Waiter in Grainau, Bavaria

Just fifty years ago this month, I had decided to seriously study German. I had been toying with the idea of going back to Mt. Buller, Australia and, for a change in atmosphere, teach with the Austrian ski school as my friend JP Chatellard had done in 1972. I also thought that knowing German would get me a broader clientele during the winter season at Avoriaz, as the young resort was able to attract a sizable number of European visitors. 

Always someone to believe in full immersion and ready to take the plunge, I jumped in my Renault 12 station wagon, left my home in the French Alps, began by driving northeast through Switzerland, all the way to Lake Constance and then veered east into Austria’s Vorarlberg, drove through some picturesque landscape into Tyrol and all the way to Garmish-Partenkirschen in Bavaria. Some 8 hours behind the wheel to cover some 375 miles!

There, I didn't waste time and went to the local job service office, purchased some newspapers in order to get a job that could sustain me while I was improving my command of German (I had self-studied for about one year, and could speak my way out of trouble and satisfy my most basic needs, but wasn’t fluent yet). 

Almost immediately, I found a job as a waiter (one of my solid skills, besides ski instructing) at a tourist restaurant in Grainau, just 10 minutes away. I showed up and must have made a pretty good impression since I got the job on the spot. The pay was okay and included room and board, which was perfect. 

The restaurant owner, an impressive matron, immediately took me to a large store in Garmish where she made me purchase a uniform composed of a pair of black slacks, assorted black shoes and a white shirt (the waiter’s apron was loaned to me as her contribution). So without missing a beat I began waiting on customers. 

Boy, was it a baptism by fire! I couldn’t quite understand the patrons that spoke with various accents and dialects. The first item I learned and never forget on the goddamned menu was “blaue Forelle“, a trout specially prepared. For a week, I struggled like hell and, on the seventh day, gave up, threw the towel, returned the apron and drove back to France. 

My gutsy and ambitious move was no match for my thin patience and self-confidence. I almost instant
ly regretted my giving up the project, and that’s how I learned that patience is golden, and from that point forward, I would have to significantly increase the dosage if I really wanted to be a success!