Category Archives: Places
Auf Wiedersehen, München
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Italians, Germans, Kenyans, Russians, Polish, Canadian, Irish, Americans and Brits and Aussies and Japanese. I have made and lost hundreds of new friends over the last few days. But now I must bid them, and Munich, auf wiedersehen.
I set myself a mission here: to have a drink at each tent on the grounds. That’s 15 by my map. Its apparently not very common for people to have visited all tents – even residents of Munich. I can see why, it’s a very difficult task.
Last night I had to find the back way into the Kafer tent – it’s usually just the rich and famous who get in there. And I talked my way into the Weinzelt where their specialty is wine. It was completely full, but I just told my story and showed my map with the other tents crossed off. The security guards actually cleared a path through the line for me to get in front of everyone else. I had breakfast and a coffee only this morning in the final one. Appropriate since the Kaiser-Schmarrn is a cafe.
I don’t think I could drink another liter of beer. It would be good to get out of town and clear my head a little. Fortunately, I have my next destination determined somewhere along the Danube.
Right now I’m on a speeding train winding its way through the Alps at 200km per hour. I’ll shortly arrive in Vienna and then to my next mission, whatever that may be.
Oktoberfest
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It’s nearly noon at Oktoberfest. Waitresses carry massive trays of food and armloads of beer. Nine liters (2 gallons) of beer in one armload. Trays that must be a yard across, filled with wursts, fowl, potatoes and more. If I hadn’t seen it I wouldn’t have believed it.
I feel like Neo in the Matrix dodging trays and steins like bullets walking up the narrow rows between tables in the beerhalls. Nearly all seats are filled. Men and women wear the traditional dress of their native lands. I feel under dressed – my belt is the only thing I am wearing made of leather. Here you can see an idealized version of the German-speaking peoples’ past.
I sit next to a group of Austrians and discuss their attire. “This is the traditional clothing of the farmer and the farmer-shooter [hunter] near Salzburg. The farmer-shooter was quite a good job because in times of war, they were called upon. We have a long tradition of beating up the German man.” And they laugh. Old disagreements are buried now, as you can see when the band strikes up a particularly popular song. Everyone sings along, standing on the tables and benches.
I feel like I’m at a college football game. The large brass section and booming drums. Um-pa-pa Um-pa-pa. I hear familiar sections of songs. It occurs to me that The Budweiser Song would probably be very popular here.
Oktoberfest is like a giant picnic with a quarter million of your closest friends and lots of beer. Lots of singing and talking and laughing. It’s time for another stein. Prost!
The Grand Triangle
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I opened the Mission Pack. It had previously occurred to me that the envelope was a bit small to contain more than one travel book – therefore I assumed I would be staying in Germany. I found that one assumption was right, the other wrong. There was one book. But it covered the whole of Europe.
Also enclosed was a rail timetable, a large map of Europe and a letter.
Into Munich and out of Athens. Two options: Eastern Europe or south, through Italy. I was shockingly close in my previous guesses. The Philadelphian told me I’d have 9 and a half hours to plan the trip. There would be no sleeping for me.
I think I will be going through Eastern Europe, rather than Italy. I can either hug the coast or go deep into the heart of the continent. Either path would be a lot of fun would allow me to see places I’ve long wanted to. It’s going to be a good next couple of weeks.
My Phone Drowned
I was on the tilt-a-whirl today. You know, the one that launches you up and around and flips you upside down. Well apparently my phone fell out of my pocket during that time. Spectators said they saw it mid swing. In other words, it launched a few hundred yards. Yeah, it’s bad. Luckily it landed softly in the water. Yeah, that’s bad too. The up-shot is that I found it. Or rather the guys who run the ride found it. They held it in a towel so it wouldn’t drip all over the place. It’s drying now. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you called me in the past day, understand if I don’t answer.
The Travel Destination
I board the plane, and take my seat quickly. The Mission Pack lays in my lap, tauntingly. Shortly I will open it. Excitement mounts. Tension grows as the other passengers board the plane. A very tall man moves next to me and sits, crammed into the small seat, twisted like a Bavarian pretzel. The Philadelphian calls and bids me good luck. The plane fills. The flight crew readies the cabin.
Delayed. They haven’t put on enough fuel for the trip. We wait. I trace the corners and creases on the Mission Pack, hopeful for the rubber to break contact with the tarmac. The plane is now fuled up. We push back from the gate and taxi out. We are first for takeoff.
The plane lumbers across the ground, bumping and rocking like a clumsy penguin. Faster. Faster. Air catches the wings and the pressure on the wheels gradually decreases. The pressure on the flap of the envelope gradually increases. At the moment the wheels lose their traction, so the tacky glue loses its hold. By the time the plane’s wheels are tucked under its body the mission pack is in hand. A single phrase is scribed on the cover.
“The Grand Triangle”
Beer Market Shakeup
This is the first year that sales of Bud Light have declined. Is it a better year for good beer? Are other cervezas overtaking the 27-year old product? Well certainly one is – Snow beer in China. And it’s a Miller product. And it’s (also) a terrible beer.
Paris Urine Sauvage
Many people don’t believe me when I tell them about the streets of Paris running yellow. They think I’m making it up. They say things like “That can’t be. The French are very refined, especially the Parisians.” They’ve also never been there.
Paris has public toilets on the streets, but they cost money to use them so tourists mostly use them. I saw more public acts of excretion in Paris than in Beijing, which is shocking. And now comes a story of Paris buildings designed to splash back.
That’s one more layer of defense for me next time I hear how my culture is what’s wrong with the world today.
Filipino Cuisine
I was in San Francisco – one of my favorite cities – this week and went to a Filipino restaurant out there. I had no idea what to expect from the food – I was guessing pork-based or heavy on the seafood with Spanish influences. But beyond that I wasn’t sure.
If you can read the menu you can see that it is pork and fish based with Spanish influences. But they’ve also got some stuff that I’ve never seen on a menu before. Like paella with squid ink rice and squid flakes. And grilled cuttlefish stuffed with a fresh salsa-like concoction.
Everything was excellent. My favorite was the cuttlefish. It was less chewy than squid typically is with a little more flavor. You could taste the grilledness in it and the salsa fresca was excellent. The squid ink gave the paella a slight sea taste, though not quite fishy.The squid flakes were dried tentacles and were slightly crunchy.
The Tyranny Of The Bulkhead
The worst seat on a plane, IMO, is a bulkhead seat. Those are the ones that have a white wall in front of them. There’s no place for your feet. There’s no place for your eyes. It’s confining. Planes are already confining enough without that.
I’ve actually given up a First Class bulkhead seat for a coach seat! Now granted, it was on a CRJ-700 where the First Class is fairly limited (can’t even stand up in the bathroom). And I was moving to an exit row. And my only motivation was to kick my feet out and sleep. But still, bulkheads suck!
</rant>
meanderingwoods 