Perfection -- Munich, Germany

We left our Englischhausen hotel in the Black Forest at 14:15 on Sunday. I decided to be very American and just hug everyone. There were a few Germans who went for the side kisses, but I've become rather assertive as of late, so I simply demanded hugs all around. As most of the Germans live in Germany (there's only one chap from Lichtenstein), they piled into their little black cars and drove home (probably crying in relief in German the whole way). So the bus to Munich was filled with a smattering of Anglos and the excessively handsome German who looks like Ryan Gosling (which I never told him because I'm sure he heard it from everyone else all the time).

The bus ride to the Black Forest was buzzing with activity, positively reverberating with chattiness.

The bus ride from the Black Forest was like death. It was as if a dozen marathoners had just plopped into bed after finishing their epic endurance race. Speech was rare. Heads lolled against windows, chins drooped open, eyelids slouched shut, shoulders stooped, legs splayed, bumpity, bumpity, bumpity, most the way to Munich.

We stopped at a trucker station for the driver to have a rest and the passengers to pee. At said station, we chanced upon some very interesting/scandalous/hilarious souvenirs...

Back in Munich, we unloaded and looked around for the other program director who was meant to meet us at the stop. Nowhere to be found. That's odd... I wonder how he expects to know whether or not we've arrived safely. I mean, they should probably be responsible to ensure we all make it to Munich intact. Oh well. 

I had planned to walk back to Martin's, but American Michael (the intrepid ex-park ranger and I have resolved to hitchhike across the country together. We just have to choose which one) rallied the flagging Anglos, dropped many of us off at our respective hostels and hotels, and then led the way to a satisfying Turkish dinner. A meal which our listless selves picked at slowly enough to enjoy every bite, regardless of whether or not we actually tasted it.

He took me to the metro station and made sure I boarded the right line. Going in the right direction (these things are hard for me). I know that I'm a single, independent traveler, but my goodness, sometimes it feels so nice to have someone like Michael take care of me.

I tramped into Martin's apartment just around eleven and immediately collapsed onto the couch in his bedroom. My host was out and about, so I fiddled around on the internet until I heard his key in the lock and saw his tall figure in the doorway. Forever smiling and cheerful, Martin and I caught up on the week's happenings and then went straight to bed.

It was comforting, grounding, marvelous to have someone to report back to in this manner -- like a super, duper excited kid returning from her first trip ever to the beach. I left Martin on Sunday, had a mind-blowing, exhausting, challenging experience in the Black Forest, and returned to Martin on Friday to tell him all about it. There was a little part of me that felt like I was going home. I liked having the keys in my purse, knowing where all the light switches were, and understanding just how to manipulate the hot water without anyone having to tell me. I liked that I knew where I was sleeping and how to make coffee in the morning.

Martin kindly corrected me on a small detail from a previous post. What I saw him drinking at the bar before I left was not a liter. THIS is a liter. It's larger than my head.

Saturday was a perfect last full day in Munich. I woke up early to start working on my blog and waited for my German friend to rouse himself. For breakfast/lunch, we hunted down some Weisswurst and sweet mustard from a local butcher and Martin showed me how to cook it properly.

Weisswurst is made of veal and pork seasoned with bacon, parsley and lemon powder. Bring the water to a simmer and let the sausage sit in the hot water for 5-10 minutes. It's eaten warm with sweet mustard, pretzel and beer. For breakfast.

German sweet mustard!

After lunch, I went for a walk along the Isar and Martin ran off to the library to work on one of his artistic projects. It was brisk out, but not nearly as cold and damp as the Black Forest had been. I stuffed my cold fingers into my pockets and quietly cursed my last host under my breath. He very well may not have taken my gloves, but I have firm suspicions that he did. I scoured his apartment, meticulously picked through my bag and then asked if we could check his car (the only place I had brought my gloves during my stay with him) -- he went without me and came back empty-handed.

I realize that they could have fallen out of the car in-transit, but it makes me feel better to curl my nails into my palms, jam my fists into my red coat and think f*cking *****. 

I'm allowed to be immature at times.

Street art under the bridges along the Isar:

This one had a profound impact on me

People actually surf this part of the Isar. A few have died. It's cold and dangerous, but appears to be all sorts of exhilarating and has no shortage of eager participants.

One of my history challenges for Germany was to find the White Rose Memorial, so the final destination of my walk was Ludwig Maximilian University.

The White Rose resistance was an intellectual, non-violent movement against the Nazis formed by students and their stalwart professor.  They used leaflets and grafitti to oppose Hitler's regime, but the leaders were arrested and executed in 1943.

