Philda at word
I have noticed that guest houses will often set the television to a news channel during breakfast.To me that is just one notch above listening to rap while having a meal - who wants to start his day with bad news, and let's face it, 'news' will inevitably be bad news. For seventeen years my background music of choice at the breakfast table has been light classical music, but I also have quite a collection of 'soothing' background CD's. I think one should be careful with vocals and I prefer to play soothing instrumental music if not light classical. As I was grocery shopping today I suddenly became aware that the shop was playing classical music. It will not surprise me if they find that clients shop longer and more with soothing classical music in their ears. I for one immediately went off to find the floor manager and compliment her on their choice of music. You have to understand - at the end of the year I run through the supermarket like a mad woman just so that I can limit the time that I have to listen to 'jingle bells rock' and the likes. I just do not understand how shops and restaurants do not grasp the power of music - how it can build or destroy the shopping mood in a flash. Imagine buying a pair of shoes with a waltz playing in the background.... Now imagine buying a pair of shoes to the beat of a rap song... I rest my case. When my children were still at home I once had a CD with Gregorian chants playing in the background and just as I was serving breakfast my one son came running into the breakfast room and, without greeting anyone, he grabbed the remote from the table, changed CD's and with blazer coat flying went running off to school. When he came home I reprimanded him for not greeting the guests and just changing my music without asking me. His answer: 'Mom, I heard that freaky music and thought to myself, shame, those poor guests will never get their bacon and eggs down with that playing in the background'. I suppose each to his own...
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I have a few friends who also run B&B's and whenever we get together, you can be sure that within minutes we'll be sharing tips, recipes, a joke or a funny incident. Exactly a year ago my friend Liza encouraged me to write candidly about the joys (and frustrations) of running a guest house, categorized on my blog as "My B&B Life". This week I want to tackle tricky issues around accents and cultural differences.
An Afrikaans speaking person will ask for breakfast at 'half sewe' (6h30), someone from England will talk about 'half seven' (7h30) and another person may talk about 'half-past seven' - three different meanings to similar-sounding request, fertile ground for misunderstandings! I'm sure fellow B&B owners will sympathize with my frustration (because it's probably happened to them often!) when a guest who requested breakfast at 6.30 (which requires a wake-up time of 5.30 for the guest house owner) then casually waltzes in at 7.30. The problem is that you've been robbed of an hour of sleep with only yourself to blame as, chances are, you were the one who made the mistake with the half-past six / half six story. And then there are the incidents caused by accents - lost in translation in the true sense. A fellow guesthouse owner told me about one of her guests who asked in a strong 'Indian' accent whether her young employee (fresh out of high school, and not yet with an ear accustomed to foreign accents) had "toilet paper". The young lady promptly went to get what she heard the guest had asked for - the guest was of course very surprised when she returned, as he had in fact asked for "today's paper"! Fortunately, the guest had a sense of humour and not only had a good laugh about the incident, but shared the joke with the guest house owner! I recall another incident when I welcomed an American couple and the man informed me in a heavy drawl that "you South Africans have the most atrocious accents"... That got me laughing: for a moment I imagined what it would sound like if all South Africans suddenly spoke English with American accents. Again the guests were, fortunately, able to appreciate the humour. Shall I be daring enough to tell about cultural differences making for 'lost in translation' incidents? I asked an Xhosa speaking guest what time he wanted breakfast the next morning and he answered: "about seven or eight. " When I asked whether that would be seven or eight, he answered: "when a black man tells you seven or eight, it means you have to be ready from seven until nine". Being in the hospitality business I saw to it that I was ready from seven until nine. The next morning, however, when he held up the empty coffee pot and called me with a brusque "hey, sisi, bring me more coffee", I decided I had to draw the line! I told him firmly that I was not his 'sisi', and that I sensed a condescending tone in the manner that he addressed me, and while I was at it, I found his comment on arrival offensive too. He claimed that it was not wrong in his culture to