Day 7 -- Munich, Germany

Munich, A.K.A. the city that never sleeps.

Okay, I'm making that up…I have no idea what Munich is called, other than the very Germanic-sounding "München."

First off, I will speak on our hotel. We're staying at a place called the "Hotel Uhland." Now…going from the dark, stinky alcoves of the Hotel Horse d'Or (oh, wait, I get it now – Odor of the Horse! I was such a fool!!!) to the wondrous clean of the Hotel Uhland was enough to make a man wrap a sandwich in foil and put it in the fridge for 2 days, then after that 2 days was up, take the sandwich out and eat it, because he was really going to enjoy that sandwich.

Which is another way of saying that the hotel is awesome. Clean. Bright. Full buffet breakfast included. Friendly staff. Spacious bathroom (relatively). German television with German channels (full of grodey childbirths, apparently). A mini-bar with reasonable prices (I don't think that Europe has caught on to the "mini-bars are only there to bilk your guests" craze that's rampant in the US). And Mirrors!

Okay, I'm getting carried away. The point is, if you ever happen to find yourself in Munich, do yourself a favor and stay at the Hotel Uhland. And tell them Tyler sent you. They probably won't know who Tyler is, but I've always wanted someone to say "Tyler sent me." Seems very classy.

Our room at the Hotel Uhland. Small...sure...but everything is small in Europe, apparently.

After our free breakfast (I know it's not really free, since it's included in the cost of the hotel…but I'm going to call it "free"…since our hotel budget and our food budget are two separate columns on the Excel spreadsheet) we did our typical first-day-in-a-new-city tradition. We went on walkabout – Dundee style.

First stop was the Glockenspiel, in the Marienplatz. The Glockenspiel is on a big ol'…I'm gonna' say "building" (even though it looks like a church from the outside) in the middle of the city. One of the towers contains a bunch of little...statues?, that spin in a circle several times a day. That show, which is a marvel in medieval engineering (actually finished in 1908), was attended by, probably, several hundred people...all craning their necks to see the little things turn in a circle. More fun for us than the actual "show," was the reactions of the crowd. When one of the jousting knights was un-horsed, there was a gasp of approval from the crowd, followed by a smattering of applause. It was adorable.

This is what everyone was looking at.

Next to the Marianplatz were two big ol' churches. The first is the Frauenkirche, which is German for "Kirch of the Frow." It's notable because there are two big towers that (Sharla, plug your eyes here) look like two big ol' boobies. Or, at least the tops of them do. Or maybe I'm just imagining things. Or maybe I should just stop talking.

Anyhow, our first stop was the sanctuary itself. Very pretty – it's always interesting, because you feel a bit sacrilegious popping into an active, catholic church and snapping photos of the cool artwork in the different naves (representing the different saints that are prayed to by Catholics…or some-such…I'm not totally sure how it works, being the Protestant scum that I am). Plus, occasionally there will be a mass going on, as tourists rotate around the outskirts of the cathedral…taking pictures…gawking…et cetera. It's very strange.

In the back of the cathedral was something very interesting – photos of the church from 1944 to 1949. See…apparently the Allies pretty much bombed Munich into oblivion. I read that 71 air raids hit Munich during the war…and much of the city was destroyed by allied bombs. Munich was one of the birthplaces of the Nazi party, and the allies seemed interested in blowing it up. The two main churches in the square were no exception – they were pretty massively devastated…and the photos showed the rebuilding efforts, ending in the restoration of the church to its original state. At least, I think that's what happened – my German isn't all that great.

So, underneath the main pulpit (my church terminology is not so great – would that be the sept?) was a little shrine, and I saw the best painting I'd seen since my trip to Europe. It was another retelling of the passion (we've probably seen several dozen at this point…one thing about European artists – they loved painting the Jesus), but it wasn't the expression-less retelling that the Romantics seemed to favor. It was almost done in the style of "The Scream," where the picture was abstract…showing the massive suffering and ugliness of the event. It gave a tragic humanity to Jesus (because he was "made man," as I recall), and to those around him…and it really moved me. This was the kind of art that really reaches me – something shedding the banality of stoic heroism and showing the true gut-twisting fear of real heroism.

But I didn't get a photo…because I was in a church…and some guy was praying…and it just didn't feel right. Maybe if we swing by there later I'll get something…I just really liked the painting. That's all.

