Germany! Part 1 - The Unexpected Dinner Guest

08 June 2011

Story #413

R. Linda:

Ah, the city of Charlemagne is just like the city of Manchester, New Hampshire, sans Charlemagne, and it is a whole lot bigger. No skyscrapers, just tall buildings, which I like a lot. It gives the place an old-world look, which is very attractive to me. My main objective was to get to the Star Club, the birthplace of the Beatles, but I just couldn't get there. I got lost, I don't know how many times. I wandered the streets up and down and back and forth, and when I'd ask where it was, I'd be given directions to some tea shop. I guess the accent must mean I like tea. I should have known then that me time spent on German soil wouldn't be any holiday. Though with all the directions to the same tea shop, the German sense of humour had me going for quite a few hours until I learned they were having a huge joke at my expense. But the excuse was they thought I was an American, and then when I opened me mouth, they decided I was twice as bad, I was a Brit! I guess payback be a bitch and I'm learning it is! LOL Okay, no more German jokes! I'm done, I give up, the Germans won. That is until I get home and can think of something clever . . . or not.

There are some seedy parts of Hamburg. I should know I wandered around in them long enough. And there are some spectacular parts just on the outskirts. I wish I had more time to visit and explore. As it has been thus far, a very bizarre trip. Nothing had gone as planned, even in me off hours. I'd like to ride on the lake, and I'd like to see the Star Club for sure, and I'd like to eat at Doc Cheng's, and I'd like me interviews to go swimmingly for a change.

Tour boat I'd like to have taken

There may be a next time, and I can do all that. I understand I can easily get to Denmark by ferry and train from here, so it would be wonderful to have some time for both countries. One can dream. I think Cruella will be less than pleased with my performance. I did not get interviews today, and so far, it has been a trip for nothing. Maybe tomorrow will be better, and then again, maybe not.

So, the day's highlight was that I was looking forward to seeing Wolfie. He had flown in from London on his way to an assignment and would meet me at the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten for dinner at the famous Doc Cheng's.

The lovely lake-building with the green roof is the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten

Well, I arrived at hotel, and the hotel was unbelievable. Beautiful place on the lake and the views -- spectacular! I was to meet him in the lobby, and as I was a tad early, I decided to take one of the luxuriously comfy-looking chairs and wait, maybe have a drink, take in the ambience, that sort of thing. But talk about a small world, who did I run into, but that German fellow who was very upset about the conversation on East Germany that was had with the American, the Frenchman, and meself at the international conference (see A Frenchman, a German, an American, and a Brit have a Conversation...or try to, May 25, 2011). You remember that, a trifle on the question of hot dogs? Well, I wouldn't think he'd remember me, but of course, he did, and I mistook the look on his face for "Oh no, not that prat", but it wasn't. He was having a wee bit of an emergency, but I didn't know that. He had with him a lovely young girl, his daughter, I learned, and he required the concierge to get a phone connection and a fax he was desperate for. He told me in half German and half English what the trouble was (the deadline to meet and copy had disappeared, and he was trying to locate it), and he saw I was there. Was I staying at the hotel? I told him I was not, but I was meeting a friend for dinner.

"Gobreel, vould you be so khind as tue keep my dotter vit you vile I take care of dese buziness at zee desk. If your friend comes please take her vit you to dinner I vill pay for all of you, but I must needs to take care of dis."

Before I could say anything, he went to the desk, and I was left standing with the child, who looked at me like she was as thrilled as I was. What to do? I asked if she spoke English, and she nodded. I introduced meself and she told me her name was Ilse. I was so glad it wasn't Heidi, I'd have had a bad time with that. That awful story, I'll have to tell you one day. Anyway, it wasn't but five minutes later that Wolfie arrived. He is a handsome devil, which was not lost on the girl, who lit up like David Beckham had entered her space. He seemed more suspicious of this reaction than I was. I should have been more alert, but well . . . this be me I be talking about. Sigh.

After greeting me, he asked, "And who is this charming young lady?" He knew full well that she was listening and looking him over.

I told him the story and gestured over at the desk where her father was animated on the phone. I thought since his connection had finally got through, maybe we should wait, and when I suggested this, Ilse said in excellent English, that would be futile, he would be a long time, "Many faxes." And she sighed. So, I asked her if she was hungry, and she said she was, with some reluctance. I asked Wolfie if he minded, and he didn't miss a beat. He made her feel welcome, but for one small thing, he had to do.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Let me see if they have a table at the Haerlin because Doc Chang is Asian fusion and . . . "

I understood, the girl probably wouldn't appreciate that kind of food (and from the face she made, I was correct), though I would, but she did light up at the mention of the Haerlin Restaurant and informed me it had a Michelin star. Oh, I thought, not bad. I would sacrifice history and ambience for a Michelin star. I don't know what Wolfie tipped the headman, but we were in. I left a note for Ilse's daddy about where we were. He waved at us as we went to the restaurant.

"So you are both my chaperone for deener. How nice. Don't vorry my fah-der vill rescue you boff zoon." She said pleasantly, placing the napkin in her lap.

