A Farewell to Hospitality: Leaving the Industry After Over 25 Years

In hospitality, every interaction is a chance to create a lasting impression—or a lasting nightmare, depending on how things go. Over the past 25 years, I’ve worked everywhere, from sleek 5-star properties to quirky 3-star hotels that could rival Fawlty Towers in their charm (minus Basil’s tantrums, of course). My journey has taken me across the world to Geneva, New York, São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Cape Town, and Lisbon, where I’ve juggled everything from luxury resorts to intimate family-run operations. And believe me, whether you’re managing a massive hotel group or a boutique inn, one thing is universal: hospitality is chaos, artfully disguised as calm.

Being a great host isn’t just about plastering on a smile like some overenthusiastic hotel manager (no offense, Basil Fawlty). It’s about reading the subtle cues—understanding what your guests need before they’ve even had the chance to awkwardly ask for it. A guest heading out the door might not say they need an umbrella, but if you’ve seen a weather forecast, you might just save them from a soggy walk. Or if a couple is clearly struggling to choose a restaurant, offering a little insider tip (without the Basil sarcasm) can turn an ordinary dinner into something memorable.

I’ve led teams in everything from food and beverage to overall operations, and the lessons I’ve learned along the way all come down to one thing: those little moments, those thoughtful actions, can make or break a guest’s experience. Whether you’re in a glittering 5-star hotel in Cape Town or a more ‘characterful’ 3-star gem in Lisbon, the principles of hospitality stay the same—remain calm, remain smiling, even if everything is on fire backstage. The key difference? You’re the gracious host, not Basil throwing tantrums in the kitchen.

Anticipating Guest Needs

A key aspect of hospitality is anticipating what your guest will need before they even ask—because let’s face it, they won’t ask until it’s too late, and by then, it’s a disaster. You see, anticipation is the foundation of exceptional service. Not the kind of anticipation where you think, "I bet they’ll want extra towels." No, I’m talking about next-level clairvoyance. If you know it’s going to rain and your guest is heading out, having an umbrella ready might seem like a small gesture—until you realize you’ve just saved them from a two-hour walk around the city looking like a drowned cat. Suddenly, you’ve gone from anonymous hotel worker to unsung hero, all because you glanced at a weather app.

Or, say your guest has decided to dine at a restaurant where you happen to know the chef. A quick text to the kitchen saying, "Give them the royal treatment," can turn an ordinary evening into something extraordinary. The guest thinks you’ve somehow arranged this dazzling experience just for them (which you have, of course, but without any of the melodrama). All they see is the result: a flawless evening where they’re showered with attention—and all you did was fire off a message in between checking people in and dealing with a missing luggage crisis.

Now, I’ve always emphasized this point with my teams. Empowerment is key, but it’s not about handing out unchecked authority like you’re hosting some corporate version of The Hunger Games. No, it’s about giving people the tools and trust to make decisions—sensible ones, preferably. I tell my team, if something doesn’t cost too much—whether in terms of time, money, or sanity—and it can create a ‘wow’ moment for the guest, go for it. If you’re 70% sure it will work, I say, “Why not? Take the plunge.” After all, we can review the fallout later over coffee (or something stronger, depending on how it went).

This level of trust empowers the team to act in the moment, creating those magical guest experiences that you couldn’t plan for, even if you tried. Because, as we all know, some of the best moments in hospitality are the ones that are completely unplanned—when a guest suddenly requests something outrageous, and your team, with a grin and a nod, makes it happen. No questions asked. Just another day at the office.

Stories from the Field

Over the years, I’ve amassed enough stories from the hospitality trenches to fill several chapters of a Fawlty Towers sequel—though, thankfully, without the psychotic outbursts or unfortunate German jokes. These stories highlight the true power of small gestures and bold decisions, and how they can transform a guest’s experience from mediocre to unforgettable. Sometimes, all it takes is a little initiative—without the chaos of Basil Fawlty running around yelling, “I’m doing my best!”