After our tour of the sanctuary, we went up in one of the boobs – sorry, towers – to have a look around. Something the Germans don't seem to have figured out are the intricacies of doorways. The French discovered some time ago that you have to let people off of the elevator before you can push yourself on. The Germans? Not so much. The French also discovered that those narrow stairs leading to the towers of cathedrals were not built for "up and down" traffic at the same time. Again…Germany must have missed that lesson. Also, the French know not to stand in doorways…because people use those to enter and exit buildings. Not so the Germans. I could go on…but portals seem to confound the proud German people. At least, that's been my experience.

The view from the top was all right – Munich doesn't have the famous landmarks of Paris, but it's got a pretty skyline. We didn't linger long, because we had a long day ahead of us that was only beginning.

View from the boob.

Our next stop was lunch…and Munich again scores a knockout against the weak Parisians. I had a bratwurst with mustard on a Kaiser roll…Erika had some kind of liver cheese sandwich, which contained neither liver nor cheese. What it does contain is a mouthful of magic in every bite. I would walk 500 miles to eat either one of those sandwiches again – in fact, sitting here in bed, I'm seriously contemplating sneaking out, breaking into the booth where it was sold, starting up the grill, locating cooking instructions, and firing up another one of those bastards. I'm totally serious. It was that good.

Lunch

Bellies full of sweet, sweet German food, we dashed over to the Deutsches Museum, which, I believe, is German for "Rabbit Squirrel Dinner on a Rose Rabbit Sparkplug." It's a huge museum full of technology, and "what-not." I could try to explain the what-not, but instead I'll leave you with an impression.

Erika and I spent a good 45 minutes learning about the history of metallurgy. Yes, the two lily-livered (is that the second time I've used that phrase? Blast!) Theater Arts majors read up on how medieval craftsmen separated gold and silver from raw ore (hint: they used a furnace). I know…it doesn't sound interesting…but durg-labbit, it really, really was.

All you will ever need to know about medieval met

Now, because we were crawling through the museum, reading up on way too much interesting stuff to ingest in a single day, we got about a little less than a third of the way in and realized that we were falling asleep on our feet. Not out of boredom, but out of good old fashioned exhaustion. So Erika sat on a bench as I got my "war history" on, and cruised through the airplane section of the museum. Too much cool stuff to go into, but the point is – if you're in Munich, leave a day to spend here. You'll learn a lot – there's English translations for nearly every exhibit that we saw (except, oddly, for the oil drilling and refining wing). Very cool.

An actual Me-262 -- my favorite WWII airplane. Can you feel my excitement?

We walked back across town, I got us lost (and I blame the map, because an awesome handyman blames his tools) but we found our way eventually, and I forced a nap into our dwindling itinerary.

Our dinner was at the world-famous Hofbrau Haus. Which, apparently, is German for "I'm Tired Of Translating German For You Tyler, Please Go To Bed." We had two one-liter beers each, and some more meat and bread – I'm sure Munich is giggling with Bavarian pleasure about the severe hit our "healthy eating plan" has absorbed. Full of a liter's worth of beer, we staggered around the Marianplatz a bit more, stopped in some restaurant somewhere and ate some Apple Strudel, then staggered back to our hotel and slept in a staggered fashion.

It was an amazing day, for sure. Tomorrow we go to the "Cinderella Castle," which is German for "Neuschwanstein." Should be fun – we'll see if we can actually follow through on our nightly pledge to "get an early start tomorrow." Until then…

Day 6 – Traveling from Paris to Munich

This is what the professionals call a "traveling day." And for Erika and I, it was completely terrifying, because we got to (unwittingly) recreate an great little movie moment. I'm not sure which movie it's from, but it's the one where: "the guy gets off the train, then looks back to help his wife off the train, but the train door closes before she can exit, trapping her on the train. They frantically search for a way to open the door, but the train starts moving down the track, and the guy runs along next to the train, freaking out, because he has no idea where it's going, or when it's going to stop."

But I'm jumping the gun. Before I get to that excitement, I must remember -- as far as you all know, we're still in Paris. Must...stick...to...the...narrative...

So, rewind to France. There were things we didn't get a chance to do in Paris. Erika wanted to do some more shopping, and we both wanted to see the Roman Baths in the Musee Cluny. But the imposing "11:24 AM in a train station we've never been to" section of our itinerary made us both very nervous. Never having ridden (rode?) a train in Europe before, we didn't quite know what to expect…so we thought we'd give ourselves plenty of time to get to the station, get adjusted, get aboard, and get the hell out of town.

