Surfing in Munich

(Second of two new blogs)

What do you think an Ice Bear is? In the south of Germany, the excitement over the baby “Ice Bear” or polar bear at the local zoo is only surpassed by football (soccer). We see signs at all the transportation centers asking us to come see the ice bear. For some reason, I find it so cute to call polar bears, ice bears.

We spent a very long day in Munich today. Apparently there is a special “Bayern”(Bavarian) rate if you catch a train after 9 am and leave after 7 pm. As many as 5 people can go for one price of a mere 36 euros. Sieglinde, as always, took very good care of us as we snacked the two hours moving away from Franconia to Bavaria. There is a big difference between the two areas. Ask any Nuremberger and he will inform you why one is lucky to be Franconian and I know from our visit to Cesky Krumlov that Bavarians have their own list.

I could spin many a sentence describing ornate buildings, the Glockenspiel (musical clock in a tower), churches dripping in ornate finery, and a dazzling market that rivals the best of Provence for vegetables. Instead I will spend some time discussing the “Bier Gartens” and the town park which alone is larger than Sequim.

Around lunch, parched from cobblestones that radiated heat like cinderblocks, we stopped at the Hoffbrau House or “HB”. The main room has an arching ceiling, tattooed with murals depicting gluttony and pretty much drinking oneself silly. When you visit the men’s toilet you are surrounded by two rooms with urinals on three sides of the walls. Then just inside the door on your right is a vomit friendly sink all in stainless and extra deep with splash guards. A comforting thought as I nuzzled my cold brew. As we were leaving, Werner pointed out that the old wooden tables are covered people’s names. “Look most of the names are American!” he said. Alright, Dave, Cindy, Karen, Tom, … etc, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Near the end of the day, we let Werner rest his sore ankle, and Gayle, Sieglinde, and I wandered around the English Gardens. They are only English because an English designer was used. There certainly is nothing formal or refined about them. The park is the largest city park in the world, far larger than New York’s “Central Park”. There is a bewildering maze of trails and waterways. The water coursing through the park comes directly from the Alps, runs under the city, and is bone chillingly cold as it erupts in torrents in several locations. At one such location, surfers line the shore, taking turns, plunging into the maelstrom, moving from zero to what seems to be 30 mph. When they fall, the stream grabs them and sends them downstream into the bushy shoreline.

If you keep walking, there is a stone pavilion on a hill where the king would ride out and meet his mistress for some body surfing and a royal massage. Later you come to a Japanese pavilion which today had an Umpa Band from the Urkraine and a lovely beer garden across the way. I knew we were close to a beer garden as many people were carrying steins of beer to their picnic spots. They pay a healthy deposit to return the steins to their rightful owners.

Moving gradually back our pedometer striking 12,000 steps, I gazed upon acres of sunbathing and frolicking Germans. The same view we witnessed for the last 2,000 steps except the men were not wearing any clothes. I ask Sieglinde about this and she said that this was acceptable in this place. We found Werner in a garden café sitting beside two women with strollered babies, drinking a glass of green tea and reading a good book. We finished the day with nearly 16,000 steps, a mystery and a bounty in each step.