One instance that stands out involved a guest at a boutique hotel who had been asking for a specific shake and yogurt combo for two days. Due to what I like to call “logistical gremlins”—also known as a lack of stock—we couldn’t provide it. By day three, you could see the mounting frustration on the guest’s face, and the situation was rapidly heading towards the kind of awkward tension Basil Fawlty would handle by insulting the guest and storming off. But no, my team knew better.

One of our receptionists, clearly not content to let this situation spiral into a Fawlty-level disaster, took matters into her own hands. She quietly popped out to a nearby store, bought the shake and yogurt herself, and gifted it to the guest. The result? Immediate satisfaction and the guest went from the brink of Basil-style rage to a glowing review. It wasn’t a grand gesture—just one that showed we cared. Simple, effective, and far less stressful than a miscommunication about horses... or should I say ‘hos’.

Another example involves another receptionist who, after her shift had ended, noticed a group of guests dithering about where to eat. Now, most people would have simply given a few suggestions and waved them on their way, but not this one. Channeling her inner Polly rather than Basil, she decided to personally escort them to a hidden local gem for dinner. No "manual dexterity required," as Basil might have said when attempting a more delicate task.

The guests were absolutely blown away, not just by the food, but by the experience of being taken under the wing of a true local insider. It wasn’t just dinner—it was a story they would tell for years. And let’s face it, in hospitality, you know you’ve done something right when the guests go home with stories about you that don’t end with “and then he hit the waiter with a spoon.”

These are the moments that truly capture what hospitality is about: small, thoughtful gestures and bold, decisive action, without a single fire extinguisher needed.

Leadership and Empowerment

The foundation of any great hospitality experience lies in the team. Now, while it would be entertaining to run a hotel the way Basil Fawlty does—where chaos reigns, and the staff are more likely to flee the premises than deliver five-star service—that’s not exactly the model of success. You see, the trick is to empower your team to make decisions, without the need for tantrums, insults, or, heaven forbid, handling a guest crisis by suggesting they “don’t mention the war.”

I’ve always believed in empowering my team to take action, but here’s the crucial part: they need to know that whatever decision they make within the guidelines I’ve set, I will back them. Think of it as the opposite of Basil’s strategy, where the staff are left wondering if they’ll be berated for serving the wrong wine or for daring to have an opinion. No, in my world, the blame—or credit—rests on me, as it should. If a decision leads to fireworks, I’ll be the one holding the bucket of water, ready to douse the flames.

This leadership style has paid off more times than I can count, though there have been moments where we’ve danced dangerously close to a Fawlty Towers-style disaster. Take, for example, the time at a luxury hotel where one of my receptionists made the rather unfortunate discovery that she’d given away a high-profile guest’s room to someone else. If this had been a Fawlty scenario, there would have been much flailing about, followed by Basil’s trademark “I’m terribly sorry” accompanied by a nervous laugh and an angry guest storming off.

But not in my hotel. My team member, though understandably anxious (and who wouldn’t be in this situation?), decided to take charge. She calmly arranged for a car to transfer the guest to another hotel, made sure his luggage was swiftly moved, and met him personally to apologize. No fainting, no shouting about “despicable circumstances” as Basil might have done. Just calm, collected problem-solving.

The next day, the guest returned. Now, I braced myself for a Fawlty-esque dressing down, but instead, he sought me out and said something that has stuck with me: “Shit happens. But how you handle it makes all the difference.” It was a testament to the power of leadership and the importance of standing behind your team. And let’s be honest, that guest could have easily gone full Fawlty on us, but thanks to the initiative and empowerment I give my team, we turned a potential disaster into a moment of appreciation.

In hospitality, like in comedy, timing is everything—and sometimes, it’s the quiet, decisive actions behind the scenes that make all the difference. No need for fire extinguishers or chaotic misunderstandings—just a well-trained, empowered team delivering results, even when things don’t go exactly to plan.

