Sketchy observations at breakfast in a hotel · Part 2
Riva del Garda

February has recently been written on the calendar. This year, too, our longing for peace and calmness has led us to Lake Garda. The solitude in nature has something religiously healing about it. Once again, we spend the nights in Riva del Garda.

At this time, the place is trying to recover and is no longer an apocalyptic summer hell caused by mass tourism. The locals are clearly breathing a sigh of relief.

Like last year, we are standing in the hotel waiting for the Capo Cameriere at the entrance to his stage, the large dining room. It's nice that both still exist! The luxurious style of the house is set by him. We recognize each other. He accompanies us to the table, smiles, and turns the cups with the openings facing upwards. Prego. Grazie.

The huge vases and soup bowls with heavy lids are still enthroned under the two blinded mirrors. Have these blue-painted showpieces ever been used?

What an interesting parade at the buffet. Self-lovers next to insecure people. Ants running around looking for help are less likely to be out and about.

I was just imagining how Heinrich Mann once dined here in Riva in the early 19th century in Dr. von Hartungen's sanatorium, neatly dressed and well-coiffed with a freshly twirled moustache. The dress code has changed somewhat since Mann's time.

Today, in 2024, new styles seem to be shaping the situation here. One covers all generations, regardless of body size, in black, extremely figure-hugging, shiny clothing and, if possible, if not already naturally gifted, the hair is also dipped in deep black. A lady at the next table described the second trend as 'Garbage Bag Generation'. She said that many resemble a Michelin Man with twenty hips. In her opinion, long, straight, blow-dried blonde hair is a must. A third trend is limited to the female world. It is the stylish covering with a kind of tablecloth with long threads entwining it. Occasionally I see patterns that I recognize from my grandmother's living room. But Art Nouveau ornaments are also becoming popular. Also: women like to wrap themselves in brightly coloured teddy fur. Sporty platform shoes and flared trousers with sewn-in triangles are back in fashion.

Older men, barefoot in fluorescent slippers, look down expressionlessly at the friendly staff. Why do some go to breakfast wearing brightly coloured, reflective sunglasses and striped dressing gowns? What are these creatures trying to tell us? Younger people wear dark hoods and mimic gloomy looks at the start of the day.

A potbellied man with the gait of a professional boxer tries to order a plate of fried eggs in German-Italian from the friendly waitress with the dark complexion. Her dazzling smile surpasses everything. We call her 'The Sphinx'. She attentively hands a toddler a napkin. While eating yoghurt, his face was smeared up to his ears.

Freshly creamed faces shine under the chandeliers every morning. Extremely long colored fingernails, also known as hooker nails, are very trendy. Everyone is trying to be young and beautiful beyond the point of embarrassment. This year there are more freshly painted ladies with Botox lips. What kind of strange fashion is that? Which internet portal, which TV station has talked them into that? Why do they destroy the lives they have lived in their faces? Even eighteen-year-old girls' faces are on their way to becoming duck-billed.

In contrast, the older lady with no makeup and short gray hair at the small table next to me seems incredibly beautiful. She gives me a quick smile. I happily return it. Did she just guess my thoughts?

A rather plump lady drops a roll she just took from the buffet from her plate. She takes another and continues to float over to the coffee machines with her head held high. My gaze turns to the waiter next to her.

From a great distance, a man calls out the word 'cake' to his wife. The guests' eyes search for his darkly dressed wife, whose delicate bottom is embroidered with several hundred glass beads. A small tot standing behind her smiles at the swinging of the sparkling stars. Fashion is not afraid of anything.

For ten minutes, a beautiful woman with wildly teased red hair has been lecturing her partner in a very audible manner. He is eating his fourth roll without making any facial expressions. Will he go on holiday alone next year?

A young person wearing colourful make-up is sitting opposite us. Her long, painstakingly styled right lock of hair is dipping into her coffee while she is eating. Her boyfriend is amused. He hands her his napkin.