Unfortunately our waiter at breakfast didn't know this, and we had another one of those annoying experiences where we asked for the bill, and the waiter did everything he could think of to do instead of bring us our bill. Jimminy…that's one thing I will not miss about the Paris.

Eventually, we paid our damn Euros, and got out of the place. We bounced over to the Gare l'Est…which…I believe, means "Gare le East." We were a little worried about catching our train – we got to the station with only 20 minutes to spare – but we needn't have worried…there were no security line to go through, no bags to check, no tickets to buy. Just a train with multiple doors, and reserved seats. We just needed to get on the bastard, get rolling…and let the Rail Pass take care of the rest.

The train was very cool. Like a plane, except it took longer, was less cramped, and didn't fly. Erika slept through the first leg, from Paris to Stuttgart, and I slept through most of the second leg, from Stuttgart to Munich.

What do Erikas dream of when they take a little Erika snooze...?

We switched to a new train in Stuttgart. As we were boarding the new train we noticed a big ol' fat suitcase, with the handle fully extended, sitting in the middle of the aisle. Next to the suitcase was a woman…probably in her early 40s, resting her hand on the bag that was blocking the aisle. I gave my German a shot, and said, "Enschultigung bitte" (excuse me, please) and waited. She didn't move. In English I said, "Excuse me." Nothing. I figured that I'd given her plenty of multi-lingual warning, so I shouldered my way past her...as roughly as possible without being violent.

After we'd both pushed our way past the aisle blocker, she got the hint, and put her bag up above our seats…with the "pull handle" fully extended. Fine. Whatever. Now, at least, the aisle was clear for when we had to get off the train.

And holy freaking crap. Sorry, I'm sitting here in our hotel room, writing this, and I'm watching a woman giving birth of German TV right now. They're showing everything. Everything. Holy crap. It's 1:00 AM, and…oh, yep. That's a vagina. Eww…NOOO!!!!! NOOO!!!!!! What the hell? Make it stop!!!!! What is that!!!?!?!?!? That's not a …..uggh….that does not look…is she birthing an alien? Oh my God it's a face. Blood. Everywhere. What the…?!?!?! Is that a hand!? You're going to crush it! Ewww!!! No!!!!! It's all bloody!!!! Oh, thank god, it's out. Umbilical cord. There's so much blood! Gross!!! And now he's pulling a bag out of her – oh Lord, it looks like turkey giblets. Just snipped the baby's umbilical cord. Gross…more blood. That was maybe the grossest thing I've ever seen. God, I hope it's over. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH GERMAN PEOPLE?!?!!

I'm sorry…I was right in the middle of something. I'm just….I'm a little shook up. Ew. They're…never mind. It's really gross. This is the grossest thing I've ever seen – I'm not kidding. I mean, most of this "birth" stuff is done in a tight close-up, with soft lighting, and comforting music. This gore-fest was shot in a wide angle, in a harshly-lit room. It showed that puddle of blood and afterbirth, the episiotomy, the bruised aftermath...everything. On regular television. Ick.

Where was I? God…how do you recover from that? This story is going to pale in comparison to what I just watched. And am still watching, for some messed up reason.

Okay. Good. Yuck. No. Focus, Tyler. Focus.

Anyhow, with about 30 minutes left on our trip, the woman stood up, reached over me, and pulled her stupid bag down – that stupid handle still fully extended. I didn't think much of it, other than to be annoyed that she'd basically rubbed up against me to get her stuff. But whatever. It's Europe -- people are bumping into each other all the time.

But this woman…wouldn't you know it; the dumb bastard left her suitcase in the middle of the aisle...again. And, inevitably, the conductor called the "Munchen" stop. Since we were not in any real hurry, we decided not to get our bags until we absolutely had to – to avoid the crush of people.

Big mistake. After the train pulled into the station, we waited a bit, and then I got my bag down and started wheeling it down the aisle. But as I was doing so, I noticed that the stupid woman was still blocking the aisle with her suitcase. I gave her a loud "Enschulegung Mir Bitte," waited a beat while she didn't move, and then roughly shouldered my way past her (again) toward the exit.

And I hopped off the train to the platform, only to look back and see that Erika was not able to get past the woman (I thought my violent hint had been enough for her to move the bag, but apparently not). Erika got to the door just as it closed in front of her.

