Cemeteries, Oktoberfest and Nymphenburg -- Munich, Germany

"To be old can be glorious if one has not unlearned how to begin."

~Martin Buber 

I'm starting this post from my host's living room in Munich, Germany. My mind feels fuzzy and all I want to do is sink back into the white couch, pull a lime green blanket over me, and fall back to sleep.

But I know I ought to write. Even if it's a little and even if it's entirely uninteresting. Because when I don't write for a few days, I begin to feel overwhelmed and frustrated and guilty and then I prefer to believe that writing is something I only like a little and should only bother with when it suits me.

But writing is my passion, and I should bother with it always. Not only when it suits me.

I'm starting this post from my host's living room in Munich, Germany... and I don't know how to start. I could be a broken record and keep repeating, "I'm starting this post from -- " until something else comes out. That's what we did in university when studying the Meisner technique.

I'm starting this post...

I'm starting this post...

I'm star --

My eyelids keep drooping and my chin falls into my chest as consistently and rhythmically as the ticking of the round metal clock by the door.

Three walls are white.

One is lemon cream.

Potted plants are everywhere -- on the glass coffee table, the wooden stereo shelf, the black windowsill.

A quartz wind chime dangles between the two gauzy curtains, accented with green and crumpled slightly.

I feel ashamed that my two bags look like they've erupted, exploded, natural disastered all over my host's spotless, stylish living room.

Oh well.

Traveling to Munich from Frankfurt took nearly as long as traveling to Frankfurt from Nice. Julia dropped me off at the train station in Bad Munster at 10:15 and I arrived at the Munich apartment at 20:00.

I really hated watching Julia leave.

The train ride was uneventful (the best way for train rides to be) because Julia made sure I boarded the correct train and the last stop was my stop. I spent the hour carelessly, distractedly reading a PG Wodehouse novel on my kindle and watching the scenery go by. When we finally trundled into Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof, I carefully grabbed my bags from the overhead (doing my best not to clobber anyone on the face with my green rolling suitcase), and confidently strode into the station. I had over an hour to locate the stop for city2city bus, so I moved slowly through the throngs of rushing Germans. Once again, I enjoyed the sensation of being in a city I already knew. I might have even thrown a swagger into my walk as I strolled off to information to ask where the city2city stop was.

I might have had no idea where city2city departed from, but I knew where to find the information desk. That alone was enough to give me a swagger.

The lady at information looked suspiciously similar to the lady who'd given me the wrong gate number for trip from Frankfurt to Bad Munster, but I smiled politely and asked my question anyway.

"City to city? Za bus?" she seemed confused.

"Yes, the bus. Do you know where I can find the stop?"

"City to city?

"Yes, can you please tell me where to find the stop?"

"The buses are outside by terminal one. To za right." 

"Will the city2city stop be there?" I wanted to make absolutely certain, regardless of how annoying I became.

"Yes, zat is vhere za buses are. Outside of terminal one and to za right."

So I purposefully marched towards the exit near terminal one, giving myself all the metaphorical pats on the back (and maybe a few real ones) for finding my waiting area over an hour ahead of time. My ticket said "gate 7-9", and I promptly found a sign that said city2city 7-9, but it had a few words in German that I didn't understand (of course) and an odd "ze zint hier" marking that seemed rather odd.

Oh well. I have an hour. I'll just have a seat and ask other people whether or not they're going to Munich. But this should be right... ach. I wish I could read that bit of German. My life would be so much simpler. 

So I sat. And I waited. I didn't want to ask right away whether or not my bus stop companions were waiting for city2city because I seriously doubted that anyone other than myself would arrive an hour early. So I pulled out my kindle and tried to ignore the nagging in the back of my mind going, going, going"Aimee... you're in the wrong place. You are SO in the wrong place," and the pressure building up in my bladder going, going, going "Aimee -- why the HELL didn't you pee on the train where it was free? Are you stupid? You're in Europe. Pee for free whenever possible."

I finally gave in to the pressure of my bladder and mournfully handed over an entire euro for the right to use the train station restroom.

That's 20 percent of my daily budget. I just spent 20 percent of my budget so that I could relieve myself. Come on, Bourget. Plan better.

I returned to the suspicious 7-9 stop, sat myself down and ate some cheese and an apple I'd brought from Billie's. No sooner had I finished my lunch, than a homeless looking man with a bike rolled toward me and started jabbering away in German. I smiled politely and said, " I don't speak German, I'm sorry."

"Anglish?"

"Yes, I speak English."

"You are waitink for za bus?"

"Yes."

