The Sun was Shining in Munich

The sun was shining in Munich but it didn’t help my sense of direction that it was high noon and that shining sun was directly overhead. It also didn’t help that the street name we were looking for was unpronounceable to our American eyes because it included a letter I had never seen except on Kati’s keyboard back in Perth. Left onto Schleiβheimerstraβe, Right onto Maβmannstraβe, Left onto Dachauerstraβe which turns into Seidlstraβe. To add a layer of confusion we were also practicing our German so then we were to finally turn Links at Marsstraβe, turn Recht at Lammerstraβe around the Hauptbahnhof to Hirtenstraβe.

Perhaps if the correct car were available, the good German Audi I had reserved rather than the American Ford I received (“Good American car! If you like German auto there is a Porche available for €275 a day?”) we’d have had better luck making it to our Hostel in reasonable time. At least we’d have been swimming through our seas of confusion in something native German even if it was made of steel. But the American car was no better at leading the American driver and navigator to our German street. It seemed to know the same thing(s) we knew (from experience), that Mittler Ring will bring us in a circle because that’s what it did and we remarked on the circle for many laps.

The American Auto was as excited as we were to recognize the Frei Otto designed Olympic Park from the 1972 Summer Games and agreed to turn around (again, but this time with certainty in destination) to check it out.


An enormous web of steel and plexiglass suspended from cable stayed towers encapsulates the grounds, the gymnastics stadium, etc in the shape Spiderman might have used to catch a bad guy before he was in the movies. Our friend Robbi had told us about it (before she jumped ship to another company) and without it, unless we really relied on the Ford, we would never have figured out where we were going.

It’s not all Avis’s fault, though the car I reserved online and spoke personally to an agent to force them to take my credit card in assurance that a car would actually be there having seen Seinfeld season 3 and being well versed in the difference between “taking” and “holding” a reservation (the same episode as “These pretzels are making me thirsty” which caused me to leave Mike behind at the Hofbrauhaus our first night in Europe – but I’ve digressed enough, back to that later). See we had also been on a red eye from Hartford with a very bored, and very accommodating steward with a magical supply of Gin and Tonic, Bloody Mary, Heinekin. Yes, I think it was the Heinekin that really made us confused. We hadn’t slept a wink and it turned out we may have kept most of the plane awake too. I wondered how they were all making out.

To my recollection, me writing several months since this trip (this was penned in Pittsfield, New Orleans, and Mobile from my notes and memories and with welcomed urgings from Lenny and a reminder from Andrea), I had ordered my second Bloody Mary with dinner. The gentleman informed me that mixed drinks were not available during dinner. Mike ordered a Heinekin. The gentleman informed Mike that beer was not available during dinner. So we had wine. Half way through the wine our beers arrived from “backorder”. Magic! The steward seemed incredibly accomodating – he’d walk by, we’d ask for more beer, he’d bring it. At one point I got up to use the loo and when I turned I noticed that we were on a stage: the entire plane was pitch black aside from the reading light turned spotlight on Mike and I. Using my theatre training, I fought the spotlight to see the crowd like finding a volunteer in the darkness of the audience at a Magic of Lyn show when we couldn’t find the houselights. But all I found were a couple glares and folks pretending to sleep. But we had fun telling stories and jokes and drinking the beers and the wines and whatever the magic man dug up for us.

So that all lead up to our confusion but the good thing about staying by a Bahnhof is it is well marked once you are trained to look for it, and our training occurred after we parked.

The faces I found in Munich were familiar faces. It seemed the whole world was now a melting pot though I suppose that may not be the case everywhere. Sure was true in Munich at that point. In three months in Perth, Australia I met folks from Zimbabwe (RIP buddy), Sao Paolo, Barcelona, Rome, Tokyo, and of course Munich which is why I’m here. Pittsfield not so much but I’m use to different faces growing up in the diverse New Bedford. I crave different faces, it’s a wonderful world. I saw the German faces that I’d seen in Tina and Kati and Allen C (who gave me my first German lessons years ago and I’ve just gotten back in touch with on facebook and I’m absolutely thrilled), that unforgettable Polish face (but regretably forgetable name…ooops) in the Hopsbrahaus (ne zdrovie!), the English faces like my own I suppose (though the Hickoks came to Connecticut in 1632), the Russian face of my Grandfather and the Irish face of my Grandmother.



We found the hostel and checked in, exhausted. I’d been an insomniac all year long (which actually served me well in my travels because there was always something new to see) and I decided to forgo the nap and get my bearings. I left Mike in the Hostel, waved to the stunning blondes in the lounge and headed to the train station to get a map and call Tina. That became our rhythm in each city – arrive, find the visitor’s center and get a good map. Nothing like a paper map.

I found a pay phone and a German punk rocker listening to some crazy techno approached me speaking Deutch. He had a shaved head, wore skinny black jeans with red plaid patches, a tight tee shirt under a black leather jacket adorned with silver chains ala Sid Vicious or Joey Ramone. I mentioned I was American, had just arrived, and didn’t understand. It was one of the rare times it wasn’t assumed I was American. My theme song in Australia was Estelle and Kanye’s American Boy and I realized she could be describing me: I wear baggy jeans, shell toes, and I think my hair is decidedly American. “Coins” Hans clarified. English is everywhere, it’s amazing. It’s a sign of the money and power and I like to think it’ll be our moral standing once again soon. I told him I had some Euros for him but he had to do 2 things for me; teach me to use the pay phone and teach me to count to 10 in German. He delivered an enthusiastic lesson in his native tongue. Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn. That’s all I needed to know to buy a water across the street for drei Euros.

The phone was easier then I though. In fact it was exactly the same. I had the same problem in Australia, I just couldn’t complete a call. It’s exactly the same. Exactly. Maybe I expect it to be different and can’t figure it out but I marvel at how simple things continue to confound me. So I reached Tina. She was attending a party in the mountains and wasn’t able to join in Munich so we agreed to meet the next day in Garmisch. “I’m so excited to see you” I told her.

I stepped out of the phone booth, and my friend Hans administered a German counting quiz! I couldn’t believe it! Ein…Zwei…Drei… I think he made me count about 6 or 7 times until I had it. I always forget how to say four (vier) because of the beginning of “Waiting for the Worms” on Pink Floyd’s The Wall. It starts out “Ein Zwei Drei a-ha!” and I always thought it was “Ein Zwi Drei Fourand”. But he was tenacious, relished the task and I relished the encounter. Shame I left my camera in the room.

I wandered back down Hirtenstraβe to the hostel to see what those blondes in the lobby were up to. I expected them to be Swedish. They had that look about them – both very bright blondes, faces smooth as milk, very certain cheeks, cheeks that understood their purpose – to draw attention to blue eys and symmetry. Flip flops dangled from their black feet.

Turns out they had already checked out and they were waiting for a train to Stuttgart which was in a few hours yet. We shared itineraries which were opposite. I was to go to Garmisch, Interlaken, Zurich, Strausburg, Frankfurt, Venice, Greece, Milano, Firenze e Roma. They had come from Innsbruck, Rome, Milan, Paris, and started in the UK where they were from. The black feet was from 8 hours of walking in Paris which they highly recommended doing but in more appropriate footwear. They cautiously asked how long I’d be in Milan – I said just in time to see the Duomo and a futbol match. They had been there for 3 days and there was nothing but the Duomo in the whole city and everything closes early but that was fine if you had just spent 8 hours walking in Paris in flip flops which was notably absent from my plans so one day was perfect. I had to see the Golden Roof and take a cable car in Innsbruck.

I finally started to fade, wished them well, and went up to nap.