This is me nerding out

Not sure if I mentioned it before, but all the the war memorials in Munich are super subtle and relatively hidden.  There are no big plaques or giant statues, just subtle reminders that are there for those who look (or, as in my case, for the most part) have them pointed out.  The theory being that the denizens of Munich don’t want to be reminded of their (Germany in general, Munich – Hitler’s favorite city – specifically) role in the clusterfuck that was WWII.  About 60% of the city was destroyed or damaged by the Allied bombings, so the city is a weird (but poignant) amalgamation of very old 13th century churches and wall fortifications, super modern synagogues, and modern recreations of 16th, 17th, and 18th century buildings built next to and on top of the remnants of the originals, thanks, ironically enough, to the fact that Hitler had his S.S. troops photograph the city in detail when he found out it was going to be bombed. Little tributes left by the architects or city-planners — bullet and shrapnel-ridden columns next to brand-new pristine stone.  Black-charred walls next to those (relatively) freshly painted.  It’s a weird juxtaposition but I like it.

Another thing I didn’t expect about Munich is the absurd amount of churches.  I didn’t know the city was founded by monks – hence its name, though I forget the details.  But all the churches I’ve visited in the past 4 days (which is 8 or 9, I’ve lost track) are all Catholic (or Greek Orthodox, maybe – signs were in German so I couldn’t tell, but the art looked a little too Byzantine to be Roman Catholic).  I guess I came here with the incorrect assumption that Germany, land of Martin Luther, the Guttenberg Bible, and the Reformation would be primarily Protestant.  This, obviously, is not the case.  Bavaria is actually mostly, and rather emphatically, Catholic.  Bavaria, generally speaking, adheres adamantly to their cultural roots and many people still identify as Bavarian before identifying as German.  Not that I know this first hand, sine I’ve yet to have a conversation of any significance with a German.  Or Bavarian.  But so I’ve been told.  One thing that gets to me though is that people don’t smile. You pass someone on the street and smile or nod and they completely ignore you.  Do I exist?  Am I invisible?  Are you a jerk? …

Another unexpected is that I’m normally – or at least have been in the past – a pretty intense museum person.  I love museums.  I spend hours in them, especially when they’re in foreign countries filled with stuff I’ve never seen before and will (probably) never again have the opportunity to see.  But I find myself, quite suddenly, profoundly anti-museum.  Granted, today was an absolutely lovely day so I didn’t want to spend it inside, but that never used to be a concern to me.  Anyway, I have yet to visit a single museum in Munich (Dachau excepted) and I can’t say I’m much bothered by it, just a little surprised at myself.  People watching and wandering has been more satisfying, at least for the moment.  For instance, I’ve noticed on 3 separate occasions, on the same street corner at the same crosswalk, 3 different couples making out.  And not just smooching, but hard-core make out sessions on the street.  Apparently this corner has some intense ju-ju that I need to tap in to.

Pictures will be added eventually, FYI, as soon as I figure out how. There are some on my facebook page if you are in desperate need of imagery to accompany the words.

I’m here!

So here I am in Munich, city of monks, beer, punk kids, beer, churches, beer, beergardens, beer…have I beaten the theme to death enough yet? I arrived without any major catastrophe, got a bit turned around when initially trying to find the hostel and was then further distracted by a dude walking in front of me wearing super thin khakis and a black thong. Quite the first impression of native Müncheners. Münchenites? Not sure about that one. Other highlights from the past couple of days: being mistaken for a local a couple of times, with people asking me for directions; buying ginormous delicious blackberries at the Viktualienmarket (which I did partially because they were gorgeous and partially because I was too scared to buy food at a restaurant…I may become a fruititarian by the end of this trip); seeing a balding, dred-locked, post-middle age white rasta guy selling dragon fruit and other exotics I couldn’t even recognize; rescuing a fellow hosteler from the bathroom stall – the lock broke on the door and she couldn’t get out. I was in the shower at the time and the only other person there so I tried to lend her a very soggy and soapy rescue by slamming into the stall door to no avail. The hostel personnel eventually had to be summoned, though I made sure I was less soapy for that action. All very dramatic and awkward indeed. Yesterday (Thursday) I went on a free walking tour of the city with a gaggle of other people, all of us brandishing our cameras and oggling local curiosities like only shameless tourists can. It was invaluable, though (awkward as it felt), because the guide seemed to know absolutely everything about the city and its history so it was fun to nerd out on that. The same company offers an evening tour of four local beergardens called the Beer Challenge, which I also went on. Now, I don’t normally drink beer for a variety of reasons, mostly because I just don’t like the taste (blasphemy, some will say, I know). But oh my god. I officially love German beer. And German beergardens. And I am officially the champion of the Beer Challenge, I even have a little ticket that proves it. (No, Mom and Dad, it’s not because I drank the most beer but because I’m that much of a nerd and got the most trivia questions right at the end of the night.) My insta-friends and I took to calling each other by our respective states (or cities, in the cases of the non-American folks) – my best friend for the evening was “Montana, who, as far as I could tell had never (or at least rarely) been drunk before. Needless to say he was hilarious, though the hilarity ended rather abruptly when he spilled my beer and 3 others all over my lap. This would normally not be much more than a significant annoyance, but considering the fact that my clothing is pretty limited and opportunities for washing said clothing even more so (and ridiculously expensive) I was pissed.

Today was definitely less light-hearted, since I spent most of it at the Dachau concentration camp memorial. Words can’t describe the experience. Books, classes, and movies really don’t even come close to actually being there. I think I’ll just leave it at that. While well worth it, I hope tomorrow isn’t as emotionally draining.

Pre-trip Freak Out

I’ve been “planning” this trip for less than a month and now, 10 days away from departure, it’s still shockingly unreal.  My level of freak-out, however, has increased exponentially the closer my departure date gets and the frequency with which people ask: “are you so excited?” “are you ready?” “where are you going?” “wait…you’re really going by yourself?”.  Yes, of course I’m excited, as any moron should be when embarking on a two-month trek into the unknown (though it be to the well-sojourned territory of Europe).  No, I’m not ready and do not anticipate feeling “ready” at any time in the next 10 days.  I have a valid passport (which is significant, since I almost didn’t…sneaky expiration rules: I shake my fist at you!) and some money and that’s about it (and am beginning to argue/justify to myself that that’s really all I need).  I have no concrete idea as to where I’m going.  I know that I fly in and out of Munich and I’m spending the first 5 of my 62 days in that city.  After that…I’m adrift to wherever the whim of St. Christopher and my imagination takes me.  Yes, I’m going alone.  But I’m not an idiot, so please don’t expound on the dangers of being a single woman traveling through Eastern Europe alone.  I don’t want to add more things to my list of stuff of which I should be afraid.  My overall feeling thus far, though, has been one of pure unadulterated terror when I focus too much on the logistics of this trip.  What the hell was I thinking, effectively quitting my job in a shitty economy and spending all my money (and I do, quite literally, mean all) on a two-month trek to another continent where I don’t know anyone and have no distinct itinerary, where the exchange rate is currently shit, where I’ll be alone with only my brain for company (and I can get so tired of listening to myself) for two whole months?  WTF!?!  I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how public transportation works in the States, let alone a foreign country where I don’t (even remotely) speak the language, I don’t know how to exchange money or make sure I’m not getting screwed over on cab fare or pomegranates at the market.  I’m effectively clueless.  It’s this line of thinking that usually instigates the panic attack and I have to reach for the omnipresent brown paper bag so I don’t pass out.  But then, when my breathing has regulated a bit and the tunnel vision has receded, I mentally slap myself.  Relax.  Breathe.  Because this is going to be awesome.