"I only ask because zis is a..." he struggled for the words, "I only ask because zis is a new sink. Za train used to have... have za rights to long distance travel. Only trains. Vhere are you goingk?"

"To Munich," this fellow was interesting enough, but the blood on his face and the overly assertive manner in which he comported himself didn't make me want to encourage conversation.

"To Munich! Ah! and how much for za ticket?"

"Eight euros."

"Eight euros? EIGHT EUROS? Nein!" His eyes turned into dinner plates and he shook his bloodied head in disbelief, "Ach! For za train, it is EIGHTY."

"Which is why I take the bus."

"Za bus... zat is a new sink. Do you know vhy za train used to have... za rights to long travel?"

"No."

"Ach, vell -- "

And the bizarre little man launched into a story of EPIC nature, telling me all about the public/private aspects of German travel, how America bombed certain cities in Germany and left others unscathed because we wanted them for ourselves, how America invaded other countries for their iron and steel and how America has been spying on Germany for years.

I nodded and smiled and inserted the occasional "wow, really?" to this barrage. I didn't disagree with any of his accusations (I'm the least patriotic lady in the world) -- I just don't particularly enjoy it when complete strangers approach me at bus stops, find out I'm American, and start telling me how awful my country is.

Ach.

He talked at me for forty-five minutes. I was starting to panic near the end of his spiel, I haven't had the chance to ask anyone whether or not this is the real stop...

"Before you go," I pleaded with the scruffy man who'd talked my ear off, "can you please tell me what this sign says? I think I'm in the right place, but I'm not sure."

Instead of answering my question, the chatty German just told me to, "make sure to ask za driver to go to Munich. Just say "Munich?" because most of za bus drivers are not speaking English or German. Was nice meeting you."

Damn. This is SO not the right place. I glared at the uncouth lout who'd stolen my time and at the fat "touring" bus squatting in the area where my city2city bus should have been. So with five minutes until departure, I frantically assaulted people with, "do you know where city2city leaves from?" "City2city?" AHHHH!

I finally ran into a couple of Turkish looking chaps who told me, "Gate 7-9? That's way around the corner on the other side."

1 minute to go. I sprinted. Upon rounding the corner, I saw a few people with suitcases standing under a city2city bus sign.

But no bus.

"DID THE BUS ALREADY LEAVE?" I panted/yelled/screamed in unapologetic English. The frail looking women there glanced at me in amusement and horror before giving their heads a slight shake.

"OH, GOOD," I continued to heave. "I've been waiting at the wrong place for over an hour because a crazy person wouldn't stop talking to me."

And yes, I do realize how crazy I looked to those poor old ladies.

The bus drive was 6 hours. But 6 hours in pleasant seats, good air conditioning, plenty of leg room and free internet.

Why don't more people do this?

The German countryside was gorgeous, and I loved that I was in the bus long enough to watch the sun set behind the verdant rolling hills. There were several of the "god, this can't be real" moments that positively took my breath away.

I rolled into the Hackerbruecke station at 19:00. After wandering back and forth for a few minutes, I found my way to the S-Bahn and took the train to Hauptbahnhof. My host's instructions had told me to take the U2 to Geising, but for the life of me, I couldn't find how to get to the U2. I went up and down the escalators so many times that people must have thought I was doing it for kicks, stumbled to and fro in front of the same people finishing their same cup of coffee. I felt foolish and tired. I asked a few people how to get to U2, but the only answer I got was from a tall, short-haired woman who spoke English with a Boston accent. She took me to the top of the escalator and then sent me right back down, telling me not to "lose hope," to "be positive," and to "keep my chin up," but giving me no further help.

Tiredness was melting into surliness and frustration. Well, what else can I do? I have to keep asking people until I get there." 

"Excuse me, do you speak English?" I asked an adorable, petite black girl.

"Yes, of course," she smiled, the enormous gap in her front teeth making her look even more adorable.

"Can you tell me how to get to the U2? I've been looking for at least twenty minutes and I have no idea where I'm supposed to be going."

"Well, you...umm... it's hard to explain. I'll just take you there."

"Really? My goodness, thank-you so much. I appreciate it."

And my sweet Ugandan guide led me straight to my stop, helped me purchase the ticket and made sure I got on the train going the right direction.

"Thanks again," I said as she got ready to leave, "You really made my day. I would have never found this on my own."

I really wouldn't have. The Munich Hauptbahnhof was incredibly convoluted and the signage was a disaster. It's a station where you really have to know where you're going beforehand.

