoor swimming pool), which had its official opening for the year 2012 yesterday. The hotel has a Ruhetag on Thursday, hence I think I’ll try and get all the guys together and arrange a trip!

“Waiter waiter, are there snails on the menu…?


Yes Sir, they must have escaped from the kitchen!”

“Have you ever heard the expression: Walk a mile in my shoes, and then judge me? And then write your own books.” – Ann Rule.

One thing is certain about my last pair of work shoes: You wouldn’t have wanted to have worn them yourselves! Sadly, a bit like an elderly lady who reaches 99 but passes away shortly before her 100th birthday, my last pair of work shoes finally pegged out in the 8th  and final month of my year abroad. I really did believe that they would see me through the last 4 weeks here in Germany, but alas. They served me well, they fought the good fight. By the end they were well and truly in tatters. Once you’ve finished reading this latest blog instalment you can then judge accordingly: Was this simply an infamous matter of student laziness, poorness and stinginess, all poured into one, or more nobly, one young man’s valiant attempt at environmental consciousness?

Here are the three main reasons which finally convinced me that I should finally hang up these pair of boots.

1) My shoes were a colour which they originally were not.

Poor, pale shoes.

My shoes were made for walking, and that’s what they have done. Through sunshine and rain, inside and outside of the hotel, up and down stairs, for walking, dancing and running, these shoes have been with me the whole way. Strand by strand, after a couple of months the exterior material of my shoes began to wear / rub off. At first it didn’t look so bad, because I could cover up the bare bits with dark coloured mud, which convinced older people that my shoes were still black. Nowadays however, the shoes resemble two black and white cats (cats that you wear on your feet).

2) On a rainy day there was only a 10% chance that my feet would stay dry throughout.

Thin-looking, tired shoe. Poor shoe.

Of late I’d been feeling shorter than ever (is 5 foot 7 that bad?!). I’d come to the conclusion, that the reason behind this was that the soles of my shoes were wearing a bit thin. In fact, there weren’t any soles at all. The penny dropped, however, when I walked through the shallowest puddle ever for approximately 0.5 seconds. My feet were absolutely DRENCHED! If I’d have walked through that puddle bare foot, then I reckon they’d have come out less wet. I looked down to the soles of my shoes, and all I could see were my socks. My shoe soles were gone. Grounded into the earth below my feet over the last 7 months.

3) My boss ordered me to buy new shoes.

I think that I’d been living in denial for quite some time. I knew that the shoes were gone, I’d just failed to accept it. My new boss Lisa brought it up yesterday as a half joke / indirect order. She said, “Kit, you know that there’s a shoe shop across the road that does discounts for everybody that works at Gasthof Stern?”

Judge me as you will, the shoes served me well and I gave them every chance that I could!

“Waiter waiter, there’s a fly drowning in my soup…


It hardly looks deep enough to drown in, Sir!”













Easter is a particularly special period in Franconian Switzerland. Not least, because of the wonderfully colourful tradition that is Osterbrunnen. This tradition, which originated in early 20th century Franconian Switzerland, involves decorating public wells or fountains with Easter Eggs for Easter. For two weeks, hundreds of buses with visitors from all over Germany drive through the small villages scattered around this area, stopping off and taking pictures and videos of the masterly crafted Osterbrunnen. I was lucky enough myself to get some time off the other day (it’s very busy in the hotel around this period), to take a look at an Osterbrunnen in a delightfully picturesque village called Bieberbach. Feast your eyes on these photos; each egg is painted individually!


“Waiter waiter, do you serve crabs…?


“Sit down, Sir, sit down, we serve everybody in here.”

Two blog posts in the space of five days (I hear you all think to yourselves), yes, I have finally rediscovered my blog writing consistency! Thank you all for tuning in once again, especially to those from the Middle East (according to I have a few Saudi Arabian fans), it’s great knowing that there are so many people interested in the economic powerhouse that is Göβweinstein. In keeping with the transition to Spring, we have prepared ourselves here at Gasthof Stern, armed and primed for the summer already. As of 3 o’clock this afternoon, the outdoor seating / table arrangements (not just some, but all), have been set up. Christian and I might have been cursing the awkwardness and heaviness of the tables and chairs whilst we were removing them from the barn this morning, but now it’s done, it won’t have to be done again for a while. It’s March 12th but we’re all set for summer here at the hotel, so if you’re brave enough or mad enough (whichever way you want to interpret it), come and take a seat outside!

