Have you missed me? #MarcusReturns

Made in Munich returns September 2014. A new chapter will begin in September as I move back to Munich. Who’s excited? I know I am.

So I say thank you for the Munich…

#madeinmunich

Dear loyal readers,

It seems sad to say but this is the last personal blog post for #madeinmunich. Apologies to those who have only just started following – it’s not you it’s me. Despite the fears of many – the brand “madeinmunich” won’t die. Next time I’m in that beautiful city, I solemnly promise that this blog will recommence. The blog may from time to time be of use to me and I may use it again very soon. So it’s not goodbye for good but it is goodbye for now. Thank you to everyone who made the past year the best it could have been.

Leaving Germany – a topsy-turvy and ultimately wonderful country where tramps pay for their newspapers, prostitutes have pensions and large sections of motorway have no speed limit. The bureaucracy is bureau-crazy but it’s worth it if trains run on time even if you have to fill out a form and get a licence for everything – I was surprised that I was allowed to brush my teeth without filling out a few forms and heading to the Zahnamt.

Arriving in Great Britain – a funny-shaped group of islands off the coast of Eurasia where 20 degrees means it’s summer and overweight builders think it’s appropriate to wander around topless. Bacon & eggs, fish & chips, petty politics, page three models, friendly and comprehensive customer service, pints, miles per hour and not having to guesstimate my height in centimetres.

A few mistakes were made: signing a 24 month phone contract when I only needed a dozen months, failing a German driving test for slow driving (amongst other things). I like to think these were outweighed by great experiences and good achievements: becoming fluent in the German language, understanding the culture on different levels (national, regional, city) discovering new countries, visiting university friends and sharing their experiences, getting to know a diverse mix of people from all over the globe, working for the world’s bestselling premium car manufacturer, running the half marathon for charity, going to three beer festivals, spending three weekends in a row skiing, having friends to visit, making connections and generally getting another perspective on life not to mention trying to integrate with society.

 I’m glad I’ve made all the mistakes I’ve made so far in my life because they have lead me to this miraculous time in Munich that has satisfied my hunger for exploration and adventure before inspiring me to do it all again.

If I started to thank individuals I would never finish this post. I would like to say a massive thank you to Leeds for having Year Abroad as part of their languages programme – and all the support we were entitled to. Thanks to the European Union who told Frankfurt to allocate us a load of cash which enabled us to make the most out of our time on the continent. Thanks to BMW and especially my bosses and international department for giving me an extra special intern contract for a year which enabled me to gain some skills and experience in a professional environment meet fantastic people and learn the tricks of the trade. Thanks to all the interns, from the first generation to the third, who were always willing to learn from each other. They were right – I couldn’t have had a better time anywhere else. Thank you to all the people who made my adventure what it was, from minor roles in the blog to main characters, on and off stage you surpassed my already high expectations. I have been a proud ambassador for the University of Leeds.

In my last week in Munich at the end of August I said “Auf Wiedersehen” at the Seehaus to Jenny & Ricardo, before they went on holiday to Italy. My penultimate Saturday was the day of my leaving event: Fabianerfest. The location? Fabianerplatz, Englischer Garten. Here is a map for those of you who don’t know.

We rose early on a gorgeous Saturday morning for the picnic dressed in trunks with an armful of Pretzels. You know who your mates are when they rearrange their weekend visit home and then get up at early to celebrate with you. We set up camp on the bank of the Schwabinger Bach and for a while it seemed like maybe no-one would come. Eventually numbers started to climb and all the most important people to me came to see me and have some food and drink in the Gardens. Thanks to Max for actually sticking with me the whole way through! Chris was planning on doing a run etc but a beer was thrust into his hands – and that, as we said, was that. I want to thank everyone who came; it really meant a lot to gather in the sun with friends and come to terms with the fact that whether I liked it or not – I had to leave them all behind. But it wasn’t all bad – I was excited to see my family and friends in London and Leeds.

Chris and I both looking fairly knackered. The Paulaner can reads “FABIANER” produced by my good friend Mike – thanks mate!

Max & Marcus starring in Made in Munich.

At about 19:30 ECT it began to bucket with rain. It was raining Katze & Hunde in my gardens.

