butchered the word, but she seemed pleased that I would even try. I bit into the soft, fat finger of the stuffed grape leaf. I had tasted these once or twice before at a caféin Gburg, but they’d always seemed too dense to me, the rice packed too tight and with little flavor beyond the tang of the leaf. These dolmas, though, were different. They were lighter. They had currants and pine nuts mixed in with the rice, a hint of fresh tomato sauce and lemon juice. They were also warm, as if they had been made that very morning. I closed my eyes and smiled to show how much I liked what I was eating, and from that point on she fed me as if I were another one of her children.
Beyond Munich, it wasn’t only the passengers who were different. The landscape had grown progressively greener—June in central Germany was certainly further along than June in Denmark, but now we were heading southwest and into the Alps. As soon as we crossed into Switzerland, the train started to climb and the mountains exploded all around us. My mother would love this, I thought. They looked just like the ones in
The Sound of Music
, one of her favorite films.
My last transfer was in Bern, where I moved from a sleek, modern train to its older, clunkier cousin, its smaller cars better equipped to make the tight turns and bends of the last twenty-five miles we had to cover in order to reach Interlaken. Once again, a new crop of people boarded the train with me. These people spoke only German, and they seemed more reserved; they were quieter and more formal in their interactions with each other, even when they were obviously family. There were still picnics here and there, but now it was wine, cured meats, and hard cheeses. People spoke quietly. No one offered food to strangers.
I tried to nap, to catch as much rest as I could, not knowing what the situation would be when I arrived, whether I would be expected to work the dinner shift on the day of my arrival. But sleep was impossible. I was so close now that I felt like everything I saw through the window belonged to my new life—each chalet, each cow, each distant peak. I would see these again, I thought. Soon I would know these places. I would learn them as I was starting to learn each new world I entered. Through food.
———
E VERYTHING ABOUT Victoria Jungfrau signaled grandeur. The sprawling rectangular building, long and white, had a massive central tower with a slate-roofed dome. Wrought-iron balconies covered its facade and overlooked a perfectly trimmed green at the center of town. A man wearing a white jumpsuit clipped away at the hedges in front of the hotel.
In my broken German, I asked for the staff entrance, and the man pointed his clippers toward the back.
The rear of the building had been updated to make it into a modern, highly functioning point of entry, with cement loading docks and corrugated steel ramps for all the food trolleys that came and went. In the office inside, a young woman in a dark suit rose from her desk and put out her hand.
“Hello, Herrn Samuelsson,” she said. “I am Simone.
Wie gehts es Ihnen?
” How are you?
She gathered up a handful of the other new guys who’d been waiting in the conference room and led us on a tour of Victoria at breakneck speed, mixing German and English the entire time. She took us to the staff dormitory, a separate building, so that we could drop our bags in our rooms. Mine was small and immaculate, and outfitted with a single bed, a clothes cupboard, and a sink. A single window cast a ray of afternoon light onto a cracked mirror above the dresser, and the walls showed the scuffmarks of interns who’d come before me. I loved it.
We reconvened in the hall and walked back to the main building. More than two hundred guest rooms and suites spread across three stories and, below them, a lobby floor that was nothing short of palatial. I took note of the stained-glass windows, gold-framed mirrors, fountains, atriums, and elaborately
Beyond Munich, it wasn’t only the passengers who were different. The landscape had grown progressively greener—June in central Germany was certainly further along than June in Denmark, but now we were heading southwest and into the Alps. As soon as we crossed into Switzerland, the train started to climb and the mountains exploded all around us. My mother would love this, I thought. They looked just like the ones in
The Sound of Music
, one of her favorite films.
My last transfer was in Bern, where I moved from a sleek, modern train to its older, clunkier cousin, its smaller cars better equipped to make the tight turns and bends of the last twenty-five miles we had to cover in order to reach Interlaken. Once again, a new crop of people boarded the train with me. These people spoke only German, and they seemed more reserved; they were quieter and more formal in their interactions with each other, even when they were obviously family. There were still picnics here and there, but now it was wine, cured meats, and hard cheeses. People spoke quietly. No one offered food to strangers.
I tried to nap, to catch as much rest as I could, not knowing what the situation would be when I arrived, whether I would be expected to work the dinner shift on the day of my arrival. But sleep was impossible. I was so close now that I felt like everything I saw through the window belonged to my new life—each chalet, each cow, each distant peak. I would see these again, I thought. Soon I would know these places. I would learn them as I was starting to learn each new world I entered. Through food.
———
E VERYTHING ABOUT Victoria Jungfrau signaled grandeur. The sprawling rectangular building, long and white, had a massive central tower with a slate-roofed dome. Wrought-iron balconies covered its facade and overlooked a perfectly trimmed green at the center of town. A man wearing a white jumpsuit clipped away at the hedges in front of the hotel.
In my broken German, I asked for the staff entrance, and the man pointed his clippers toward the back.
The rear of the building had been updated to make it into a modern, highly functioning point of entry, with cement loading docks and corrugated steel ramps for all the food trolleys that came and went. In the office inside, a young woman in a dark suit rose from her desk and put out her hand.
“Hello, Herrn Samuelsson,” she said. “I am Simone.
Wie gehts es Ihnen?
” How are you?
She gathered up a handful of the other new guys who’d been waiting in the conference room and led us on a tour of Victoria at breakneck speed, mixing German and English the entire time. She took us to the staff dormitory, a separate building, so that we could drop our bags in our rooms. Mine was small and immaculate, and outfitted with a single bed, a clothes cupboard, and a sink. A single window cast a ray of afternoon light onto a cracked mirror above the dresser, and the walls showed the scuffmarks of interns who’d come before me. I loved it.
We reconvened in the hall and walked back to the main building. More than two hundred guest rooms and suites spread across three stories and, below them, a lobby floor that was nothing short of palatial. I took note of the stained-glass windows, gold-framed mirrors, fountains, atriums, and elaborately
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