A waitress comes to our table wearing a white shirt, dark waistcoat and black bow tie. 'E tutto ok?' Today, a crimson bow shines in her upswept hair. Yesterday it was a light blue one. There is something hypnotically demanding about her proud look. On the first day, we christened her 'The Proud Spaniard'.

A small man with short legs and a beautifully blow-dried forelock has just entered the breakfast scene. In which country might he be a bank director? The words 'NASA' shimmer conspicuously on the shirt of another man with a grey head. I murmur quietly to my wife: 'He's never been to the moon.'

The huge buffet is brightened up by porcelain figures. There are two parrots among the fruits, and here a white turkey at the chocolate squeezer. The highlight is a beautiful rooster at the jam dispensers, puffing itself up when it crows. Big girl eyes look up at him in amazement. Perhaps the little one wishes he would crow the word 'jam' for her. Reverently, as if receiving a wafer, guests are waiting at the kitchen counter for their freshly fried eggs.

Italy has one of the greatest musical treasures. Why are the same badly covered hits being played here too, as they are every evening in the restaurants in the old town. The only advantage they have is that no GEMA fees have to be paid. What a sad victory for arbitrariness.

Next table, a very thin old man takes a photo of his well-filled fruit plate and posts it straight away. In my mind, he is the father of the male house-elf Dobby from Joanne K. Rowling's Potter stories.

At one of the window tables I spot a bitter old woman with dark circles under her eyes. Her gaze makes me see a black and white crime story. In it, three days ago, she lustfully killed her last lover with a cheese knife at breakfast. With relief, she immediately buried him in the basement of her terraced house in Mecklenburg. A good reason to go on this vacation in a relaxed manner. At the moment, trusted craftsmen are laying heavy Carrara floor tiles in the basement of her house. With a grey apron and shining eyes, a waiter asks if he can clear the empty plates. She does not react.

A child cries in a stroller at the entrance. The mother hands him her smartphone. There is immediate silence. She hands over the upbringing to a machine. Her husband picks up his phone. 'Mom, the food is delicious. How is the weather in Sicily? Yes, I'll send you a photo of your granddaughter! No, I won't forget. I promise.'

With his hair skillfully pinned up, a good-looking Rasta man reminds me of a fountain. Sunglasses in his hair emphasize his never-ending coolness.

A young man appears at the entrance, pushing his mother, who is sitting in a wheelchair. He has a gentle smile on his face and she has a red paper flower in her hair. Behind them, a woman waits confidently, wearing a photo of herself from her youth on her printed T-shirt. This tempts the viewer to constantly compare.

A middle-aged woman walks backwards around the cake table in a rigid posture. At the end of the second round, she reaches for it. She carries the small piece of 'Torta di mele' to the table like a gold bar. The slit on the right side of her red dress reaches down to her hips. Her husband stares unperturbed into his smartphone.

A little girl with tousled short hair strolls with her teddy bear to the table where her family is waiting for her. The Sphinx asks if she should get a high chair for the big stuffed animal. The little girl shakes her head and says no, giggles briefly with a pursed mouth at the idea and thinks about it. Now she curiously walks around all the stations of the buffet, marvels at the technology of the machines, hurries back to the table, takes her parents' drink order and immediately skillfully pours juices and coffee. She proudly plays the role of the waitress in a Grand Hotel.

A tall man of retirement age stands helplessly in front of the delicious surplus on offer, as if petrified. He is completely overwhelmed. His wife has surely been serving him everything in the same pattern at the breakfast table at home for decades. Finally returning with the edible spoils at the assigned table, the couple remains silent for half an hour. Now they stride out into the sunny day, bored.

This year, too, there are unusual tattoos to admire. I see a delicious burger on the thigh of a woman wearing a short skirt. What is she trying to say to her young, bearded friend? 'Look at how appetizing I am!' Or: 'Take a bite, old man!' I look at the neck of an elderly mother with equal astonishment. She has the word 'Family' majestically engraved on her back. In my mind I see a retirement home with the flickering advertising sign 'PunkHotel Over 90s', where ancient, hard-of-hearing people with tasteful full-body tattoos listen to punk music blaring. The young staff wear earplugs.