I could see Wolfie thinking over the words rescue, chaperone, and dinner and how odd all this was turning out.

"Did she say rescue?" I asked him, thinking I didn't hear right.

"She did indeed," he said, smiling at the young lady, who smiled a toothy grin back.

"Mam'selle?" he asked, but she shook her head and then looked at the menu, her grin even bigger. She kept glancing around the large room filled with diners, and I would look around, but I was clueless about what she was grinning about, seeing, or looking for.

Za menu

"Und sie spricht Franzosisch?" She looked at me in question, but I didn't know what was up. All I knew was that she was planning something, and it wasn't good. Then she looked at Wolfie and repeated the question.

"Oui," he answered.

"Is your French better than your German?" She asked Wolfie.

"Way better, why?"

"You'll see," she said cryptically, looking across the room. For the life of me, I didn't know what she was looking at, or who. 

He deferred to her, asking in French if she had eaten at the restaurant before. She had; what did she suggest? She suggested, he ordered, and we all grinned at each other. They knew what was ordered (lambkins), me having agreed to an experienced palate, and I also had no clue what they were talking about. Yes, it was bizarre. I know Wolfie had a lot of unanswered questions like where do you know her father from, why would he leave her with two men and why was she so damn happy? I did tell him her father was a reporter, and the gist of what happened, and he completely understood. We have all been there, unfortunately. Important stories, lost copy, electronics on the fritz, not a good time.

"Are you boff Irish?" Ilse asked in English for my clueless benefit.

"We are," I said.

"I can tell by your ahkcents. Irish people are very 'in' rhight now."

"Ah," Wolfie nodded, giving this some thought as he eyed her suspiciously. God, to be able to read people like he can. He was way ahead of me, as I said, I was clueless.

"And how old are we? Exactly." He asked.

"Sixteen." She looked down; she was fibbing.

"Exactly, I said, not wishful thinking." He persisted.

"We zar 14, BUT I vill be 15 zoon." She blinked at him as he nodded, knowing his guess to himself was spot on.

Suddenly, she looked taken aback at whatever had her attention across the room. She put the wine list in front of her face so as not to be seen, and I could see she was thinking fast. We both looked at each other like WHAT now? I looked around and saw a young girl approaching us, about the same age as our Ilse. I noted that this looked like someone that Ilse recognised and was on her way over to OUR table. Ilse wasn't thrilled, but she had something up her sleeve. Ilse let loose a barrage of French at Wolfie, who nodded at her, he understood (seems she was much more proficient in French than English when in a hurry). Then she said hurriedly in English from behind the menu to me, "Play along, play along," and she took the wine list from in front of her face and placed it back on the table, looking cool as can be compared to a few seconds hence. 

"Ilse wie geht es dir? (Ilse, how are you?)" Asked the young thing, dressed in obvious designer clothing, she just oozed expensive. Her manner was so affected that I didn't like her instantly, and I felt like our little Ilse was about to be bullied. But for one thing, the child had a terrible squint and I found meself squinting too. The worst was I couldn't stop doing it, and Wolfie looked at me like I had lost me mind. Then he looked at the girl and did a double-take, and then back at me, and the expression on his face was like, OHHH! Then he looked at me as if to say, "Gabe, stop it!" But try as I might, I couldn't! We sat there looking at each other in shock, he wide-eyed, trying not to grin, me squinting and trying not to grin.

We two gents had stood up for the young lady, and when Wolfie did, Ilse had grabbed his sleeve and whispered something to him, and he nodded nonchalantly. Something was up. I found out later she asked him not to let on that he could understand French, and to struggle with German should it be spoken to him. The interloper's name (for that was what she seemed) was Friederike, and she dragged a chair away from an occupied table of startled diners and sat down with us. WELL HELLO! LOL.

Suddenly, Ilse started talking in what I thought was German and then realised was French, the language of high fashion and glamour, yup. She was chattering on about this and that, and every so often would gesture towards one of us, and I had no clue, but I thought I heard the words 'needs some', but I wasn't sure what she could need some of and each time it was said, she gestured at ME. And she said it A LOT. As you can imagine, this made me extremely uneasy. Wolfie speaks the language, as I said, and was following along, and he had to hide the incredulous expressions that were wanting to take over his face. I wanted so bad to know what she was saying, but I kept me gob shut because there was no way Ilse would be interrupted. But the way he looked at me, I knew we were in trouble, and the Wolf was amused.

Friederike asked him in French some questions, and he acted like he did not understand her. But he did. That seemed to satisfy her, so she broke into German, and he gave the answers in pidgin German, like he could barely speak it. I was astounded as to why he was doing that, but what did I know? I was feeling pretty uneasy and useless at that time. I don't like it when I can't speak the language and can only catch a bit here or there, but nothing that would put me on the fast track, and everyone else knows, and no one is telling me what is being said.

Friederike kept asking him about Bruges, and I thought to meself, "He isn't from Belgium. What the hey?" I needed clarification on this.

