Friday, October 01, 2010

7:20 AM

Munich, Germany

Train car at the HBF station, platform 15

The train to Berlin wasn’t bad. The seats didn’t recline, but I met some very nice people. Two girls from a small town in Germany and one French girl travelling from her home in Paris to study in Germany. Of course, it didn’t help that there weren’t any outlets in that train—so my laptop was dead (no studying for me).

When I got to Berlin I left the station, looked at a map, and set off in search of the wonders of Germany!

Yeah. Not really. Berlin’s not much of a town, in my opinion. I wandered through a bunch of neighborhoods, becoming bored to my bones. I felt all that Parisian inspiration just evaporating. I focused myself on finding the remnant of the Berlin Wall. After about three hours of searching through the city I found it. It’s called the East Side Gallery, apparently. It has murals painted all over it on one side. Meh.

Berliners’ really like their graffiti it seems. It’s everywhere, covering subways, monuments, and schools. You can’t turn around without seeing some guerilla art. But the city seems like it’s fit for that. It’s very urban, uninspired in its architecture and unmotivated as cultural center. (I will grant that it was cloudy and rainy that day, but it can’t be much better in the sun)

I’m also finding that everything I thought about the French, is true about the Germans. The French are lovely, warm people, and fairly English-literate as a whole; Germans are rude, curt, and don’t seem to know a word outside their own language. And, as far as the language goes, I expected to love German and hate French, but now, at the end of my German travels, it’s most definitely the other way around.

So utterly bored was I that I went to the train station three hours early and sat around reading the whole time (and being accosted by the local variety of homeless). The station was absolutely freezing, and the train itself was only marginally better (at leas this time I had a reclining seat).

The next day I arrived in Munich and set off for The Tent. By the time I got there and forced my way through a freezing shower, I realized that I don’t think I’ve ever been so consistently cold in my life. With weather like that, perhaps you can understand the German temperament.

I made my way to the Oktoberfest grounds, which were astounding. It was like a huge carnival! Lot’s of games, rides, noise, and, surprisingly, kids everywhere. The beer tents seemed almost an afterthought. I went into a few of them, but I was uncertain as to how the whole operation worked, and what to do since I was alone. The tables were filled with people, some were reserved, there were beermaids rushing around, but I didn’t know how to get a drink from them. I cursed myself for not having researched it better before leaving.

I went back to The Tent and did some internet research, and tried to find a group to go with. I found a tent that was most frequented by the youngsters of the world, and set my sights on grabbing my drink there. So, back to Oktoberfest at the Hofbrau-Festzelt. I found some standing room there and I asked one of the people standing there how to get a drink. He kindly told me that I just ask a beermaid to bring it to my table number. So I stood at his table and asked the lady to bring a beer there.

I was introduced to his friends: a cohort of excitable young Portuguese girls, one of which had a very strong love of quoting Friends and other classic American sitcoms. The company was amusing so I spent the day with them. I only had two mugs of beer (and half of another), but since you can practically shove your head into one of them it’s a bit more extreme than I’m used to. As the night wore on I quickly became aware that I was extraordinarily drunk, agreeing to attend these girls back to their home in a town two hours away by train and then promptly losing the group in my drunken dizziness. I wander around the carnival grounds for a while longer and then…well, to be honest I’m not exactly sure. I got home just fine though! And the next thing I know I’m talking with some Oxford double-PHD student or something. Nice guy. And then I’m strapping my passport to my body and crawling into bed.

The next morning my head was pounding, but I forced myself up and to the store for some fruit juice and water. Replenishing my body, but still in significant pain, I set off in search of the soul of Munich, and therein hopefully the redemption of Germany from my poor experience thus far.

I went down the streets, looking around—it was all well and good, but somehow it felt uninspired and inauthentic. I ate lunch at the Augustiner Restaurant and enjoyed some Weisswurst and minced veal lung. The seat you with other people, and the Germans there were nice enough to show me how to properly eat the sausages, which are brought out in boiling water in a goblet. You cut open the skin and peel it off, then dip it in a sweet mustard and chow down. Oh, and veal lungs: very tasty.

I’m starting to feel like Anthony Bourdain, travelling around wherein the sights become secondary to the mission of acquiring authentic food at any cost.

The waiter was a pretty cool guy, if looking a little crazed in the lunch hour rush. When I asked for water he says, “Vis poppers? Or visout poppers?” Took me a minute to figure that one out.

I went on through a famous courtyard, to the archeological museum, to the art museum. The art museum was excellent. I turned around at one point and saw Albrect Durer staring me in the face. The self-portrait of Durer. I better get used to it, being in Europe and all.

On my way back to The Tent I met a New Yorker, and she introduced me to her friends (more New Yorkers and Connecticutians!) and I spent the night with them (went back to the Augustiner and the fairgrounds). Munich is more or less that same at night. Disappointing. Yeah, it looks nice, but it’s missing something. I don’t know what.

Oh well, on to Innsbruck, Austria! My feet are killing me, but I think they’re getting used to it. My back too, from carrying my bag all day (I seriously need to get rid of some books). My boots are getting really worn down, the heels are nearly gone. And my left knee keeps getting this strange warm feeling every once in a while I’m walking. A bit worrying. I should probably let it rest more today.

Ah, and about not looking American: I think the leather jacket, for some reason, makes people see my nationality very easily. I put it on, people assume I’m American—take it off, European.

Anyway, I’m headed to Innsbruck, even though I’m not exactly sure what to expect there. I don’t know anything about it, except that I’ve heard the name before. Then I’m considering beginning my Scandinavian journeys. But we’ll see where I am in a few days.