Dearest Bloggette!
I apologize most humbly and sincerely for neglecting you. I note with dismay that the last time I even visited you, let alone shared anything with you, was while I was living in the Czech Republic again... eons ago! Again, my sincerest apologies for such wanton neglect.
And let's catch you up on what has transpired since those better-forgotten days in Brno...
Brno, in the clutches of the evil and degenerate Lufthansa Global Domination empire, was a fiasco. I met some nice people there, true, but generally working there turned out to be worse than working for the evil German Labor Camp (GLC) division of aforementioned carrier in South Africa. At least in South Africa the administration was honest and while not always the most intelligent, when they made mistakes they were honest, not blatant attempts at rip-off motivated by immeasurable stupidity in the upper echelons of the local management. Suffice it to say that after having to pay back amounts of cash based on a mistake by dumb Czech management and accountants even though I apparently could not be held liable, and having to put up with shift leaders who borrowed money never to repay it and other shift leaders who were simply unadulterated pure evil, it was time to move on.
Alas, Dowager Baroness Elizabeth I. passed away on New Year's Eve 2011, while I was still in Brno, which first caused more consternation with aforementioned dunderheads at the Labor Camp (they had apparently never heard of compassionate leave for when one's mother dies) and subsequently also provided me with amodest inheritance.
Sadly, I decided that the inheritance would be best appied to helping me escape the misery that was Lufthansa and all of its negative attributes. Rather rashly, I chose to make a foray back into hospitality, along the lines of "the grass is always greener" and forgetting the hard work and endless hours involved. Reassuring myself that since I would be the boss this time, things would be different and I would not be as exhausted, drained and sucked dry as I had been while slaving for others in the past I forged ahead with zeal.
The turns and twists of the human mind truly can be amazing. How quickly we forget unpleasantness, downright lies, broken promises and affronts to one's dignity. How easily we seem to recall only the good of something without remembering in detail or completely displacing all those evils and pettinesses bestowed upon one's soul by unscrupulous and perfidious previous employers and faceless corporations interested solely in bottom-line avarice.
And so it was. The carrot dangling on my personal stick was independence, the chance to prove to myself that I was a clever and decent entrepreneur. As I was not sure I wanted to begin what I envisaged as a global empire of Baronial hostelries in Germany, I looked to Austria. Object 1 was a small hotel in a forgotten corner of Austria's upper Northwest. The town had only the one hotel, it was in passable condition with the apparent potential for growth, alocal brewery interested in investing large sums in order to have a showcase hostelry at its disposal, immediate proximity to the Czech border which meant lower prices for just about everything within a stone's throw, and a motivated owner seeking to find a replacement for the current unreliable tenant who repeatedly threatened to shut the place down, lest a replacement be immediately forthcoming.
My dearest high school friend, Lady Felicity of the Baronial order of the Bravehearted, accompanied me on my fact finding missions. We sussed the place out, asked all the right questions and received (by and large) all the right answers. I did my due diligence diligently and the entire project looked to be a green-lighted good thing. With my modest inheritance (all that was left of the once vast Baronial estates and holdings due to indiscretions, idiotic investments and poor planning by predecessors who shall remain nameless, as good taste would have it) wending its way through the maze of international banking houses, I descended upon the arranged meeting place for the ceremonial reading of the proposed contract, only to find several untoward and unpleasant surprises awaiting me.
The locale for our meeting was changed while I was en route - a very bad sign - with notification made by SMS on my cell phone - Clue 1 that something was amiss. Then my proposed advisor and accountant sent an SMS to say he would prefer to meet at the same time as the scheduled contract reading and at the same site, which was the place of business of the lessor - Clue 2. And upon my arrival at said place of business, I was ushered in to a conference table at which there was an unknown face, a surly older woman, the mother of the lessor - Clue 3 that something was not only amiss but downright foul.