The rest of the trip was fine. I got off at Geising and my host's directions worked perfectly. Even for me. However, I arrived an hour before he told me he'd be home, so I spent the time walking up and down the streets near his apartment.

It's the part of town where you have to look for things to like. I was a bit disappointed. Everyone had told me how beautiful Munich was, but this... this just felt bland.

After my hour of walking and 10 hours of traveling, I rang my host's doorbell.

Bespectacled and smiling, he gave me a warm hug, felt my sweaty back, and promptly sent me to the shower -- telling me I could use whatever bathroom products I wanted.

My god, one of the absolute best things about traveling so long is the moment when you finally arrive, throw your bags to the ground, stretch your back, flex your wrists and then rush to the toilet.

Washing the bus and train and subway (and remaining bits of alpaca and white dog) away felt amazing. As I stood in the shower, I noticed that all the products contained aloe vera... aloe vera shampoo, aloe vera conditioner, aloe vera body wash. Stepping out of the shower, I noticed the aloe vera toothpaste, aloe vera moisturizer and aloe vera soap.

 Huh, I didn't know aloe vera was such a versatile plant, I thought as I rubbed the strange smelling lotion into my face. Mom only used aloe on us when we were lobster red from sunburn.

I emerged from the bathroom a new lady, scented with aloe and not with alpaca.

"Are you feeling better?" my host inquired as he heard the door open and shut.

"So much."

"Are you hungry? I have some salmon."

"My goodness, salmon would be great. I am actually a little hungry," I lied to sound more ladylike and less demanding. I was a LOT hungry. I'd only eaten cheese and apple and coffee that day. Salmon sounded fantastic to my grumbling, put-out belly. So I sat down in the clean, extremely well-organized kitchen and demolished (as slowly as possible) the plate of smoked salmon, goat cheese, and arugula the generous, quirky chap set before me. As he used to be a bartender, he revealed a drawer brimming with various liqueurs and prepared a stellar cocktail.  

My god, this is good, I sipped the drink and then tried to rub an angry knot out of my right shoulder.

"How is your back?" his brow furrowed in concern from across the kitchen table.

"Eh... it hurts a little. I spent ten hours traveling today."

"Ten hours? Oh my! After we finish the cocktail, I will give you a massage."

Sometimes couchsurfing looks just a little bit like heaven.

However... sometimes heaven can be a bit sketchy. My host seemed like a welcoming, pleasant person, but the touching definitely carried on after the massage in a way that felt too intimate for my liking -- and I didn't know how to react.

Should I confront him? Should I tell him that he's sitting just a bit too close on the couch for comfort? I'm not ready to have his arm around me like this. Should I just bear it and try to make the best out of this situation whilst discouraging further advances? He's been so generous with me... I feel guilty criticizing him. Maybe he doesn't realize it's a bit much. Maybe it's a personality or a culture thing or... agh. I don't know.

His couchsurfing profile had said that the surfer would sleep on a couch in the living room, but it quickly became apparent that he expected the surfer to share his bed. As I'd done this before in Frankfurt with absolutely zero awkwardness or sexual tension, the idea of sharing a bed didn't bother me too much. I just wished he'd mentioned it on his profile. So I slipped into bed next to him (with my own blanket on a clearly defined "side") and tried to go to sleep. He rested his hand on my stomach for a few moments before wishing me a good night. I tried to believe it wasn't weird.

The night was less than good. I woke up at two in the morning and headed to the loveseat in the living room.

Why is it so difficult for me to maintain boundaries? Why am I so terrified of offending people? I berated myself as I checked my facebook, email and other accounts.  I suppose I'm afraid because I'm at this person's mercy. If I offend, I could be kicked out on the street and have no place to stay for the night. And he really is a nice guy... helpful and genuine and... and just too... familiar. 

The next day, after drinking a shot of aloe vera juice and eating some grapes, my host drove me to a beautiful rose garden not too far from his apartment. We meandered through the mostly dead (but still beautiful) garden for a few minutes, after which he went back to his apartment to prepare some documents for a client and I continued walking into the city. But he promised to meet with me near the city center at 15:00.

I had five hours to get lost in Munich.

Here are pictures from my adventure -- in no particular order.

The remnants of Oktoberfest. I had hoped to be in Munich for the tail end of it (it is Oktoberfest, after all), but the festivities culminated on October 6th. When I was in Frankfurt. C'est dommage, but maybe next time. This gives me another excuse to return to Germany.

The street market (open every day but Sunday) was lovely. You can purchase everything from the cute little shops-- sausages, cheese, pretzels and hanging chocolate hearts. Of course, if you're me, you just lust after everything in the cute little shops and really feel the severe limitations of your five euro per day budget.

