Germans hiding toasters.

After breakfast on the second day of the cruise I ask Ahmed, my guide, if they could make me some toast—Yes. Just ask tomorrow and they'll make it in the oven for you. I think, what kind of a luxury cruise is this, if there's no toast for breakfast? Next morning I ask the waiter if he could make me some toast. Ahmed is off smoking somewhere, and isn't on hand to translate my request—Toast, Sir?—Yes, you know, bread made brown in the oven. I point to the bread and go through the actions of making toast. I even mime 'hot' and 'crisp'. He brings over another waiter whose english might include this mystery word. He comes over—Can you make me some toast? Once more I explain and mime what I want and he nods and smiles with recognition—Yes, Sir. Toast. A few minutes later a plate containing brownish untoasted bread is brought to my table—No, this is still bread! (Unfortunately, when I speak to non-english speakers, everything tends to be exclamatory.)—See? Still soft! I poke at the bread—Not hot! See?—Yes Sir. I go on—I'm sure the English passengers ask for toast? What about these Germans, don't they ever ask for toast?! I actually say this out loud. I can hear myself, and it's right out of Basil Fawlty's mouth—They bring their own toasters from their homes, Sir—They bring their own toasters?—Yes, Sir. (Clearly they bring something from their homes but it most certainly is not toasters)—OK, shukran.

I really want toast though. Maybe I could go into the kitchen and make some?—Give me that!

Since then, I've been watching the Germans. None of them have toasters. They are probably hiding them in their cabins. Bastards.