Recently I’ve been thinking, considering I’ve been here for 6 months now, that it would probably be quite entertaining (and maybe even helpful!) if I were to impart a few words of advice to you guys about following a potential career in gastronomy. Being 3/4’s of the way through my year abroad, I think I can justify my claim to use the invaluable tool that is ‘hindsight.’ So, for those who were considering working in the restaurant / hotel business (and those that are here for the ride), here are a few “heads up…”

Nightmares about dirty dishes is perfectly normal.


The evening before I left for Germany, way back in September, my sister gave me a home-made good luck card. It was a very artistic card that suggested that I’d be doing a lot of washing up at the hotel, which, of course, I laughed off. Naively. At home, unashamedly, I’d always tried getting away with washing up, letting mum get on with it 99% of the time (which now I am ashamed of). Of course, it doesn’t help that I am, as you would say, bottom of the food chain at Gasthof Stern (being the newest employee). Furthermore, matters are intensified because the hotel is very, very popular from April – December. I tell you now, that image that you can see above ISN’T EVEN THE BEGINNING. It doesn’t matter whether you turn up at 9am to work, 3pm, or 11 in the evening, you will INVARIABLY be greeted by the sight of dirty dishes, cutlery, pots and pans, etc, etc. There are three periods of the day when there is a high volume of washing up (mainly due to the number of customers): breakfast, lunch, and dinner (pretty self-explanatory). In between these, you have to eat yourself. But you can’t leave your dirty dishes around, oh no, this is a hotel, it needs to be kept clean! I can tell you now that there is no better feeling in the world, than the feeling when the washing up is finished. You’ve just spent 2 hours, as a team, mucking in on the washing up, drying, clearing away. At first the place looked like it had been hit by a bomb (I mean an atomic bomb), then you work your hardest to get the place clean again. Then slowly, like cramp kicking in, comes the feeling, I BEAT THE WASHING UP, I BEAT EVERY DIRTY DISH, LOOK AT THIS SPARKLING CLEAN KITCHEN. To me, that feeling encapsulates euphoria. The problem is, this euphoria is very, very short lived. Before you know it (approximately 12 minutes later), there’s another pile of dirty saucepans. All of that hard work, gone. And so the cycle goes…

CONCLUSION: If you like wearing marigolds, splashing around with washing up liquid, or having wrinkly hands for a few hours after work, then go get a job at a restaurant! If you have even the slightest prejudice against anything that I’ve just mentioned, I’d stop reading now.

Dissatisfied customer situations are, well, awkward.


The problem with working in hospitality, is that not everybody has their breakfast at 10am, lunches between 12 and 1pm, dinner at half-six, and goes to bed around midnight, just like me (if only people were all the same!). No, it differs from person to person, family to family. What makes things even harder, is that there are 7 billion people inhabiting this planet. For this reason alone, it is extremely demanding to work in the line of gastronomy (and that’s coming from a waiter’s point of view), to run a hotel like Bernd and Heike, is even more pressure. Especially during the Spring and Summer months, people are simply coming into Gasthof Stern, all, the, time…

This is why I’m using the comparison to a professional footballer; it goes as follows: A bit like a footballer, the main part of a hotel owner’s career like Bernd’s takes place between the ages of 20 – 50 (ok, footballers generally retire a little bit earlier than 50). Youth, vitality, and maturity, are key to prolonging a footballer’s career, as the level of physical exertion is very high. This is the same for running a hotel, but remember to add the mental and spiritual exertion on top! You reach your peak during your later twenties and early thirties, and as you move to your early – mid thirties, you develop into one of the ‘older heads’ of the team, somebody there with experience to keep the ship steady. Think of Paul Scholes of Manchester United, he’s not the youngest that’s for sure, and hence he’s not the quickest, but he’s an experienced old head, whose wisdom and know-how is key to the team’s midfield. This is a bit like Bernd I guess (and most hotel owners for that matter), he may not be as quick as me at washing up nowadays, or be able to pour as many beers simultaneously as Christian, but his knowledge and know how is much higher than ours. That’s why he’s the boss! In their later thirties, a footballer normally retires, and sometimes goes onto coaching or management. Again, this is a bit like gastronomy. Bernd’s dad, the famous Lutz Vogl, hung up his boots when he was in his forties, passing on the day to day running of the hotel to a then very young (early 20’s) Bernd and Heike. Lutz however, is now the “Senior Chef” (Senior Boss), which automatically makes him superior to everybody else because he’s the OLDEST! He does though, play a much smaller role in running the hotel nowadays (why wouldn’t you when you’re retired!), but is more like an overseer. Just like Bobby Charlton of Manchester United, despite his more limited role, he is ever-present ;).

