Europe 2018- #9- Munich Mess

Whenever Munich springs to mind it’s accompanied by images of my beloved Arsenal losing 5-1 in champions league games, men in lederhosen and a large glass of beer. Within roughly one minute of parking up in the Bavarian capital I had the latter in hand. Stepping out of Fanny into the English Garden, the cities largest park, it didn’t take long to discover a beer garden by following the rousing smell of schnitzels and bratwurst and soon enough we were nestled in the midst of it all relaxing after another successful drive. A traditional band played from a wooden tower as traditionally dressed waitresses impressively delivered handfuls of the big glasses onto the sunbathed benches. Even by midday the area was bustling and being reminded of aprés bars on the Austrian ski slopes I felt at home. All that was missing was my tipsy mother dancing on a table.

Munich, and this particular park is notorious for its popular watering holes in the green heart of the city. Usually associated with the worlds biggest beer festival, Oktoberfest, Munich has a chilled out stein savouring atmosphere all year round and the beer garden we found ourselves in gave us the best first impression. Reinvigorated by the refreshing local beers we carried on through the park and into the city centre where we were greeted by the palatial buildings and elegant museums scattered among the main road. Time quickly escaped us as we got lost in the enticing city, darting down cobbled streets and gravitating towards the grand royal and parliamentary buildings until the hard work in the draining heat took its toll and rumbling stomachs reminded us that it was time for dinner.

Back at the van over some pasta we agreed that before returning to the lively nighttime of the city we should best prepare ourselves with a quick drink in our dining area between the van and the park fence. After the warm up beers the economical pursuit of cheaper, faster Inebriation was undertaken, signified by the cracking open of a bottle of rum. With this act the foundation of a messy night was laid.

Having a drink each time we lost at easy card games saw the contents of the litre bottle quickly diminish. Every shot was accompanied by a necessary shrinking of the face and disgruntled moan until an hour later it disappeared entirely. With stocks dry it was time to leave the tempting sight of bed behind and immerse ourselves back in the electric Saturday night in the centre. Despite being in the drinking capital of Germany we turned a blind eye to the traditional beer halls and cultural Bavarian bars and instead headed for a homely Irish pub which joined onto a bustling Australian bar. It was here that the rum foundations were built on.

Settling in at the bar littered with corny Australian stereotypes we found our way to the seats despite warnings of crocodiles and kangaroos, and got a couple of pints. Reminiscing of our own journey down under, the beers kept flowing and eventually we were turfed over to the bars Irish counterpart. We enjoyed the classic singalongs and continual stream of drinks until the tank was full. The accumulation of excessive liquid eventually took its toll and a trip to the “blokes” was necessary to relieve the growing pressures on bladders and stomachs. Whilst I was enjoying the satisfying stream flowing into the toilet, my body tried to generously double the pleasure by reprieving the unsettled alcohol, offering it a quick exit upwards from the stomach and funnelling it towards the loo, via a small alignment issue at the wall.

Hastily exiting the vicinity of the affected area I grabbed a swaying Bani from the perimeter of the dance floor and escaped to the lights of the city. Unresponsive to my explanation of the swift departure, and any verbal or visual clues, I decided to take him home and we haphazardly meandered in the direction of the van.

After my body had helpfully decided to reject the last few drinks I ended up as the relatively sober one, the same way that a snail is relatively rapid compared to a earthworm, and had the duty of care in regard to navigating the way to bed. The thing is after the copious amount of liquor filtering it’s way through Bani’s insides he was as burdensome as a backpack full of rocks to an infant. Regularly stopping to romantically monologue his pride in me and love for our trips and adventures, with the occasional tangent regarding his dislike of my deprecating humour and ill-favoured blog mentions, I had to coax the talentless waste of skin along the road and keep his simple mind from distractions such as insects and the moon. For the split second I myself pondered the meaning of life whilst caught in the shimmering illumination of the moon, Bani had wandered off to the entrance of a glistening museum boasting a classy party on its veranda. Confidently ambling up the steps his drunken courage escorted him unquestioned past the lazy security guard and into the midst of the majestically dressed affair. I had no choice to follow and in my tee shirt and shorts was at once stopped by the half awake guard, who bought my excuse that I was looking for my mum. (Side note-If you’re ever hosting an event in Munich be sure to test your bouncers or they may believe the drunken lies of a boy who’s mother is asleep almost a thousand miles away.)

Stood in the middle of the exclusive celebration searching the crowd for a face that looks like a melting waxwork, or my mum depending on who you ask, I quickly felt the eyes of the confused, insulted elite who begged for the removal of the slurring, smelly intruder. After one misguided attempt at small talk about the renaissance art collection at the museum which I quickly learnt was not housing anything of the sort, I returned to my place on the street awaiting the chucking out of my compatriot.

A few minutes after witnessing him dart into the interior of the grand structure he was quickly strolling out the other side, baffled at his whereabouts and the events of the last few moments. A bombardment of hiccups sporadically interrupted his explanation of the glamorous interior as we resumed our quest to the van. Seemingly on the verge of replicating the involuntary manoeuvre I adopted to lighten the load of internal liquid the heavy hiccups continued all the way to the sanctuary of Fanny. Inside I gifted him the luxury of the bed and a wisely placed saucepan, incase of any emergencies, before proceeding to pass out across the front seats.

Come the morning I untangled my legs from around the steering wheel and stretched my crumpled frame out of the front seats. Turning to the surprising, yet relieving site of an empty saucepan next to Bani’s clean face I sat up impressed at the seemingly safe environment around him. However, glistening off the leather next to him was the reflection of some mysterious liquid. Certain it hadn’t rained combined with the leak free roof I assured myself it couldn’t be any precipitation. The empty water bottle beside him couldn’t be the cause due to the sheer volume of the puddle being enough to power a small hydroelectric damn and the sink wasn’t the source as it was too far away. It was a sad realisation that his form of relief wasn’t an imitation of mine the previous night but one that required the placing of a larger, dispensable saucepan further south. The amount of urination, however hydrated it seemed, was simultaneously astonishing and disgusting and required a dry clean of a sleeping bag as soon as the perpetrator was sober enough to regain basic motor control, and stop laughing.

And that is how not to have a good night out in Munich. However, It still doesn’t steal the number one spot of my worst associations with the city, that still belongs to you Bayern Munich, you stupidly capable, Arsenal-destroying football team.

Whilst you’re here please help out a good causes, the oddballs foundation, to help raise some money for testicular cancer!

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