The Unpredictable Nature of Hospitality

While the seamless service days are always much appreciated, if I’m being honest, those aren’t the days I cherish most. Ask any hotelier or restaurant worker, and they’ll likely admit the same: we thrive in chaos. It’s the unexpected, the unpredictable, and, quite frankly, the borderline absurd situations that we remember most fondly. Sure, a smooth day is nice, but where’s the fun in that? Chaos keeps us sharp, and those chaotic days are, without a doubt, among our favorites.

Take one New Year’s Eve, for example. There I was, playing the role of night auditor, peacefully closing out the books in pencil (yes, pencil), when a guest arrived just shy of midnight. I offered him the high rack rate—because, of course, it was New Year’s Eve and everything was at a premium—and to my surprise, he accepted without hesitation. So far, so seamless. And then came the curveball. In a thick accent, the guest asked if he could “bring a horse” into the hotel.

Naturally, I assumed there’d been some sort of mix-up in translation. Politely, I explained that, no, animals—especially large—were not permitted indoors. But he was insistent, almost incredulous that we wouldn’t accommodate his ‘horse.’ Now, at this point, visions of Basil Fawlty trying to manage a rogue stallion in the lobby began dancing in my head, and I wondered if perhaps I’d wandered into an unscripted episode of Fawlty Towers.

Eventually, after a few minutes of arguing, I followed the guest outside to his car, a Ferrari, bracing myself for the sight of a very confused horse tied up to the bumper. Instead, he gestured toward the passenger seat, where a woman sat, and said, “Why can’t I bring my ‘horse’ in?” Ah. Suddenly, all became clear. His ‘horse’ was, in fact, not an animal at all, but rather a lady of the night. A bit of laughter followed as you’d imagine, but the situation was resolved with minimal fuss—and, thankfully, no actual livestock.

Another delightful day in the world of hospitality involved a guest who checked into his private room in the very upscale hotel with his girlfriend for a romantic getaway. A few hours later, his wife unexpectedly arrived at the reception desk, blissfully unaware of her husband’s early check-in with, let’s say, alternative company. Now, this could have escalated into full Basil Fawlty mode—a comedic whirlwind of running, shouting, and misplaced accusations—but, unlike dear Basil, we handled it with a touch more finesse.

I kindly asked my colleague to assist the lady with her check-in and went running upstairs with my manager. In true hospitality fashion, we bundled the girlfriend into a laundry cart, covered her with towels and linens, and discreetly wheeled her out of the room as if we were simply taking care of the day’s dirty laundry. Meanwhile, the wife headed upstairs, crossed by us pushing the laundry trolley, to meet her husband, completely unaware of the near-miss disaster she’d just avoided. A perfect exit, no fuss, no mess, no drama—well, not for us, at least.

It’s days like these, where chaos reigns supreme, that sticks with us. It’s where hospitality workers get to flex their problem-solving muscles and laugh at the absurdity of it all. After all, in this industry, it’s the chaos we secretly love—those moments when you’re balancing ten things at once, yet still managing to keep it all together. As Basil Fawlty might say, “If it wasn’t for the guests, we’d have no problems at all.” But then again, where’s the fun in that?

Lessons Learned

If there’s one golden rule I’ve learned in hospitality, it’s this: no matter how chaotic things are behind the scenes, your guest should never know it. While you might be dealing with a situation worthy of a Fawlty Towers episode—imagine Manuel running around the kitchen, Basil fuming in the lobby, and Sybil on the phone to an irate guest—the goal is to maintain an outward sense of calm. Smile serenely, nod attentively, and, above all, never let the guest see that things are falling apart like a poorly planned hotel extension. If Basil Fawlty had mastered this, Fawlty Towers would have been a completely different show—and probably far less entertaining.

In hospitality, you quickly learn that chaos is part of the job description. The kitchen might be on fire (metaphorically, one hopes), a VIP guest might have just discovered their room has been double-booked, and half the staff might have disappeared for a “quick smoke break”—but the guest? The guest should be none the wiser. You stay calm, keep smiling, and listen to what the guest needs as if the world isn’t burning behind you.

