I Sleep in Hitler's Room (45 page)

In the tourist information office, I am greeted by two blond models. Everybody in Kampen is a model. I look at them, such a nice sight, and then I leave. I need a cake. I want to see if Kampen has better cakes than Zgorzelec.

The waitress serving me is more of a model than a waitress. I didn’t see the chef, probably a model too. Not a great cook, sad to say. In Zgorzelec the cake was better, hands down.

A ninety-year-old skinny beauty, with her hubby and friend, sit by me.

He puts sugar in his latte. He used to be a sugar commodity trader and he would like to keep the sugar value high, he jokes with me, but he seems to be pretty serious. Funny. I don’t know why, but I’m the only one sitting and laughing. The other people here, the skinny and sexy, have this bitter look on their faces.

Cakes done, it’s time for food, the second part of my personal Trinity. Johannes King is my man today. He is the chef of Söl’ring Hof, Sylt, hotel and restaurant. He tells me of his assets: five suites, ten rooms. At the hotel, an average of 500 euros a night for two includes breakfast, bicycles, wellness, and drinks. Top price: 1,000 euros a night..

“Rudolph Moshammer [the late German design guru] wanted a room the other day but was declined because he wanted to bring his dog, Daisy, with him.”

A Rolls-Royce, from Monaco, leaves the premises as we speak.

Who is that?

“He wanted a room for August next year, but they’re booked.”

Rolls-Royce, by the way, has an agreement with this establishment: They give a car to Johannes for use by his guests. Free of charge. The idea is simple: Let the rich enjoy the car, desire it, and eventually buy one.

Average dinner in this place: 300 euros per person.

“For the restaurant, people reserve four weeks in advance. We teach people how to spend their money.”

So far, the people I saw in Sylt are bitter-looking. Any reason?

“That’s typical German. The joy of life does not express itself automatically on the German’s face. The wallet is important, the auto, and the watch. They are very tense. There can be no scratch on the car, the neighbor should not have a better watch, and they have at least one platinum card. Given those three requirements, how can you find joy in life?

A few elegant women pass by, perfect breast size, skinny like a candle.

Johannes comes back to the Bitter Look issue. He has something to add.

“Look at the eyes of the women and you will understand why the men are bitter.”

As Johannes says this I think of that man from Autostadt who told me that his wife is better than the car because “she is softer.” What would he say to these bone ladies?

Are you happy, Johannes? Are you married?

He is, but “I am rarely home.”

“A happy cook is a better cook. He is more spontaneous. The serious cook looks at one pan. The happy cook looks all over. The serious cook does not taste, the happy cook tastes.”

Time to eat. Dinner today: Black caviar. Each tiny spoon: 38 euros. Appetizers, a selection of, 36 euros. Meat of deer with truffles, 55 euros. Wine: € limitless.

Christina is my waitress, very charming girl. Would she like to marry any of the people here?

“No. They’re snobbish.”

Glasses are poured. Red, white, whatever. Every glass has a different shape.

Why are the shapes different? I ask my wine waitress, Bärbel.

She’s also very charming. Every waitress and waiter here is charming. Part of the experience. Johannes knows how to spoil his rich clients.

“Every wine needs a different glass to bring out the taste,” Bärbel says.

Will the same wine taste different in different glasses?

“Certainly.”

Can we do a test? I’ll blindfold you, so you don’t see the glasses, and then I’ll hold the glasses to your mouth—

“Now?”

Yes.

She blushes. “I’m busy . . . Maybe later.” I can’t believe I said to her what I did. But who cares? I’m rich and everything I say is holy.

The food here, this food critic declares, is worth every penny if you can afford it. Your body will thank you, every limb and organ.

Johannes tells me that I can use the Rolls-Royce if I so desire.

Yes, I knew it all along: I was born to be rich.

Whoever believed that I would leave this country in a Rolls-Royce?! Good to be an Unwilling Capitalist. I convert. Then go to sleep a new man. Thank you, Deutschland. I finally found my purpose in life. I have faith. New faith. Something to die for. G’night. My Rolls-Royce will be waiting for me in the morning. Life is good.

On the morning that follows I wake up to the glorious skies of Sylt and am faced with a hard choice: Should I call Johannes and get my Rolls-Royce, or am I to forget my Rolls-Royce and instead go to the nude beach? Yes, I hear that there is a nude colony here and I, from childhood on, don’t ask me why, love nude people.

This is a tough choice. For the first time in this his life of faith, this new man with the new religion is faced with a choice: Forgo his Rolls-Royce so he can sinfully go to the nude beach, or do good and run for the big car?

Satan makes me do this, as is always the case, and I commit the first crime: I go for the nude.

Well, at least I accomplish the third of my personal Trinity: Sex.

Yes, I know it’s not PC to say this, but I love the sight of young women in their natural form. Love the shape. Love the feel. Love the spirituality of it. To the nude shrine I go.

Yes, my first crime. I feel like Adam. Hope no snake comes my way.