Soon after, a very impressed Friederike got up, but not before opening her purse, taking out a pen and small pad, and asking very sweetly of us to sign it through Ilse, who told us in English what was being asked for. 

Wolfie signed Colin Farrell in a big scrawl, slipped it over to me, and said in heavily accented Irish, "Sign your name, Liam," and sneered at me, "Like in Neeson."

I mouthed the words NEEDS SOME, oh, I got it alright! Our Ilse was passing us off as famous Irish movie stars. It wasn't 'needs some,' it was NEESON. It was very hard not to laugh out loud, I could see Wolfie was being very cool about it and playing along but I knew, yes I did, he was laughing his arse off at this silliness.

Friederike hugged the pen and pad to her bosom and said in French to Ilse, "I am so very happy." And with an adieu, off she went without putting the chair back, I might add.

"Seriously?" I leaned forward and asked the two of them.

"She's a . . . vat you call it, a . . . dolt. I despize her zo . . . let her zink I dine vit movie stars. Irish movie stars! And, she vears glasses but iz too vain to vearz dem. She can't zee very vell vitout dem. But her mudder told her I vas here ven ve valked in. I knew she'd come over to show off her new dress." And the grin was back.

"Ohhh," I said, "Is that why she was squinting at us? She can't see?" I stopped squinting as soon as Friederike had left our table. I knew I should be shot for such behaviour, but I couldn't help it—it was so in my face!

Well, it was somewhat uncomfortable. For the entire dinner, we were stared at by Friederike's table, and since they had finished before us, Friederike's mother came over. I don't know how she made it across the room; the woman was obviously tipsy. She said in heavily accented English, "Mr. Farrell, I loved you in Bruges. I love all your movies, you are zo talented and a zousand times more handzome in perzon!"

I put me hand to me mouth to keep from saying anything and shook me head. It took everything I had in me to stay seated and not start laughing. And Bruges, that was what it was -- the movie. I was getting it, slowly, but getting it.

"And Mr. Neeson," (this address made me jump), "I can zee zose long legs, you are a tall von, ja?" And she giggled and went away.

Shortly after, we were 'rescued.' Ilse kissed us each on one side of the face and the other.

"I saw vot iz her name . . . em Tyra Banks do zat kissing zing."

We expressed to her father we hoped all was well, and he said, "All iz currently vell." He said some other pleasantries and told us our dinner was paid for, and we tried to not have him do that, but he wouldn't hear of it, and he thanked us for letting Ilse dine with us so he could take care of his business and off they went.

We sat there saying nothing, letting it all sink in, and then we started laughing. It was a relief to let it out, we were discreet, don't you worry, but it was a trip of a dinner neither of us will soon forget. We had after-dinner drinks and caught up, but it was hard not to think of Ilse not sitting there grinning.

"What was she saying to you in French?" I asked him.

"Ah, she told me Friederike was always lording it over her and she needed to be put in her place. She had an idea and decided to tell her friend we were Farrell and Neeson. She said the girl was sightless without glasses, a perfect opportunity, and the mother drinks, so she wasn't worried SHE'D notice a difference. The father is clueless about movie stars, especially Irish ones. She said Friederike didn't speak English, so if I needed to clue you in, I could. She told me Colin Farrell cannot speak French, and Friederike knows that, so to act like I didn't understand. I told her not to do it, but she wouldn't listen. What can you do? Young girls . . ."

"Well, damn you could have enlightened me," I said with mock offense.

"No, you looked like a deer caught in headlights, a squinting deer. I was enjoying your discomfort too much," he laughed.

Well, it worked, when one can't see closely and when the Mam was sporting a buzz, a prime opportunity to pass two dark-haired Irishmen off as two other dark-haired Irishmen. That's all we had in common. I realised too that Colin Farrell is a short fella, and I said to Wolfie, "Good thing you didn't get all the way up when Friederike's Mam lurched to the table, she would have said (and I said this in a falsetto), "Oh Mr. Farrell you are a lot taller than in the flicks." You know I be glad I don't look like Liam Neeson. He's not a good-looking man," I moaned.

"I am the furthest thing from Colin Farrell." He said.

"Too short to be you," I chuckled. "And the hair, no, no comparison. Me muse likes your hair," I reminisced, more to meself than Wolfie.

"Does she?"

"Yeah wants to know who your stylist is, left you a comment on me blog she did," I mused to his amusement.

We had a laugh over how it all turned out. More importantly, I did find out from him, that I was in the right place on me afternoon search for the Star Club. The vicinity is called Beatles Square, and if I had taken the New Europe Pub Crawl, I would have come upon it. The pub crawl Wolfie told me was an interesting jaunt into Hamburg's red light district, with plenty of prostitutes and table dancing to be had as you drink your way through pub after pub. "You'd think you were in Amsterdam, Gabe," he quipped. Now, why didn't we do that instead? LOL

FINALLY Beatles!

I wasn't that far from Beatles Square, to begin with - who knew?

Gabe
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