The stress and demand of running a hotel means that the main chunk of your career, just like a footballer, takes place in your younger years. It simply isn’t your normal 9-5 job! I guess the exception to the rule may be however, in the Middle East. This is where I can start to see the real benefits of Ramadan in the Islamic faith (I personally do not enjoy going hungry). How fortunate for all the restaurant owners in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, etc. You can pretty much guarantee that nobody is going to be dining at the restaurant during the day because all the Muslims are fasting (that’s of course if nobody is breaking the rules!), and you’re hardly going to keep the restaurant open between 11pm and 6am, hence you might as well close for the month altogether! One whole month of rest bite, absolutely glorious!

CONCLUSION: If you expect to be coming home every day at 5pm, just in time for the 6 o’clock news, with weekends off to go to Lakeside Shopping Centre and Bas Vegas, I wouldn’t read any further.

Everybody gets treated really well at Stern, I'm just trying to illustrate a point!


Bernd told me a story once. When he was just starting out in the hotel / restaurant business, probably around the same age as me, he spent one whole year just washing up. He’s not even exaggerating! The restaurant that he worked for was so big, that all he did for 365 days was wash up. The most heartbreaking thing though, was that at the end of every day, despite having the wrinkliest hands ever from spending half of his time under water, was that when he went home, there was still washing up to do!

It’s only natural in this line of business :). I am the newest employee, hence I am at the bottom of the food chain. I’m not complaining because we all get treated really well, so don’t take it the wrong way! But yes, I must confess, I have done a lot more of the, shall we say, “hands on” work of late, than the likes of Christian and Stefan ;). Yes, I admit, I’ve done my fair share of washing up! And oh, before I forget, it was “officially” my job to be snow-clearer this year during the colder months (I’m sure you can remember all of my photos of the snow!). Christian claims that snow-clearing was his job last year, but what made his year worse than mine, was that the level of snow was much higher, hence more work. I can empathise with him to be honest, because I can distinctly remember how quickly the novelty of snow fall vanished once I’d cleared the street of snow a couple of times. Once I’d lost my English innocence, “oh it’s snowing, how wonderful, we never get any snow!,” I started to learn a lot more about the world ;). And before I forget, I definitely carried out 75% of the outdoor seating / table arrangements, whilst Christian arguably took out a measly 25%!

CONCLUSION:If you’re not willing to work from the bottom up, or don’t have any thick skin at all, then don’t bother reading any further.

Only for the guests we don't like.


I have learnt that it is always a big advantage to be good friends with the cooks. Me personally, I LOVE food. Football, my girlfriend, and food, they’re my top three passions (not necessarily in the correct order!). Anyway, the cooks really have kept my stomach very content during these 6 months, and on a full stomach, Kit is always very happy. There’s no better sight here in the hotel, when you can see either Ingo, Heike or Wolfgang preparing your dinner, and during a hard day’s work, there’s no better feeling than devouring a nice hot meal. For that reason, I advice you all to stay cosy with the people in the kitchen!

The more they like you, generally the bigger portion of food you’re going to get, the more often they will sneakily pass you a desert, or serve you before everybody else ;). It’s quite simple really, it’s a bit like the old concept of “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” I haven’t yet scratched Ingo’s back in the literal sense of the meaning, but it doesn’t do any harm to laugh extra hard at the jokes that the cooks make, tell them every now and then how pretty they are, pour them beer on regular occasions. It works in both directions, it really does! Apart from that, the cooks here at the hotel are generally really, really cool. I’ve mentioned before how I’ve never seen Wolfgang or Ingo stressed at work, which is quite amazing considering the amount of work that goes on in the kitchen. I would bet, that if I gave Wolf and Ingo 100 orders all at once, told them they had twenty minutes to serve every the dish, whilst pointing a gun at them, shouting “YOU SLOW AND INEFFICIENT GERMANS,” that the worse they would do would be to let out a sigh. Not that I’d ever do that of course, because I love Ingo and Wolfgang :).