Managing these moments is all about empathy and adaptability. Sometimes, it’s about finding a creative solution to a guest’s problem before they even realize they have one. Other times, it’s about owning up to a mistake and turning it around with a solution so seamless, the guest ends up feeling like royalty. This is where Basil Fawlty often went wrong—he was so busy deflecting blame and pointing fingers that he missed the crucial part of hospitality: making people feel special, even when things go awry.

Through all these years, I’ve come to realize that every single interaction in hospitality holds the potential for something extraordinary. Whether it’s the guest asking for a shake and yogurt we didn’t have, or the time we had to pull off the great girlfriend-in-a-laundry-cart escape, these moments are what make hospitality both challenging and, oddly enough, rewarding. They’re also the stories I’m gathering for a book I hope to write one day—filled with the chaos, humor, and unforgettable moments that define life in this industry. Think Fawlty Towers, but with a few more success stories and less shouting about "not mentioning the war."

At the end of the day, hospitality isn’t just about serving food or providing a place to sleep. It’s about making people feel special—guests, colleagues, suppliers, even the neighbors who occasionally complain about the noise from that wedding that ran a bit too late. If you can do that, if you can make people feel like they matter, then you’re already ahead of the game. It’s not about perfection; it’s about connection. And perhaps that’s the one thing Basil Fawlty and I would agree on (albeit reluctantly on his part): hospitality, done right, is an art.

What about tomorrow?

After more than 25 years in the hospitality industry, I’ve seen it all. From the smooth, seamless days when everything runs like clockwork (though, let’s be honest, those are few and far between) to the chaotic, utterly unpredictable days that remind you why you love this industry in the first place. I’ve worked in luxury resorts, boutique hotels, and family-run establishments across the globe, witnessing every kind of guest interaction, staff crisis, and logistical challenge you can imagine.

The title of this article might suggest I’m about to hang up my hospitality hat and walk away from the industry for good. After all, 25 years is a long time. Maybe I’ve had enough of late-night check-ins, last-minute event changes, and, yes, guests asking if they can “bring their horse” into the hotel. Perhaps, after a quarter of a century of making people feel special, I’m ready to say goodbye.

But here’s the truth.

Hospitality is like a beautifully chaotic dance that never quite ends. You think you’ve stepped away, only to be pulled back in by the excitement of another unpredictable day. The smooth service days are nice, sure—but they aren’t the ones I’ll look back on fondly. It’s the chaos, the creativity, the human connection that I thrive on. Deep down, I think all of us in this industry do. We live for the moments when everything seems on the verge of unraveling, and yet, somehow, we pull it together and make it work.

The stories that stay with me are the ones where the unexpected happened, and quick thinking turned what could have been a disaster into a win. 

Moments like these described above are the heart and soul of hospitality. They’re what makes this industry endlessly fascinating—and just a little bit addictive. No matter how chaotic things get behind the scenes, the guest should never feel it. They should leave feeling like they’ve had a perfect experience, even if you’ve spent the last hour putting out fires (figuratively speaking—hopefully).

Over the years, I’ve learned that hospitality is not just about service; it’s about people. Guests, colleagues, suppliers, neighbors—they’re all part of the fabric of this industry. And the most important lesson I’ve learned? It’s that making these people feel special, valued, and taken care of is the real essence of hospitality. When you can do that, you’ve already succeeded.

So, as I reflect on 25 years in this industry, you might expect me to say farewell. But the truth is, I can’t. Because of these experiences—these chaotic, challenging, and unforgettable moments—I can’t be away from hospitality. I don’t see myself ever truly leaving it. It’s in my blood, in my very DNA.

So, here’s to another 25 years, or however long I can keep running from one delightful disaster to the next. Because, in the end, I’m not saying goodbye to hospitality. I’m saying, “See you tomorrow.”