I glanced at my phone to check the time and had a minor panic attack. Google maps says that it takes 25 minutes to get from here to Marienplatz. I'm scheduled to meet with Albert at 15:00. It's 14:35. AH! No time to get lost. I didn't leave myself time to get lost. I stuffed my camera into my purse and booked it back to the main square. Run, Aimee. You're in Germany, not Ireland. You aren't allowed to be late here.

I made it to Marienplatz two minutes early and caught sight of my Englischhausen friend right off. We hugged, and I asked him how he was recovering from a week of speaking only English.

"Last night, my dreams were English. It was very disturbing."

"I suppose that's a good sign. Means it really stuck."

"Yes, but very disturbing. Anyway, what would you like to do today?"

"What do you like to do in Munich?"

"Aimee, this is my city and I've seen most things. We should do what you like."

"I like markets," I fumbled around my brain for something to like. "Yes, markets are always good."

And so we set off walking towards the Viktualienmarkt, the heinously expensive but high-quality market near Marienplatz. After browsing the sausages and pretzels, Albert took me to the top of a nearby tower for a gorgeous view of the city.

A green roof! One of my plants challenges for Germany.

I haven't loved a city this much since my fleeting romance with Prague in 2010. How spectacular.

The walk to the top was narrow, winding and took a very long time due to all of the tourists going up and down the narrow, winding stairs. This was just fine, because it gave me an excuse to stop and rest my aching quads.

The walk down followed suit.

After we'd finally reached the bottom of the tower (Germans are usually excessively polite and wait for everyone. Which sometimes results in a stalemate of politeness), we made our way to the Pinakothek Alte Museum. This is something I'd been eager to do since first arriving in Munich on October 28th, but had held back because of the expensive (to me) entrance fees.

Albert purchased my ticket and we spent over an hour contemplating different pieces. I usually dislike visiting museums with people because I feel pressured to appreciate ALL the art (even the art I don't appreciate at all) and say intelligent things about various pieces (which is always difficult for me). However, I thoroughly enjoyed sharing the Pinakothek Alte experience with Albert. He walked at the perfect pace (for me) and I enjoyed the things he noticed in the paintings. Different aspects stand out to different people, and I was interested in all the parts that stood out to Albert.

 

The museum closed around six and we rushed back to Marienplatz for a drink before Albert took the metro home and I walked back to Martin's. He sipped hot chocolate with whiskey and I happily drank a large glass of gluhwein, cupping the warm alcohol between my cold hands.

f*cking *****. 

We talked about German culture and food and festivals. Albert said I could come back during Oktoberfest next year and he would save a spot for me at his tent. As I'm working in the Austrian Alps until mid-September, this would work perfectly and I think I'll try to spend the last two weeks of September in Munich (. Especially now that I have such good, supportive friends there (Martin, Daniel, Albert). We talked about German mentality and the way many view work. Once again, it seemed very clear that Germans do not fail. They aren't allowed to.

We talked about travel versus community. A fair amount of Germans have a difficult time traveling because they're tied down to jobs (without as much vacation time as the French) and as work is so important, travel takes the backseat. Work is the "real life" to most in Germany. Work is also the "real life" to many in America, but I think that since we take "failure" less seriously (or as less of a bad thing), people aren't as afraid to start over. I think adults in the States find it easier to quit unsatisfying jobs to look for something better and find it easier to quit satisfying jobs to fly by the seat of their pants for a few years. As a country, we seem to take more risks than Germany and we enjoy the adrenaline rush of not knowing what's coming next. Spontaneity isn't as much of a virtue to Germans as it is to Americans.

Perhaps we're just bad at forethought. Thinking ahead has never been our strong suit. 

I hugged Albert goodbye and rushed Martin's so that I could prepare my hosts butternut squash tagine and bananas foster. Martin was still busily watching a football game (I accidentally told him who won and felt like a terrible person for the rest of the evening) and Daniel was in his room playing music. Feeling warm and tipsy from gluhwein, I happily peeled and diced butternut squash whilst doing my "I'm so happy to be tipsy and cooking in a warm kitchen" dance, mixed cumin with paprika with coriander with chickpeas with onions and brought the dish to a simmer.

The flat smelled like Morocco. The good parts of Morocco.

The tagine was a success. The bananas foster was a success. I sat in the artistic kitchen with Daniel and Martin and gratefully absorbed the good feelings, the good food and the good place.

Could today have been any nicer? No. No, I don't believe it could have. 

After finishing dinner, we walked to a nearby bar for a couple glasses of wine/beer. The atmosphere was lively, I was tipsy enough that the quality of the wine was irrelevant and it felt fantastic to be spending my last night in Germany with such great people.