Yes. The door closed. I was standing on the platform, and Erika was still on a train to…God knows where. The stop prior to that was an hour earlier…so who knows where the hell she was going to end up. And I had the train tickets in my bag.

But stuff like this must happen all the time, rigth? Well, there were two buttons on the door – red and black. And a handle. I pushed the red button. Nothing happened. I pushed the black button. Again, nothing. I pulled the handle. Then I pushed the red button and pulled the handle. Then the black. I looked through the window and saw Erika doing the same thing. Frantically, I just started pushing buttons, and pulling the handle…but nothing was happening. Then the train started to move. I was out of time. Erika was leaving the station...without me.

Luckily, I remembered that Erika had her cell phone, and it worked in Europe. So I made the international "I'll call you" sign, and ran along the train as it sailed away.

This was our worse-case scenario: getting separated in Europe. I can't imagine what we would have done if one of us didn't have a phone – hopefully meet up in the hotel. But…in a foreign land, knowing only a little bit of the language, with only a vague notion of your location…it was pretty scary.

I looked around the platform to try to figure out where the hell I was. I saw a sign that read "Munich, Pasing." I wondered what, exactly, Munich was passing?

I soon found out that "Pasing" wasn't the silly English gerund I was familiar with, but the name of a town on the outskirts of Munich (one might call it a "suburb"). We had wanted to get off at the "Munich Hauptbahnhof" stop, not to "Bahnhof Munich-Pasing" stop. As I would later find out, I'd gotten off one stop too soon.

So I found a pay phone and called Erika. It took me some time to figure out the "international calling" rules, but I got a hold of her, and when I did she told me she was in the Munich Hauptbahnhof, and that she was walking to the hotel. I asked her if she knew where to go, and she told me that (luckily) she'd grabbed one of the print-outs that had a map on it, while we were on the train. So she could find the way. I told her I'd meet her there, and that I was going to "have fun" figuring out how to navigate my way through the city...using just my tenacity, smarts, rudimentary language skills, and a pocket full of Euros.

The game was on. I got the chance to have my first real German conversation, since my sophomore year of college (where I got a "D" in German, and got placed on academic probation). I asked a woman (in broken, probably hilarious German) which train to take to get to the city center (aka the Hauptbahnhof). She told me platform "vier oder funf" (four or five). I thanked her, and walked to the corresponding platform.

However, once there, I couldn't figure out how to buy a ticket from the machine – there was some strange terminology (1 zone, 2 zone, all-day pass, etc) that gave me absolutely no context. So I decided to ask the pleasant English-speaking man at the DB (Deutsche Bahn...the guys who run all the trains in Germany) ticket counter.

He set me straight. I needed the "local" train, not the "international" train. Got it. Much cheaper, and far more frequent. It loaded on platform four or five. Good. That first lady was right...and, more importantly, I understood her. The ticket guy also sold me the ticket I needed, so I didn't have to figure out those accursed machines.

So, in no time at all, I was cruising on the S-Bahn into Munich. This time, I paid attention to the damn stops, and I got ready to exit the damn train well before it pulled into the station.

Eventually, I made it to our hotel...and met up with my wife after a terrifying 2 hour separation.

To ease our stress (and our crippling hunger) we decided to get some dinner. There are a bunch of "German Beer Halls" in Munich, which are basically huge restaurants with rows of cafeteria tables, served by dozens of waiters and waitresses, who bring big steins of beer, and plates full of meat.

This is the beer hall we chose. It was a good choice.

So we sat down. The waiter was quite friendly. He spoke a wonderful amount of English, and brought us both enormous beers. I ordered a "suckling pig," which I can only assume was a cute widdle baby piglet. Erika ordered flesh of a cow, boiled in cabbage and what-not. Good, wholesome, Germanic faire. And there was a wonderful "not crappy like American potato salad" potato salad also on Erika's plate.

This was my meal. Holy damn hell, it was tasty.

Now, please forgive the vegetarians among you out there…but it was…probably…the best food I've ever had. I actually briefly considered licking the plate clean it was so good. Nothing personal, Paris…but your food completely sucked in comparison.

The contented aftermath. I did not lick the plate clean, as you can clearly see here.

Nursing a healthy beer buzz, Erika and I stumbled back to our room and lapsed into an overdue, and heavy sleep...thick with excellent German beer, and even excellenter German meat. Tomorrow, we see exactly what the hell this crazy little "birthplace of the Nazi Party" is all about. But tonight, we sleep.