speak like that. I must confess I was stumped - for all of 10 seconds! Of course one has to be sensitive to cultural differences, but there was something in his manner which seemed to go beyond that: arrogance is an unattractive quality in any culture surely! Fortunately, I can report that this kind of incident is very rare indeed - we all have our differences, but almost all misunderstandings are manageable if we approach it with humility and a willingness to see the funny side of things. Which gets me to the topic of my next post: RIGHT OF ADMISSION RESERVED. Watch this space... We are situated opposite Van Kervel School- a double medium school that caters for learners with special educational needs, but also offer normal academic subjects. To quote their school website:
'These learners benefit more from concrete learning programs where they learn by doing. In most cases they will eventually find employment in practically orientated professions; therefore more emphasis is placed on the skills or vocational learning programs in our school where learners can acquire skills such as panel beating, spray painting, motor vehicle repairing, woodworking, welding, building and maintenance, hospitality studies, educare, office administration and hairdressing. ' Our beautiful screens and arches that transform our rose garden into the spectacular, bears testimony to Mr. Myburgh and his metal work learners. Because we are situated close to the school, Mr. Myburgh could walk across with his pupils and they could take ownership of the project - from taking the initial measurements to the final product. We are as proud as they are of their craftsmanship. I think I should offer cooking class exchanges officially on my website! I was delighted when Dani, who lives in London, but is of Greek descent, offered to teach me how to make dolmathes using the new leaves from our vine. Last year I exchanged recipes with an Ukrainian guest and in December we had guests from Mumbai who demonstrated and cooked us a traditional Indian meal. What fun! Not only do they learn something about South Africa food, but they get an opportunity to have a home cooked meal and we get an opportunity to eat something exotic.
I never realised that Dolmades are cooked in a tomato sauce (either in the oven or on hob over very low setting) Dani showed me how to use two plates as weight to ensure that the Dolmades remain covered in this delicious, buttery tomato sauce. Guests I'll always remember? Shortly after I opened doors I received a booking for three policeman to share the family room. Now that sounded a bit weird, but the agent confirmed: three gentlemen and they had to share a room and could I please confirm the private entrance and secure parking. It was just getting dusk when my front door bell rang and there were the three policeman. Beach-bum impersonater smelling of beer, gangster wannabe's as charming as can be and parked in my driveway - a dented rust tin of a Kombi van. On my request to see some ID, the one chap flipped open his ID badge, but much too fast for me to really see whether it was authentic. He then explained that they had to share the room because they were here to assist the local police and that they were transporting ammunition that they were not allowed to leave in their vehicle. That just freaked me out! Here I had to watch three men store an arsenal of guns under my antique wrought iron and brass four poster bed. When my husband returned from work, I related my story of woe. He took one look at the van with the tinted windows and declared: yes, tonight they are going to rob a bank and it will be all over the papers, 'robbers stayed at four star guest house in George'.At that stage he was still not so convinced about this guest house thing that I wanted to try, so did not offer me too much in the line of sympathy. I decided to phone the local police station to find out if they were expecting three policemen and couldn't say that I was surprised that they were not. They kindly offered to send a patrol car around a few times in the night, but did not think it was wise to confront the men. They had paid cash on arrival and were now officially paying guests.Thankfully I had no other guests to worry about and with hubby happily snoring away, I spent half the night peering into the parking lot to see if the kombi van was still there. The next morning my three bright eyed and bushy tailed policemen,once again in civilian dress, tucked away heartily into bacon and eggs, served them by a not-so bright eyed and bushy tailed hostess. With great relief I saw them off. Within minutes I got a phone call from the local police station to say that I had nothing to fear - they were expecting three officers, but that the police station had not been notified in advance as it was an undercover operation. When Desmond came home for lunch it was to find a note on the table telling him to make himself a sandwich and not to wake me up - I was making up for lost sleep! |
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