Young people from a sports club now walk in a line towards the buffet. Overtired faces tell of a night of drinking. The football shirts have the colourful lettering SC Landgut. On their backs they advertise for a cattle breeder. Even old people with visible back problems appear in sporty clothes today. There is no apparent connection to the footballers' training camp.

An over-styled blonde with a beautiful long neck excitedly waves over a waiter. Her well-trained husband stands up and is outraged about the lack of pepper at the table. The hungry bodies now curl up for a quarter of an hour to devote themselves to their smartphones. She shows him new cat photos every three minutes. He appears lifeless and unimpressed. With a sparing nod of his head, he decides to go back to the coffee machines.

I often feel like a bum who spends the whole day analytically observing people. Now the masses are leaning shortsightedly towards their smartphones. They don't speak to their partners, they look past them without emotion. Why do the majority live the life of supposedly social media and not the life they share in the here and now? What compulsive mechanisms are behind these addictive devices?

Black glasses from last year are still very present on the noses of the international guests. This year they are even bigger and more angular. The time will come when everyone will wear oversized computer glasses. The companies will make them believe that it makes sense to get chipped, because this is the only way the thoughtless consumer can do without his annoying smartphone. Herds of remote-controlled people will then wander through this world like zombies.

At the sight of a baby, the Capo Cameriere immediately fetches the high chair and charmingly starts a conversation with the parents. Italians are spontaneously ecstatic at the sight of a bambino. Ageing men enjoy presenting their grandchildren. Others hold out a finger and hope that they will take it. The Sphinx likes to stick out her tongue with a smile and waits for a response. Cheeks are stroked, bellies tickled, relatives make sampled bubbling noises with their index finger and lower lip bringing joy to the faces of guests at the next table. Why don't we treat old people in the same way? That would also be entertaining and would please my old spirit. Oh, a pensioner, a pensioner...

There is a reason why people in the hall are smiling at me today. They recognize the wine drinker from the roundabout. Mauro, a heavyset 54-year-old, likes to sit on the park bench at the roundabout not far from the hotel with a ghetto blaster and old music when the weather is good. Here he plays his music loudly for the passers-by and is happy when they are happy. We met for the first time last year. He is the most unusual DJ I have ever met.

Occasionally I sit down with him with a glass of wine and we chat about music from the past. He presents his hits. He waves to passers-by, cyclists and drivers: 'Listen and remember my friend Caruso!' Or: 'We all love Verdi, yes, it is the music, not the money and not the politics, that makes us happy! Friends, remember that when you love!' Even the Carabinieri wave to us, the singers waving their glasses. The hotel staff of course recognize the huge red wine glasses from their bar.

Mauro plays a love song by Vittorio Belleli, 'Cosa Farai di Me' from 1942. The title line is 'What will you do with me?' The lyrics say 'When I think of your love, I tremble - Pensando al tuo amor, tremo'. A young couple strolls past us, hugging. Mauro calls out to them. 'Good day, my beauties. Mama Mia, boy, what a tender creature you hold in your arms. My compliments to her mother!' It's a pity that Vittorio Belleli cannot attend this spectacle today. I would have gladly stolen a third glass for the Maestro. For me, it is too entertaining an absurd theater, which did not go unnoticed by the hotel guests and the Liberty staff. Since I recently wore Mauro's hat, the staff secretly call me 'The Mexican'.

As we leave the breakfast room, Maurizio, the new head waiter, shakes our hands. I had recently told him that we were leaving today. Goodbye, Manfredi, see you next year. The Spanish woman smiles a charming 'Ciao' at me. The Sphinx is also at her side. Now I dare to say it to her: 'We love your smile. Arrivederci, Grazie.'

Text © MWJ, Wismar, 29/02/2024
Photo above © Bärbel Koppe 2024, Riva del Garda and Torbole