The first thing you notice in Munich is how many urinals there are, usually double or triple what you’d expect compared to restaurants in most parts of the world. Apparently this is because German men are very fond of urinating together.
The second thing you notice in Munich is a (usually) pretty muscular and (always) serious woman blocking your exit from the men’s room. This forces you to quickly search your pockets for a 50 cent coin, which if you don’t have, you better run like hell and don’t think about coming back, no matter how many beers you have left in your bladder.
Munich is a moderately interesting city. Founded by monks in the 12th century, it became the seat of power for the Wittelsbach family, who ruled Bavaria for 800 years or so. Some Wittelsbachs became Electors of Bavaria and some even became Holy Roman Emperors. The electors met from time to time to choose the next Holy Roman Emperor, who was the main head of Germany, even if he was called Holy and Roman, and he was not.
The residence of the Wittelsbach family is in the heart of the city and is called Residenz (res-ih-DENTS). But the Residence is no longer what it was. If you take the audio guide, which is free with admission, in almost every other room you’ll hear the grim remark “but the original furniture was destroyed…” followed by a significant pause and then “when Munich was bombed in late WWII War”, thus blaming directly where it always belongs: the Americans.
Of course, when in Munich you are supposed to dine in a brauhaus (BROY-how, do you see the colon on the u? That means, forget the au and pronounce it as oy). In the 1920s, Hitler and his friends once staged a sit-in in a Munich beer hall, but accounts differ on whether that was because they were really trying to overthrow the Weimar government or because none of them had change for the government. men’s bathroom. Anyway, this one in particular brauhaus It is gone.
Today’s most famous brewery is the Hofbraühaus, with Augustiner Braü close behind. The idea is to sit at a large table with strangers, eat a giant plate of food that isn’t what you thought you were ordering, and drink three liters of beer.
Since my slender muscles do not allow me to lift a liter tankard, I usually order a children’s portion (half liter) of the weakest type of beer, called “white” beer – “Ein klein weissbier, bitte”.
I can sense that you are already impressed by my command of German. Before going to Munich I bought a handy phrase book and read it from cover to cover. In front of my first German waiter, I was able to sing “Für ein person, bitte” (feer ine per-ZONE, bit-teh) with great confidence.
To which the waiter replied “Sit here. Japanese?”
But actually most Germans (not that Bavarians really consider themselves German) are happy to play with you. So, quite often, my “Guten Tag” gave me a happy 30-second welcome speech, ending with “Trinke?” to which the reply is “Ein klein Weissbier, bitte”. Useful phrase, this.
(In France, when you try to speak French, no matter how well you say something, the person you are talking to will most likely pretend not to understand or respond to you in English to show that their English is better than yours.) English. Even if it isn’t.)
Menus in Munich were something else. Despite frequent references to the phrase book, at first all the names of the dishes seemed Greek to me. But I guess, being Munich, they were really German.
The Germans chain words with gay abandon. Junghirschbraten is, for example, a faun (young deer), roasted. Well, why don’t they say so? However, after a bit of decoding, I soon learned everything I needed to know to survive in Munich restaurants, especially the Braühauses.
Wurst (Repeat after me: VERST) is a kind of sausage; it is usually added to other words meaning “blood” or “fermented sheep intestines”; but every once in a while you’ll get lucky and get a foot-long hot dog by accident.
Next up is Sauerkraut, which is exactly what an American would think it is, sour (picked) cabbage. With each course he’ll get either sauerkraut or pomme frites (POM-frit, the Germanic pronunciation for French fries).
The last and most important for the typical tourist is Schweinebraten (Repeat after me: SHWINE-eh-BRAT-en). Roast pork with skin. Hmmm. I don’t know how many pigs a day Augustiner Braü counts, but every ten seconds I saw a succulent portion of pork go by (they sat me next to the kitchen), so it’s quite popular. And it’s not bad. Better than a crispy leg, though not as good as a well-done zebu. sucker (whole roast pork).
The way to see Munich is by bike. Its center is quite small for such a well-known city, and you can walk during your stay, but a bicycle is good. A jovial American tour guide can guide you for 4 hours, pointing out the main monuments, or you can pedal alone.