Wasabi Cheese. I so wanted to try it.

I admire the runners in Europe. I see so many of them. They're almost as prolific as castles and churches and good cheese.

Klaus recommended I stop by this cemetery on my way to the remnants of Oktoberfest. I was a bit unenthusiastic about the proposal at first (a cemetery is a cemetery, right?), but I am so glad I followed his suggestion and walked through the ancient graveyard.

Jesus has nice toes. I wish I had toes like Jesus.

Note to family: Please do not put something like this on my tombstone.

I'm sure they had a very happy marriage.

Note to family: feel free to put something like this on my tombstone.

I wonder how she died...

I like that they look like grandfather clocks. I think it's remarkably appropriate.

Cemeteries are interesting because you can walk and wonder. Walk and wonder about the lives of the hundreds, thousands of bodies decaying/decayed beneath you. You can make up stories about how they lived and died, and ponder how people will remember you when you're decaying beneath them. 

More Oktoberfest

"

The mascot for the German chocolate Milka! We could become great friends.

One of my host's favorite guilty pleasure foods. They looked phenomenal, smelled phenomenal, and I cursed being celiac.

Phenomenal and fresh. Very, very fresh.

The most famous beer house in Germany!

 My host met me at the appointed time of 15:00 and showed me around for a few hours. As the massage therapist and aloe vera devotee was born in Munich and loves his home, having him act as guide was a marvelous experience. He's very well educated on the history of most of Munich and was enthusiastic to share it with me.

We returned to his apartment around 18:00 and I cooked a Spanish omelet for us to share as he prepared a salad. I really wished I could have given him something nicer for dinner, but I'm trying to watch my budget and Spanish omelet was the best I could afford.

The salad dressing he mixed up was superb.

• olive oil
• ginger
• water
• balsamic vinegar
• sweet mustard
• herbs de provence
• brown sugar

We drank wine, listened to Cat Stevens and had lovely conversation. I just felt on edge because he'd been walking behind me quite often as we cooked in the kitchen, and as he walked, he allowed his hand to brush against my ass. Not in a strong enough way to confront, but in a subtle way that made me unsure whether or not it was an accident. So I felt awkward being like, "hey -- that's my ass you're touching. Hands off, dude."

Because what if he didn't know his hands were on? Should I chance it and offend him?

I decided to ignore it. As I do with most things that irritate me.  I just made sure he had plenty of space when walking behind me, thus limiting his excuses for ass grabbing.

He made a cocktail out of cream and chocolate liqueur with a bit of sweet citrusy goodness tossed in. I felt sick and guilty for reacting so negatively towards someone who was treating me so well, but I still tried to establish a "my side" and "your side" as he showed me his beautiful photo albums of Rome on the living room loveseat.

Perhaps this is just his personality. He's a friendly guy. But it still makes me uncomfortable. 

I made sure to sleep on the small couch that night. We'd both had a lot to drink and I didn't like thinking about what might happen if we shared the bed. His intentions may have been good, but I still laughed off his "what are you sleeping out here for?" and said that I preferred the couch.

Why am I so bad at this? I fell asleep in a state of confused, frustrated inebriation.

I was tired the next day. All day. I did wake up for a moment when I emerged from the bathroom and saw my host, stark naked, returning to his bedroom --

"Guten Morgen!"

"Good morning..."

 -- but other than that, I was completely exhausted. However, the couchsurfer had given me a tram pass to see Nymphenburg Palace and Park, and there was no way my fatigue and stomach pain was going to interfere with my getting out and exploring the city. So I drank a glass of water, bundled up (Germany is getting cold), and set off to the tram station. 

I was so glad I did.

I love how swans can be so graceful but hold their feet so awkwardly

As I was feeling better that night, my host took me to the museum district and dropped me off to walk the city streets at night as he delivered a package to a client. He then picked me up in front of a gorgeous church an hour later and showed me around the city by car.

Munich is stunning by night. I love cities that are stunning by night.

A light dinner, one delicious cocktail and an interview followed. It was the last evening with this German host. As Rome is his favorite city and he's visited it a dozen times, he was able to give me several suggestions of monuments to see and gelato shops to visit.

Preconceptions: This is a super organized German. About as organized as Billie is disorganized. I think I might prefer the fun chaos in which Billie lives, though. I miss the last minute, "I'm late!" "I just have to have a coffee really quickly," and "Oh no!!! We're out of cheese!"

Challenges: None today.