Munich Day 2: WWJD, or What Would Julien Do?

We had a new lease on life, or at least traveling. We had arrived in Munich, capital of the German state of Bavaria, and completely the opposite of the Italian cities that we had seen thus far. Gone were twisty, narrow streets in favor of wide, well-regulated boulevards with above ground trams (that ran on time and in an orderly fashion—surprise that!). Knowing that one of my favorite childhood movies, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, was partially filmed in Munich, I enjoyed trying to identify places where scenes were shot.

Our style of living in Munich was completely different than our Italian living arrangements. We decided to travel much lighter than we had previously been traveling in the day to day. We left computers and video equipment locked up tight in the hostel lockers in favor of going sans bag. The only tools we took with us were an Ipod to check time and our journals to record thoughts, jot down impressions, and to take down information from other friendly travelers that we may encounter.

While our first night in Munich was without too much event, the second night would be much more hairy. As a result of a football (soccer) game that was happening in town, we could not get a room for the second night at our own hostel. So we went again with (surprise) Plan B. We got another hostel, but made arrangements with this first hostel to house our gear so that we wouldn't have to trudge back and forth across the city. We'd show up at the second hostel, sleep, and then check back into the first hostel for the remainder of our stay. Pretty nifty, don't you think? Some out of the box ingenuity learned from some painful lessons.

So when we checked into the second hostel, we accidentally woke up a person who was sleeping in a bunk near our own beds. Instead of getting mad, this individual, a Frenchman named Julien who hails from the Pyrenees outside of Toulouse, started a nice conversation with us. He was in Munich to visit a special ethnographic art exhibit at one of Munich's museums. He himself is a potter—he makes pottery in a co-op where he lives with other artists. We thoroughly enjoyed this conversation about travel and art even though he didn't speak that much English and we didn't speak anything but French-English mish mash. We packed up and prepared to go out on the town for our customary let's-get-really-really-lost day, and Julien suited up to go to the museum. That's when he told us about some sort of event that his German friend was putting on. He wondered if we would like to hang out with him that night and go. We, of course, said yes, even though we knew no details of what he was talking about. Then we parted ways.

Munich, Germany is one of the most beautiful cities we have ever seen in its architecture, its layout, and its atmosphere. The central square is called Marienplatz, and it features a huge structure with a clock tower that has a special glockenspiel which moves at 11:00 AM and noon.

Marienplatz

Sadly, we didn't get to see the glockenspiel do its thing, but we later learned that youtube has it on demand. Although we attempted to get lost in the city, any sense of bewilderment was short lived. That is because, unlike Rome and Florence, streets didn't change names on a whim. The city center is made of rings of streets that limit any confusion that the streets may give. Each wide open platz had clearly labeled streets signs in locations that more or less made sense. As we learned the lay of the land, we found ourselves falling in love with this city and with the Germans that lived there.

Germans—the Bavarians living in Munich, specifically, in this case—are the nicest people we have ever met. If we looked lost for even a second, a person would stop and ask if we needed directions to a specific place. Once they knew that we were stupid Americans, they switched to speaking English and asked if we needed help again. Quite a change from some of the more rude Italians (although Italians were by and large extremely generous of spirit), and truly a different world from the business people you'd find in downtown Chicago, who'd gut a small child if it meant that they wouldn't miss their train.

We felt it a real treat to see Munich covered in snow. The night we arrived in the city, there was a very heavy snowfall, so when we went out the next day, we were tramping through fresh snowpack. This gave the city a wonderful kind of luminescence that you readily ascribe to German towns and cities. Maybe in the summer it is green and beautiful, but in the throes of winter, Munich is perfect.

So night time comes around, and we arrive back at the hostel for the rendezvous with Julien. Sure enough, he shows up with a bit more information. The event we were to attend was a Carnival celebration. Cool. But, to get in, we needed costumes, which we didn't have. What we did have, though, was tape. Yes, you read that right. We had a roll of packaging tape—the cheapo's best friend. The solution to our predicament was absolutely crystal clear. We would use the tape in concert with a stapler stolen from the front desk to create costumes out of...tourist brochures.

And before we could cogitate enough about this hair-brained scheme to see how insane it was, we set off to work. Quickly, other hostel goers started asking questions about what that crazy Frenchman and those even crazier Americans were doing in the corner. As we explained our rationale, people tended to think that we were the most awesome people on the planet.

Julien, Super Tourist

Wes, Champion of the Gladiatorial Tourist Shoppes

Reinhardt, Lord of the Paper Sword

We gathered a posse that also wanted to attend this party—we think mostly to see what would happen when we got there. So we navigated through the streets and the metro of Munich, getting hoots and hollers all the way from people who either thought that we were incredibly creative or incredibly escaped from a mental institution.

So we finally got to the place—an old, run down hotel that was scheduled for demolition in a couple of weeks. But before tearing it down, students from the nearby universities thought it a wonderful idea to graffiti the hell out of it and cram a thousand or so costumed people into the basement. But alas, when we got there, we found out two things: first, we needed tickets to get in, and second, there were no more tickets left. You mean we came all this way looking this completely silly for no pay off? Not so. Julien had one more trick up his sleeve. He walked around the building, with us following, and managed to find his friend...who happened to have some reserve tickets for people who had pre-paid.

We begged. We pleaded. We were crazy Americans. And after all that, he looked around, grabbed three tickets from his pocket, and told us not to tell anyone where we got them (oops...). So we were in like Flynn. And our costumes were a hit. In fact, they were too good. When people started speaking to us in German, all we could say back was the following: “We don't speak German. We're tourists. From Chicago.” To which they would replay, “No you're not.” And which we answered with “Um, yes we are. We're Americans.” We were, as it turned out, probably the only Americans at this party that was staged in the catacomb like basement of this hotel. We grabbed beers, had English-language conversations with the Germans that actually believed us, and danced the night away.

Where No American Has Gone Before

Truth be told, maybe we had a little too good of a time. So at the end of the night (AKA the morning), we made our way, through a blizzard and through a suddenly indecipherable Munich train system. Let's just say that we paid a price for those tickets—maybe not in Euros, but a price nonetheless.

This was Saturday night, Sunday morning. After a bad night's sleep, we got up, shambled our way outside, grabbed a hot dog, dragged each other to our first hostel, and went to sleep again. Bring on Monday.

This day was without a doubt the most adrenaline-pumping, exciting day we have had. This is the reason that the Pork Chop Express advocates 'no plan.' Because 'no plan' opens the way to 'every plan.' Over and out.