It was 2017 and I was working as an operations manager in a small restaurant and, naturally, I thought I knew everything about hospitality. Or at least enough to survive anywhere in the world.

My English? Perfect. Straight A’s. Top of the class.

In reality? Let’s just say school English and real-life English are two very different sports.

Then I got my first job abroad.

Through an agency, I landed a position on a river cruise hotel ship in Germany. We were sailing along the Moselle and the Rhine—beautiful landscapes, vineyards, sunsets… the full postcard experience.

For about three days.

After that, it turned into a floating survival camp with table service.

I went there with a friend, both of us full of excitement. New country, new people, big adventure. Within a week, I realized two important things:

1. I didn’t know nearly as much about hospitality as I thought.
2. I understood about 60% of what people were saying—and that was on a good day.

The job was brutal. Long shifts, constant pressure, and somehow, every single night ended in heavy crew parties. Which sounds amazing—until you realize you still have to function the next morning.

“Work hard, party harder” sounds cool on Instagram. In reality, it’s a fast track to exhaustion.

I lasted three weeks.

Three.

Then I quit. Packed my things, took my pride (what was left of it), and left the ship thinking, “Well… that didn’t go as planned.”

Next stop: logistics.

I got a job at BMW in Bavaria. Everything was clean, structured, efficient. You could probably eat off the floor. No chaos, no shouting, no drunk guests asking for “just one more drink.”

And I hated it.

Turns out, I don’t belong in a warehouse. I need people. Noise. Movement. A bit of controlled chaos. The kind of chaos where someone orders three beers, forgets two, and then complains about all of them.

After six months, I did the only logical thing.

I went back to the ship.

Yes. Voluntarily. :D

This time as a bartender, and in a much smarter setup—“boat and bike.” Guests would disappear all day on cycling trips, so they only had half board. Compared to the previous all-inclusive madness, this felt like a part-time job.

Suddenly, I wasn’t drowning anymore. I could actually breathe. Even enjoy it.

And I did.

The Netherlands completely got under my skin. One season turned into another, and before I knew it, I spent seven years coming back. Five of those as a hotel manager.

How did that happen?

Simple. I was young, ambitious, and slightly obsessed with the officer’s uniform. It looked important. I wanted it. That was pretty much the strategy. :D

But before all that, there was one more detour.

Winter came. Season over. Big question: what now?

Going home and doing nothing was not an option. I wanted to learn how to snowboard. So I thought—Austria.

Small issue: I didn’t speak German. Not even a little.

Solution? Confidence. And Google Translate.

After sending a series of emails that would probably qualify as modern abstract art, I somehow convinced a hotel in Saalbach to hire me.

To this day, I respect their courage.

Imagine hiring a waiter who doesn’t know how to say “knife” or “fork.” That was me. Smiling confidently, bringing completely the wrong things, hoping no one notices.

But here’s the thing—I learned fast.

Today, I speak German fluently. No accent. Full conversations, business level, everything.

Back then? Pure “fake it till you make it.”

And honestly—it works more often than it should.

Looking back, none of this was a straight line. It was more like controlled chaos with occasional good decisions.

I quit too early. Then came back. I chose the wrong job. Then corrected it. I spoke languages I didn’t actually speak.

But that’s kind of the point.

You think you’re ready—you’re not. You think you’re not ready—you’re still not. But you go anyway.

And somehow, step by step, you figure it out.

Usually the hard way.

Which, unfortunately, is also the one that works.