But, as in all religions, sin in this case doesn’t pay off.

I’m at the nude beach of Sylt.

Most of the nudes here are old males or little babies.

The young babes, as we call it in the male chauvinist world, cover their treasures.

Why are these old men so happy to walk in the nude?

Here comes a beautiful lady walking by. She’s almost totally dressed.

O Satan! I am going to get you one day and slaughter you! Yes, I will join the Children of Abraham on Judgment Day and personally kill you with my sword!

Promise!

I could have had such a nice day today! Imagine me and my Rolls-Royce in the city of Sylt! The beautiful and skinny ladies would run after me, so eagerly sharing their beautiful selves with my Royce! Why didn’t I think of it! I could have had a nudist colony inside my Royce.

But no, I had to succumb to Satan’s persuasions. What a fool I am!

Instead of enjoying Royce and the babes, I stand here like a beggar, staring at old men’s wrinkles!

I must ask for forgiveness. Does my new religion offer salvation? Can a man repent and be forgiven?

My new God, the Almighty Euro, offers me a chance. Go to Sansibar, I can clearly hear the voice of the Lord Almighty Euro, and see if they have a Rolls-Royce for you.

Off I go, the repenting Euroist.

As you drive to Sansibar, be advised: There’s no place to park. All the spots are taken. Expensive cars, with bitter-looking rich inside them, eternally wait in long queues. I check all over, but there’s no Rolls-Royce for me in sight. My Lord Almighty Euro was playing with me. Just as the Lord of Israel plays with His Chosen People.

At least let me eat well. I sit down and look at the list. First: the wine list. It’s huge, pages upon pages.

Here’s one that catches my eye: “2001er Château Cheval Blanc, 1er Grand Cru Classé A, Imperial 6,01.” Cost: 6,500 euros. Too big of a bottle? They have a normal-size bottle too, Romanée Conti, Année 2006, for only 4,000 euros.

Herbert Seckler, Mr. Sansibar, comes over to say hello. I want to know how he made it so big. I heard from a member of his staff that during the season they serve an average of four thousand people a day. That’s huge. What’s your secret? I ask him.

“When you come here you feel it, but I can’t describe it . . .”

This Seckler talks like a Picasso. An artist, all of a sudden.

Talk to me, my man!

“I listen to my clients. When they told me that they liked this or that food, I listened. And I gave them what they wanted. And when they said they wanted T-shirts, I made T-shirts for them. My clients tell me what they want, and I give it to them. This is very important. I also listen to my wife. I never changed my wife. We’ve been together thirty years. Maybe that’s the secret. When I started I had no idea it would get like this.”

And . . .?

“I come from a very poor family. My clients are very rich. But listen to this: Not one of them has ever written me into his will. I had to work hard. I didn’t get anything from anybody as a gift.”

What is the typical behavior of a rich client?

“They know what is good service. They order and they don’t complain, ‘Where’s my food?’ if they don’t get it immediately. They know it takes time. It is very German to say that the poor are good and the rich are bad. But it’s not true. I was poor. Now I am rich.”

Do you serve poor people here?

“Sylt is the most beautiful place in Germany. No poor people come to this island. My clients are rich, very rich.”

What makes Good Taste?

“The difference between good and perfect food is very, very small. I have the talent to understand taste, but I cannot explain it in words.”

What do you think of Johannes King? Do you visit his restaurant?

“In the last fifteen years I haven’t visited any other restaurants. Maybe McDonald’s. My children like it.”

How long do you plan to still be working?

“When I walk out of here, it will be to the cemetery.”

What do you think of the German people?

“Germans should not be allowed to wear uniform. You put a uniform on a German, and he changes for the worst. We had a man at the beach here. You know, the man who takes the entrance fee for the beach. For years he worked here. Such a nice man! Then, one day they decided to give him a uniform. He got a hat that had ‘Guard’ on it. From the moment he put that on his head, he changed. He became rude, aggressive, and he chased people. He changed. Totally. They should never have given him the hat. You couldn’t talk to him anymore. He used to be a nice man and now he became a rude man. This is ‘German.’ Something happens to us the moment we wear uniform. I can’t explain this.”

Man of no uniforms, do you have fears? Are you tortured inside?

“I have fears of being poor again, that I might lose it all. I used to have this fear every other night, now I have it every other month.”

How do you deal with it?

“When it happens, when I get a panic attack at night, I get up from my bed and I go to my computer. I look at the numbers and I feel better . . .!”

This Mr. Sansibar knows how to live life and how to enjoy it. He smokes two to three packs of no-filter Gauloises cigarettes daily, is a heavy drinker of Cola Light, and loves bread. He’s overweight, jolly-looking, wears a constant smile, and is a perfect candidate for Macy’s Santa Claus.

He invites me to try his food. I go for the Nordseesteinbutt, a fish portion the size of a tractor. I think I need a bottle of Romanée Conti to go with it. Being the Capitalist that I am.