When we first arrived in München (Munich) I thought we may have made a mistake and taken the train to Istanbul. Veiled women in full burkas floated amongst the tailored Germans like regal mysteries, the rare swish of their hems occasionally revealing platform shoes and tight, patterned pants. Dark-eyed black-haired men clustered in cafés and greeted each other on the streets, wearing nice clothes and driving even nicer cars. München is a modern city and a place of business, and initially we were rather put off by the number of sex shops and office buildings. But the benefit to landing in 'little Turkey' was finding halal food (the Islamic equivalent to kosher) and we ordered up some fantastic salads from Istanbul Buffet. Since we aren't actually planning a trip to Turkey, I figured cheating on the German palate with a Turkish one was acceptable in the interest of cultural diversity.
The funny thing about München is that the greatest threat to pedestrians are the hundreds of bicyclists zooming alongside the streets. Cars are easy to avoid, since everyone obeys the lights, but the bicyclists have their own system entirely. In some places they have their own sidewalk alongside the road, but since it isn't really marked when we share sidewalks and when it is a bike-only lane, we often heard the tiny trill of a bell moments before a blur of spokes and handlebars shaved the sleeves off our elbows. Once we figured out how to stay out of the death lanes, we navigated our way to the Arthotel Munich and checked in behind an Asian family and an American couple.
Our hotel room was the price of a hostel and we had booked it hoping to find other travelers to mix things up a bit. Yet despite a fantastic room (complete with mood lighting and a free bottle of wine), ours was the only finished room on the floor. Turkish workers painted hand railings in our stairwell, installed windows next door, and stacked headboards in the hall during our stay. But the construction put me right at ease as it took all the hoity-toity out of our upscale room, giving it an apologetic, welcoming air. Still; finding friendly neighbors was now out of the question.
Our initial plans for the next morning were to take a twelve-hour bus tour of the Romantic Road for castle-spotting, but they were thwarted by full seats and outlandish ticket prices. We tried to come up with plan B before pillow time, but discussion was frustrated by the fact that Carly's a morning lark and her brain is off by eleven whether she's asleep or not. Fortunately, by the time I rolled out of bed the following morning (I'm a night owl and my brain isn't up until nine) Carly had it all figured out (can I say how much I love traveling with her?) and we set off on a pilgrimage to Andechs Monastery near Herrsching. Lo and behold, at the beginning of our hour-long trek up the large hill, we joined up with two fellow backpackers: Danny and Casey, a brother and sister from Michigan finishing up a two week sprint through Europe.
After viewing an ornate, frescoed, and almost gaudy sanctuary, the four of us headed to the cafe and biergarten (beer garden) for refreshment. The monastery is known for brewing their own beer, and after a plate of raw radishes and a liter (or two) of the latest brew, we had become solid friends with our new companions. I even stopped talking in my imitation German accent! Of course, we also ate pretzels and sausages, and Danny endeared himself to me when he replied "It is the wurst" to my query of how he liked his sausage. Needless to say, we found abundant opportunities throughout the rest of the day to practice our punches. (!)
The four of us returned to München and strolled the English gardens, famous for public bathing in the nude along the shores of its picturesque, carefully engineered streams. Fortunately, the water was a bit cold for such heathen activities, but we did get to see Germans in wetsuits literally surfing a tumultuous section of water. We hardly covered half of the gardens in an hour: I'd never seen a city park so large and so ornate, so clean and so spacious. In one field hundreds picnicked while playing badminton, soccer, and frisbee; others just lounged about with a hookah or a joint nearby. The sun dropped below the horizon, setting fire to the surrounding hills and cooling the sweeping tresses of the willows - and I thought if I had a park like this, I would really love living in the city.
My stomach led us to a shack under some giant trees for dinner, and each of us ordered some unknown item from the menu along with, of course, a good half liter of beer. My item ended up being a hoagie roll with three naked sausages inside - no sauce, no toppings. And it tasted amazing. We settled into the hammocks slung up for customers to chow down and somehow picked up Wolfgang, a young guy with limited English that wouldn't tell us his real name at first because Wolfgang doesn't sound like Wolfgang when said in German. We called him Carl instead. Several ice breakers later, during which we determined Carly needed to marry a finch and I a horse (don't ask), we set ourselves back on the crowded path to find München's famous Marianplatz, an historic square with an ornate city hall. At some point I admitted I really wanted to call the citizens munchkins; but they don't really fit the profile.
Danny and Casey made our München trip incredibly fun and extremely worthwhile: we were sad to bid them good-bye the next morning as we headed for Gupf, Germany, only twenty minutes from Basel, Switzerland. The rolling plains have turned into slightly steeper hills, and the large, covered platforms at train stops into quiet, open air boardwalks. The style is changing - less snap and more knapp. The clothes are looser, the hair is plainer, and the faces kinder, softer, lighter. Gupf is a tiny village tucked into the farmlands of Baden-Wurttemburg; and waiting for us in their ancient farmhouse are our next hosts, Mark and Maria, full of Godly wisdom gleaned from years spent smuggling bibles into countries behind the Iron Curtain.
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