We're now going back to Saturday night in Munich.
After climbing down from the church tower we did as Muencheners do and grabbed food and ate outside, despite the rain, which had returned. We opted out of drinking huge steins of beer while eating, which is the normal way of doing things here, but neither of us drink beer. I'm starting to wish I did, because it's such an integral part of everyday life.
Every building or museum we might have wanted to tour was closed by the time we finished eating, so we decided to wander north of Marienplatz and simply explore. We passed the ginormous Residenz, once the opulent palace of the Bavarian ruling family, the Wittelsbachs, who apparently are still around but have "real jobs" now, according to Rick, now that they don't have anything to rule. The Odeonsplatz, which seems like something straight out of Rome or Athens (actually, both), was nearby, with giant statues, columns, and open space fit for a Nazi rally. From there we strolled through the Hofgarten, a very elegant, manicured, symmetrical space with a temple in the middle, where folks like us sought a temporary respite from the rain.
And then it was on to the English Garden, which is the biggest city park in Continental Europe. It reminded me of a garden Capability Brown or one of his cronies might have created in—you guessed it—England, but in fact it was designed by an American upstart (I'm sure) of the same period. Flowing green lawns are bisected by a very well-organized, swiftly-running stream, that winds all through the park, splitting and rejoining and creating waterfalls and ponds. Always a fan of any stream, I was enamored, even more so when we found what we knew we'd find courtesy of the umpteen travel videos we watched before our trip: surfers. We can't figure out exactly why or if it's even intentional, but there's a big set of rapids that creates an eternal wave, apparently ideal for surfing. At the time of our visit, there were five on each side of the stream, which was more of a small river at this point, taking turns hopping into the water to tackle the wave, with varying amount of success. Some wiped out immediately, only to be grabbed by the current, fight to shore, and come back for more. Others gracefully tossed their boards out and leapt onto them, seeming to be able to surf forever were it not for their sense of fairness, eventually casually diving in and, yep, coming back for more. We stayed there for quite a while, enjoying their illegal antics (there's a big surfing and swimming verboten sign right in front of them).
I'm not sure where exactly we went next, but we found plenty of neat things to see, gardens tucked in between what were probably government buildings and such. It's a very well-planned city with an eye toward public space. I don't think I've mentioned how bike-friendly it is also. When we first arrived we had a hard time not getting hit by cyclists before we realized that the sidewalks are divided into bike and pedestrian lanes, much like they are along some beaches and such in the States, but here it's everywhere. [Drew just commented on how I'm writing the longest sentences ever, that commas must be cheaper than periods, to which I replied that as long as they're used correctly, it doesn't matter. If George Eliot can, then so can I, although not as well. We're sitting in the Munich airport on Monday about to depart for Sarajevo, by the way.]
We decided that even though we're not beer-drinkers or sauerkraut-eaters, we should put in an appearance at the Hofbrauhaus to get our oompah on. It was maybe 60 degrees F outside, compared to what seemed to be a balmy 85 in the beer hall, courtesy of the masses of people packing it into the gills. The lederhosen and dirndl-bedecked band had trouble competing with the rowdy beer-swillers, digging into their plates loaded with towers of meat and potatoes and chugging their nearly gallon-sized beers. We snapped a few photos, tried not to trip over the Americans...
At this point in my writing, I heard someone call my name. This was surprising, since Drew was sitting next to me and no one in the Munich airport should know me as Casey. Turns out I was wrong, since my uncle Ken suddenly appeared in front of us. He and my aunt Trisha were on their way back from Sarajevo, just as we were headed there. He was taking a walk around the airport before their trip to Charlotte when he happened upon us. After we got over our shock, we hopped up and walked briskly from gate 39 to gate 10, where Trisha was waiting. We enjoyed our 10 minutes of catching up with them before we had to hurry back to our gate to board our own flight. What a cosmopolitan family, meeting in passing in Munich.
Now we're sitting in Michelle and Marco's living room in Sarajevo on Monday, with two banks of windows giving us views over the city and the hills. We just heard the muezzins all over the city call folks to prayer. It's started pouring rain and we're hoping it'll stop before morning.
Back to Munich and the Hofbrauhaus. Right, we were trying to avoid tripping over Americans who'd had a few too many (and it was only 8ish). That's about it for Saturday; jetlag was rapidly reclaiming us. On the way back to the hotel someone stopped us and asked us for directions. We've decided we don't like looking like we could be German because we end up disappointing people.
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