CONCLUSION: If you don’t like men in white suits and white hats, don’t bother reading any further.

I wish I lived in a world with no telephones.


If I ever needed to go to a psychiatrist, it would probably be to explain to him that I can’t get the sound of ringing telephones out of my head. He would then likely say to me, that in fact it wasn’t a problem with me, simply, there were lots of phones genuinely ringing. It really does drive you insane how often the phone rings at work, mostly with people inquiring about things that they could just as easily find out about on the internet or by other means. The last thing you want to hear after just dealing with an unhappy customer, 30 food orders, and a million other tasks, is a ringing phone. It has now got to the point, that I wouldn’t blame a blind man for thinking that he was in a call centre.

I tell you now, during my last week at Gasthof Stern, if the phone keeps on ringing, then at some point I’m just going to pick it up and shout “FUCK OFF!”

CONCLUSION: If you have a lack of patience, don’t bother reading any further.


Working at Gasthof Stern has been one of the best experiences of my life, and to be honest, I wouldn’t change any of it. There are so many perks to working in a job like this, the family, the friendship, the free food and drink, the security. It really is like a big family here, and we can always rely on each other when the going gets tough. For all of my ranting, I really do advise it to anybody who is thinking of doing anything like this, because it’s an experience not to be missed!

“Waiter waiter, this plate is wet…!”


That’s not wet Sir – that’s the soup.”

Greetings to everybody all over the World, not just friends and family in England and Germany. I say this because, according to stats at least, there have been people reading my blog from as far as Costa Rica. I can’t say for sure that I currently have, ever have had, or ever will have, acquaintances in Costa Rica, but thank you for reading nonetheless. Whether it’s now officially Spring-time here in Göβweinstein or not, I really don’t know. One day the weather tells me one thing, the next day, it goes back on its word! Either way, it’s definitely been a lot milder, reasonably sunny, and the days are slowly getting longer. Bernd made a big call two days ago (the sun was beating down), when he asked us to set up a small percentage of the outdoor seating / table arrangements for the restaurant, despite the weather forecast for the next day being rather bleak. Well, as the saying goes, “he who dares wins.” The weather, it transpired, wasn’t bad after all…The only down side was however, that nobody sat outside.

The last month has definitely been the quietest since I’ve been here, work-wise that is. Shortly after the last post that I published (in February), I had enough time to head back to England for a week to see Grace and the family, which, in my opinion, could use up a whole blog in itself! Anyway, I’ll skim over that a bit later on. The week preceding that was a really entertaining one, in which I had hardly any opportunity at all to speak German, despite it being a normal working week. I call it normal, well, in terms of the work, it was relatively normal. In terms of the guests who were stopping with us, it was more unusual than normal. The reason behind this, was that during those seven days, the World’s biggest toy fair “Spielwarenmesse” was taking place in Nuremburg. Being an international event, room prices and availability in and around Nuremburg rocketed and decreased respectively. That meant that lots of businessmen and toy enthusiasts alike decided to go for the more commuter approach, e.g., book a room at Gasthof Stern and drive for 45 minutes every morning into Nuremburg…

Poor image effort, I know.

