Hello, Munich!

Munich brought up a lot of emotions for me that I wasn't quite expecting. The last time I was there was nearly eleven years ago; I was a student with limited funds and it was my first solo trip. I had no idea what I was doing with my life, my relationship was on the verge of breakup and I knew I was teetering on the edge of massive change. Tornados had been following me in my nightmares and I was terrified to be travelling alone.

Despite all of this, I loved the city. So when Gemma and I arrived via a 5-hour train journey from Verona dipping and diving through Austria and the Dolomites through the Brenner Pass, I was ready to be at one with this little piece of Bavaria.

Our first evening involved a charming beer garden smack in the middle of Susan's local city park. Germans take the beer garden seriously and I was happy to oblige:

On day two, I made my way, sans Susan and Gemma, into the city centre. Lots had changed: I found a vegan restaurant, a great feat for a city that couldn't even give me a salad without lardons on it a decade ago. And lots had not: beer halls, the Englischer Garden, the massive Central Market stood as stalwarts of old Munich.

Old memories followed me, of the mistakes I made along the way and how far I've come. I'll be honest, I'm known to overthink things and I spent the day IN my own head. I eventually began to remind myself that the only positive way forward is to own these experiences and have gratitude for the people who made it possible for you to come out the other end, a little battle-worn, definitely less naive and hopefully with some dignity intact.

This didn't stop me from wandering through Viktualeinmarkt, a delicious feast of the senses, and consuming copious breze, those gigantic soft pretzel delights:

And as I relaxed into the day, I began to appreciate the German way of summering: to spend as much time outside as is possible. Whether that's eating or surfing or wandering and appreciating the architecture, much of which was rebuilt in its original style post-war, people seemed to be perfectly happy to live in the immediate.

Because my stomach wasn't up for a litre of beer, I made a brief detour into the Hofbrauhaus, the bastion of German beer, oompah bands and Oktoberfest. Last time I was here, I downed a litre of beer and three pretzels by myself at a table made for ten. This time, I took a picture of the ceiling before returning to the nearly-raining outdoors.

Gemma later told me that ceilings had been modified, as late as 2006, to cover up the myriad 'hidden' swastikas and Nazi eagles that made their way onto the ceiling during postwar restoration.

Most signage was less controversial:

I resisted the urge to buy lederhosen for Paul or try on a dirndl for myself. But I could not resist when I ran into this beaut because, don't forget, the dachshund is a German dog.

If you were more dedicated than me, you could even go to the Dackel Museum located in Passau, just across the border from Austria. It's dedicated to the history and tat of this tenacious, characterful breed and, given more time in Germany, I probably would have made it happen.

I made for Susan's after several hours of clearing the cobwebs and we ventured out for a meal with friends. The next morning, hungover and in need of carbohydrates before the flight, we made our way to the German equivalent of a British pub and sat down to the delight that is spatzle, a concoction of egg noodles, cheese and various other toppings.

The last time I had it was in Hamburg, as a vegan. Although that dish was delicious, I am firm believer that everything is better with cheese. This version came with Bavarian smoked cheese AND fried onions. We didn't quite float away from the meal but we did eventually extract ourselves from carb coma to make our final connection of the great European wedding journey.

As for the memories, I left them in Munich. The city can handle them.