Next time I’ll pedal alone. My guide was Hawaiian, he had a broken hand from a Segway accident during Oktoberfest, and he immediately said “My mother is half Filipino” to which I replied “Isn’t everyone?” which is probably true in Hawaii. and Daly City, Calif. And some parts of Queens, New York. The problem with a bike tour is that you ride single file for 15 minutes and then when you stop you get a 5 minute talk. in 2 minutes
There are a number of stunning sights in Munich, though the most impressive isn’t actually in Munich, but rather an hour away (if a crazy Bavarian is driving you, 130kph on a country road marked 80). It’s called Neuschwanstein (noy -SHWAN-stine), and if you don’t actually recognize the name, you’ve probably seen pictures of it: a castle with towering towers, cradled by the (usually snow-capped) Alps. It could pass for a Harry Potter set.
This castle was built by the penultimate king of Bavaria, Ludwig II. Ludwig bankrupted the government by building great palaces. This was before the days of BMW and Audi, so while being King of Bavaria sounds great, there wasn’t always much to tax. Anyway, Ludwig was very popular with the Bavarians and thus got away with many things, such as looting the treasure. And the promotion of the opera. And being gay. At least he got away with it for a while. One fine day, when he was 40 years old, and after being deposed as king, he drowned. It was actually at night. In three feet of water. His personal doctor also drowned.
The other most impressive sight in Munich is the Tantris menu. (And then the check.) Tantris is the best restaurant in Munich, with a Michelin rosette and a Gault et Millaut score of 19/20. In gratitude to my local hosts for taking me to Neu, okay, Ludwig Castle, feeding me some delicious fried duck, and then saving me from the attentions of a drunken customer who insisted he had seen me on TV somewhere and he wanted to meet me. Instead, I promised them a meal and said expansively “in the most expensive restaurant in Munich”. They did not take my statement with a grain of salt as expected, but cheerfully stipulated that they wanted to have dinner at said Tantris.
When I opened the menu, my heart skipped a beat. Do those two or three beats (more than for my last crush). The soup cost twenty euros. Appetizers clustered around €40. Compared to the appetizers, the mains sounded downright cheap at €50 and up.
But I took it like a man. Not only did I smile happily as we went through the three courses, I also ordered a bottle of Troplong Mondot 1995 from the impressive wine list that even had several Le Pins, and Petrus vintages going back a long time (the ’61 was around €8000). per bottle). But we had a great time, and I was in the company of the most beautiful woman in the room.
Too bad she’s my niece. And married to a Bavarian. (But he’s fine. When he saw the menu, he too paled and was quick to emphasize that soup would make a good appetizer, which saved me €20, unlike his wife, my niece, who happily ordered the most expensive items at the menu, because after all, what are guys for?)
In Munich, by the way, there is only one good hotel to stay at. It’s right in the heart of the city, a short walk from all the great breweries, churches, shops, and even bike rentals. Of course, I will not tell you its name, or the next time I come back it will be packed with tourists and they will have raised the price. And anyway, their breakfast buffet is €34 if you want eggs.
That’s why, at some point, no matter how determined you are, sooner or later, you’ll give in and find a McDonald’s. Let me help you. In the downtown area there is a very nice one on Im Tal (the most central street in the city). A Sausage and Egg McMuffin with coffee will set you back just €2.40. This is the cheapest breakfast you’ll find in Munich, I guarantee, aside from scouring Marienplatz (muh-REE-en-plots, the town square) for chestnuts left behind by tourists.
But there’s bad news if you need water at McDonald’s. It will cost you a whole euro. The good news is that it is sparkling mineral water.
Unfortunately, although I stayed for six days, something was missing in Munich.
That something was a young girl, codenamed Heidi. Heidi is not German and Heidi is not her name. But she is an art student, she was described as “blonde and quite attractive”, and she intended to guide me through the Pinakothek art museums (there are four) and then maybe let me seduce. For me. (Well, it happened once or twice in the past… You can fool some people sometimes…)
Heidi was a friend of a friend of a friend of someone my hosts knew. If you stop to think about it, in a world where most people are six degrees apart, Heidi (five degrees from my hosts and six from me) was pretty remote. However, my niece’s husband went out of his way for half a day to locate Heidi, if only to calm his wife, who has been worried about me since the last time they left me.
But Heidi was missing in Munich. It wasn’t going to be, Cherie. I mean, lying. Shatzi?
So for the rest of my life, when I think about this trip, I’ll think about the urinals, the schweinebraten, and Missing in Munich Heidi. And the cost of the lamb saddle in Tantris.
Manny Gonzalez’s Travelogue/Humor