We proceeded to read the contract aloud, as is customary, and not one of the promised changes and improvements was included. This made not only the hair on my neck stand erect but also caused the eyebrows of our mutual go-between and real estate agent to lapse into paralytic arches of total dismay and surprise. Every time he reached a passage where something was missing or had been changed to the worse, he would shoot a look at the young lessor, who would make urging eyes at him, as if to say, "Go ahead, it's alright." And a second inquisitive glance from the realtor would then result in a very deep-throated rumbling comment in perfect local dialect along the lines of, "That's right, we aren't paying for anything" by Big Mama, who apparently was busy protecting her sonny boy from evil me.
When we got to the end of the contract, all eyes turned upon yours truly. in the interest of good taste, decorum and mild manners, I cleared my throat carefully and inconspicuously and said, with my sweetest, most benign voice,
"I'm afraid this is not what we had previously agreed to. I cannot, in good conscience, be a party to any such contract and therefore must withdraw. Should you change your minds and wish to continue in the vein previously discussed and agreed upon, bearing in mind that under Austrian law a verbal agreement is binding, please do not hesitate to contact me. You have my contact details. I must bid you farewell."
Big Mama, bowled over either by my eloquence or the fact that unlike her weaselly son I was not impressed by her girth or gruffness, now rumbled noises telling me they had had another offer and that if I did not act, they might be forced to accept it.
"Madam, you are free to accept any offer. I shall not be a party to an agreement which is wholly slanted against me and would be closer to a death warrant than a business deal. Should the other party be willing to sign such a document, then Godspeed to you all."
With that I doffed my non-existent hat and strode through the door. I got in my lovely Renault Scenic (which I sorely miss here in Russia) and drove back to Lady Felicity's country estate, where I told them the sad tale. After being soothed with pots of delicious tea and a lovely repast, I set about attempting to find a replacement for the soured deal, as disappointed and shocked as I was.
After a few false starts, a second property emerged in due time. It was a mountain inn in Tyrol. It was smaller than the first object (only 9 guest rooms as opposed to 26), in a remote location (as opposed to a prime spot on a town square, even if in a less-than-touristy spot in Austria) and had a motivated lessor (a German couple) seeking to give up or transfer their lease due to (supposed) ill-health.
Negotiations stretched out over several months. Lady Felicity's husband Tony cautioned me that Tyrol had a checkered history of poor snowfall (one of the inn's selling points was its immediate prximity to a ski slope and lift). lady Felicity herself said that Tyroleans were cagey beings and to be enjoyed with extreme caution, but none of these auguries seemed serious enough to abandon the project. Additionally, my sister, Lady Marcia of Bruckless, had indicated that due to the recent demise of her husband, she sought a new task in life and would like to invest and become active in the project. Hear, hear!
And so I proceeded. Again, I did my due diligence diligently. I contacted local officials in the village, made inquires as best I could about the character of the current tenants and the owner, researched local law and what grants and enticements might be available for me locally. Finally, I visited the property with Lady Marcia. We were bowled over by its beauty and the friendliness of those involved.
Shortly thereafter, not heeding the caveats of others, papers were signed and I was the proud owner of my own business and operator of a bona fide Tyrolean mountain inn. As the takeover was in the middle of the summer season, I brought with me a trusted friend freed from the bondage of slave labor in Brno, and we went about the take-over.
It became rapidly apparent that the current tenants were not forthright, that a state of war had existed between them and the owner-lessor, and that the path ahead would be laden with obstacles, barriers and hindrances. The property was filthy, no work having been done by the exhausted tenants for several weeks as they had scrambled to find alternative employment in Germany. There was a bitter battle between the owner and the tenants over numerous improvements made which the owner claimed he had paid for and that therefore could not be purchased from the tenants, as is customary...
Perhaps at this point I may be allowed to promise a continuation, as the next 8 months turned out to be more hellish and outrageous than even the two years' endured at the hands of the German Labor Camp division of Lufthansa.
Suffice it to say that in April 2012, both Lady Marcia and I called our inn adventure quits, fleeing at nightfall much like those superb singers, the Family von Trapp of Sound of Music fame had done some 60-odd years before when escaping the Nazis.
After recuperating and resting Germany with some of my best friends in Paderborn, from whence I had started out on the GLC Luftahnsa misadventure in 2009, I was finally able to return to teaching English to hapless foreigners once more, this time in a whole new world - Moscow, capital of the Russian Federation.
More to come
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