What made that week remarkably funny and stressful simultaneously, was that every guest (and each room was booked) was foreign. I would estimate that approximately 10% of the guests could speak English (limited English if I’m being generous), and around 0% knew German. Now I can’t say that my colleague Christian’s English is particularly good (sorry Christian), and Stefan isn’t bad (that’s if he’s not running about like a headless chicken), so that left just one person, me, who had half a chance of communicating with the guests. I would say that the Russian guests were the worst, not a word of either English or German. Subsequently going through the menu with them took an hour in itself, and likely they (and I) were more confused than before. For example, one of the guests just kept saying to me, “Cheese Beer.” I racked my brains for minutes, but simply couldn’t work out what he wanted. A beer and a slice of cheese? Eventually I just gave up. So at all costs I tried avoiding the Russians, although Christian and Stefan kept trying to usher me over to translate. Ironically it was the only French guests who held a decent grasp of English (unfortunately no German). And all of this time I thought that it was the French who had the reputation for being USELESS at foreign languages. Unsurprisingly they had that stereotypically thick French accent (they must put it on), but at least we could work out what they wanted. We also had two Pakistani guests who were absolute jokers. For starters they got lost on the way to the hotel, then when they finally arrived they kept asking whether Fish and Chips was on the menu (which made me laugh), and when I asked Ingo the cook whether we could serve that, he simply felt insulted and ignored me for the rest of the evening. To wrap things up, they asked Bernd whether the hotel offered an Islamic breakfast, to which Bernd replied; “What does an Islamic breakfast consist of?” Fortunately there was one group of English guests (from East Anglia), with whom, ironically, were few communication problems. They were my only bit of rest bite! So for 6 long nights, there were plenty of examples of wrong orders, sounds of “sorry I didn’t quite catch that,” and times when it felt like the headquarters of the United Nations.

So whilst we wait for Easter, when all the pilgrims come to Göβweinstein and business really gets going again, work has been reasonably quiet. There have been a lot of repairs going on, Germany’s annual Fasching (Carnival) took place, Heike and Bernd went to Cuba, I’ve been on breakfast duty (my body clock definitely isn’t set to “Student” mode anymore), and finally I’ve been regularly taking Charlie for walks through the woods. Now just for the record, Charlie the dog is a legend. You can see from all the photos of him that I’ve posted, that he can be incredibly cute (which is 90% of the time), he’s a real “man’s best friend” kind of dog. But there’s another side to Charlie (it’s not all that bad so don’t get worried). This stems from his protective nature, whereby he always keeps firm watch over the house, and the only people he doesn’t bark at when entering the house is family Vogl and me. In fact, sometimes there’s no point in even locking the door, because if Charlie’s there, your safety is pretty much guaranteed. For some reason, Charlie hates ALL other animals. He just can’t stand them, in particular, little ratty-like dogs. When I’m walking him and we come across a small nipper-kind of dog, I’ve got to hold Charlie close. It doesn’t matter how many times we tell him off, he just doesn’t learn! He thinks he’s really clever sometimes, by pretending to be friendly to other dogs, e.g. sniffing their arse and wagging his tail, but the minute we look away he attacks. The phrase “pick on somebody your own size” just doesn’t sink in with Charlie. Charlie was with me and Christian in the hotel the other day, he got up, on his back legs, opened the door all by himself and left the building. Christian said, he’s probably just going to the toilet, he’ll be ok. MISTAKE. 30 seconds later, all hell breaks loose. Me and Christian run outside, what kind of scene awaits us? A young woman with her tiny rat dog, cowering behind a car crying, holding it to her breast, as Charlie lords it over them, barking, growling and warning them, that if they ever come round here again, that he will eat them for breakfast. He is undoubtedly one of the best dogs ever, but man can he be misbehaved sometimes.

Fasching (Carnival), in the village.

The week I spent back in England was top notch, catching up with Grace, the family, and friends. I also received quite a few belated birthday presents whilst I was there, including series 4 and 5 of The Sopranos, a couple of Coldplay CD’s, and a nice new watch! There was a celebratory meal for my 21st at the local Indian, which was lovely, and one of mine and Grace’s other friends was celebrating his 21st too, so on the Saturday night we all went out in Canterbury. Not that I’ll be away from England for too much longer, seeing as I’ve already (time has flown) spent just under 6 months here in Germany. That means that I’ve only got another 2 months here in Göβweinstein! Which reminds me, it’s probably about time that I book my train ticket home (not flying this time), as train prices over here are amazingly even more expensive than back in England…Well, I guess they do run on time. So yes, all of us workers here at Gasthof Stern are making the most of the last couple of weeks of relative freedom before the real work kicks in again. To pass the time recently I’ve started buying Süddeutsche Zeitung, although it takes me approximately a week to read one edition of the newspaper, which funnily enough is a bit like my nan! I went to a sushi bar in Erlangen last weekend, have watched lots of football (mainly on illegal stream websites), and have been bumming around on Facebook.

I promise you all that I’ll publish another post very soon! But until the next time, farewell.