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.

Summer 2019: The Summer of Love

All of a sudden and yet again, the summer has come and almost gone. And yet again, I've become lax (read: non-existent) at the updating process. I'd like to say that life gets in the way and, to a degree, this is true. But the Google gods have also made the process of uploading pictures one step more onerous and it becomes easy to stay lazy. And in an epic teacher summer holidays, it becomes easy to watch the entire series of Gilmore Girls for the third, fourth, fifth time.

So here we are back in London after an epic summer of matrimonial adventures. Others, not mine. In the whole affair of being an International Person, the reunions are the cherry on top of what can sometimes be the experience of window shopping for cake. You get me: looks delicious, know it's delicious, but are separated by a pane of glass. 

This summer I got to eat the cake, see the friends and sweat in the Italian/Greek/Swedish sun in the process. The first adventure took us to Pisa for Clare's (Shanghai friend) multi-national Hen Do. Multinational in that friends flew from Manchester, London, Sweden, Vietnam and China to be there. It was not without its logistical dramas and its last minute drop outs. But ultimately, three days poolside was just what the doctor ordered. 

To make it more multinational, post-hen do, Gemma and I made our way up-continent, as one is able to do in Europe, weaving our way through Florence, Bologna, Verona and Munich before boarding a flight for Copenhagen, hiring a car, picking up Paul and crossing the bridge (that will break your bank account for years to come) into Sweden. There, we found ourselves in the tiny village of Rostaga for Clare and Roland's wedding. Adding one final level of internationalness, Clare, a Northern Englander, married Roland, a Hungarian, 18-months after they met in Malmo. Yep, I love it. Our journey ended in Copenhagen three days later when Paul and I made our way back to London. 

Two weeks later, my friend Gil (Taiwanese name: Kuan Yin) married her long-time love, George (Greek name: Giorgios) in a traditional Greek Orthodox ceremony in a seaside suburb of Athens. After lots of vigourous circle dancing and souvlaki, we then made our way to the delicious, delicious islands, taking in Naxos and Paros in the Cyclades for ten days of sun and sea. 

In between all of that, I've taken in the best of what British Rail has to offer and made my way to Whitstable, Deal, Bletchley, Arlesey. We've been fairly lucky in dodging heat delays, rain delays, wind delays in the process. 

It's been everything I could ask for in a summer. Which means the coming school year is going to hit me like a ton of bricks when the alarm goes off late next week. Sigh.

Lubeck

The name might not sound pretty but this charming little city oozes sweetness and charm, literally. Besides its well-preserved ancient city, Lubeck's claim to fame is marzipan, that gooey, sickly sweet almond paste that people the world over either love or loathe. There's, in fact, a museum dedicated to this delicacy, chock full of marzipan versions of fruit, vegetables, meat and other banquet-style dishes. I'm not sure how it's possible that I didn't take pictures but it might have been the month-long veganism speaking.

All this aside, the weather played nice and the city showed us its charm. At the centre of the city lies a St Mary's Church, still being restored from World War II. It's impressive from both the outside and inside:

 

 

 The church is next to the Rathaus, the town hall, also equally impressive.

 

Further through the town, lies a charming series of houses, cafes and museums. We took a casual amble around, a feat that took no more than an hour or so.

It turns out that Lubeck is also home to the Willy Brandt House. For those of you not up on your contemporary German history, Mr. Brandt was the Nobel Peace Prize winning, left-wing journalist turned chancellor of Germany. The museum was surprisingly interesting and at the whopping price of free, a good way to spend a couple of hours.

For those of you up on your German surrealist literature, Gunter Grass's House is also a short walk away. Having never read The Tin Drum nor really enjoying German Surrealist literature, I gave this one a pass. But because Nobel Prize winners are something like London buses, wait and wait and wait and three will show up, you can also go to the Thomas and Heinrich Mann House, also a short walk away. I'm sure this will appeal to a certain set of tourists. But for us, we opted for coffee and (vegan) cake at the Cafe Niederegger at the city's most central branch.

Thus ended our day trip to the north of Germany. We hopped back on a cheap, efficient train and made our way back to Hamburg and 45-minutes later, were transported back to Germany's second city. Onward!

Hamburg

I'll start by addressing the elephant in the room. No, people from Hamburg are NOT called Hamburgers. To say I went to Hamburg solely to find this out would not be entirely truthful, nor would it be entirely false. So there we are.

I ended up in Hamburg because Lindsay, a good friend of mine, is a bit of a Germanophile. The other name for this is a Teutonophile but that makes her sound a little pervy so I opted for the first. Lindsay has spent the better part of a year taking German evening classes at King's College London's well-appointed Language College. She was keen to put these skills to good use and after a drawn-out flight search, we dumped our unknowingly expensive notions of a trip to Morocco and opted for Germany's second city.

I timed the trip impeccably with my forays into the world of veganism and was delighted to find that German food has moved on from my previous trip to Munich. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; Germany seems to be one of Europe's most progressive countries, embracing trends with both hands. From traditional spatzle (with sauerkraut and smoked tofu, below) to more trendy quinoa burritos, I ate well. And there was the traditional gigantic pretzel with your stein of beer which obviously did not disappoint.

 The city itself is, unsurprisingly, a working city. With the country's biggest port and 1.8 million people bustling around, we got a good feeling for what it might be like to live there.

 February weather was cold and crisp but we got a few sunny moments. In those snippets of time, it was easy to imagine how Hamburg's residents might embrace the parks, open space and pavement cafes. Despite the cold, people did spend their time outside, and so the city did feel very much alive (even though the pictures don't really capture this).

In later wanderings, we made our way to the Saint Pauli neighbourhood, known for its sex shops and sex-trade as well as the Beatles, who played near the Reeperbahn area. As often happens, little hipster neighbourhoods have sprung up next to this part of town and so we wandered in and out of boutiques, museums and bookshops in the Schanzenviertel area too.

Here, the vibe was distinct--a mix of young skateboarders, students, vegetarian hipsters and the like. It felt a lot more alive than other parts of the city which is probably why we spent so much time getting lost amongst the various side streets.

 

 Back in the city centre, ancient architecture, all connected to various trades, continued to intermingle with new commerce and buildings.

And whilst five whole days in this city in motion might have been a bit too much, it was good to see the inner workings of a confident Hamburg. We felt like old pros by the end of our trip, working the metro and trains with ease, and taking in pints of proper German beer in proper German beer houses. For a February half term bit of escapism, that worked perfectly.