My dearest friends,
We had little idea what to expect from Germany. I had high hopes, hearing from others that the people spoke English and were wonderfully inviting. I stopped listening after "English" because they said the rest in German and I don't speak a lick-a that.
That wasn't an issue.
Munich was a delight. Thought our cab ride was through a metro area, we emerged from our easily navigable metro station, Odeonplatz, at a gorgeous open square. A monument of a man on horseback flanked by two lions (somewhat of thing here in Munich) sat before us, a cathedral with yellow stone and ornate greening broze minarets to our right. Side streets zip out with shops, cafes, and old buildings in every direction.
We spend the day in Munich's English Garden, which is more of park and had few Englishmen at first glance, but thus continues a blossoming motif of confusion in these European countries. At one entrance there is a small damming of the river that stirs up a small, but churning, bit of rapids. Locals surf here, winding back and forth at the mouth till they take a dive. The line of surfers is constant, casual, and orderly. A few friends at home will be happy to know that the gender distribution was nearly even, and the women kicked an equivalent amount of ass at River surfing, if not more. I could have watched them all day. Pictures aren't working, but there are some of these guys and my coin on the Facebooks.
Lunch was at the famous Chinese Tower Biergarter (confusion enough for you?), and we finally got ahold of some bratwurst, sauerkraut, and an entire liter of weissbier. A liter. That's plenty for any American. The Germans, however, seem to function at this level of inebriation rather well, and even mothers taking care of their children drank more beer than I did. Thinking I know I thing or two about the beers I like, and not expecting to enjoy any weissbier, the Germans do it right. I savor the memory of it as I right this blog post mildly buzzed on French wine. Don't let that influence your perception of it. I am completely capable of writing in this state.
aand wenext went to someplacebuhibkuiagbt
See that's a joke. I'm fine.
Munich continues the batch of contradictive confusion to which Rome first introduced me. The Opera house sits next to an old Cathedral above a street that rivals the shops on New York City's fifth ave. Yet somehow I still felt like I was in Ann arbor. Italy I felt on edge, touristy. France I feel like I have to put on a bit, wear nice shirts and stuff. Germany feels like home. Even the language barrier faded after I figured out how to pronounce a few words.
Munich is the first stop on the trip that makes me want to come back. It makes me want to see all of Germany. I hope to feel the same way about London. I doubt I will feel the same way about France. But some day I'm going to get a really nice bike and ride all over this country. It's wonderful. Wundebar, even.
I alluded to a bit of train difficulty in my last post, but after recent events a few delays in Switzerland hardly compares to the tragedy in France. Best wishes to those near Paris as we make our way there tomorrow.
Warmest regards,
Chad Rhiness
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