089 is probably my least favourite club in Munich – from the security to the layout to the clientele to the poor yet overpriced drinks selection – the establishment leaves nothing to be envious of. However, sometimes it can be what you make of it. No matter how shoddy the event you can make it work in your favour and this is something we achieved as we carried the party on until the late hours of the morning. Red Bull was in part to thank as well as Max’s clever games. The weekend finished with a day to recover before my final working week.

In the office I had begun to start to say goodbye to people, lunch became a nightmare where I wanted to go with everyone one last time but realised there weren’t enough days in the week. Coffee had to suffice. I wasn’t the only one leavning though and had what must have been at least one Weißwurstfrühstuck Ausstand per day. No momentum was lost in the week and those that weren’t celebrating their leaving at work were doing so at rooftop parties. Laura was one of these people.

On the Tuesday it was Laura’s Abschied party & After-Work @ the Telekom Tower. We started off at hers and made our way into town. What is shamelessly referred to as an After-Work describes an event where many Germans dress up in what they should have been wearing at work and pretend to be about to dance to very loud music whilst trying to outdo each other in a game which translates to “ordering expensive cocktails”. The game can last all nightor until someone makes a joke that is considered “on the edge” at which point many people would inevitably tut and decide to back to their WG in Schwabing. Pretentious is a word that crosses the mind. That said, me and my little band of interns like to think we got the party started by actually forcing people to dance. This worked for a time, unfortunately though – although its motives pure.

By mid-week I was so tired of being up and about, if it hadn’t been my last chance to do everything then I would have of course had a few nights in. When Wednesday came along it became clear that I was to be expected at Stammtisch @ die Bank where I was overjoyed to be able to introduce Evie to all the other BMW interns who had made it down. Lots of people to look after her now. Niklas, the person who has always been there for me in Munich also stopped by even though he is extremely busy with his studies. What a fantastic chap. I really enjoyed introducing him to the Nachfolger of Ingo’s Nachfolger, Giulio – I knew they’d get on like a Hochhaus on fire and they were the best of friends in about ten seconds flat.

Staying in Baden-Baden in a nice hotel where the family straightened out their backs after a week of camping on the Romantic Route. After two nights we had eaten well, bathed and enjoyed the hotel’s facilities and great food, we were ready to start the engine and follow signs to London-London. The journey went smoothly, apart from panicking in a French service station at the chaotic service, lack of attention to pricing and unhygienic location of the toilets. I knew I was in for a real treat when I arrived back in Angleterre. We were soon in Calais after listening to a few Radio 4 podcasts. It seemed like French border control at Calais had transformed into the set of a new Lacoste advert as some official approached the car with his arm outstretched and whispered “explosive détéction” longingly into the driver’s window before caressing the car with what looked like a microphone. After yet another Burger King we we’re on the train sous la Manche. And my Year Abroad was officially over because I was no longer abroad. I was home.

Thanks to my parents and brothers for coming to pick me up with all my stuff – I wish I could say that no brothers were harmed in the process. And thanks to my family for looking after me whilst in London and moving me up to Leeds – couldn’t have done it without you! I’m glad I had time to see grandparents and Auntie Sue – see you all very soon.

Al I have now are the memories, many of which have been preserved in this wordpress blog. Thanks should go to you too, wordpress. A great site for blogging, so great that it was able to convert my good friend Nath from antiquated blogspot.

I look forward to hearing how everyone’s Year Abroad went. Currently preparing for final year at Leeds University, settled in now and great to say hi to all my Uni friends!

I wish everyone back in Munich a great start to Oktoberfest this weekend, it seems strange that a year ago I was preparing myself for the Wies’n. Feel free to send me some photos if you want to make me miss Munich even more than I already do.

I miss you already – you know who you are.

Viel Spaß euch!

Marcus.

Munich Sounds Better With You.

Hello and welcome to one of the final installments in what has been my Year Abroad adventure. You may wonder why the posts have been less regular – the reason is I am trying to ween my readers off gently, to ease them into a time without Munich Man when the inevitable withdrawal symptoms creep in.

This post is what I’ve been up to so far in August.

Thursday 1st of August was David’s Abschiedsfeier (Marcus & Markus) Englischer Garten+Jägermeister+Rote Sonne+DJ Jess+Dave’s sister. Great night. Tilmann was on the babe again, as per. He managed to get a girl’s number at a traffic light whilst we were on the way to the club. Typical Techno Tilmann. David had a great leaving party. David is someone I will definitely stay in touch with.

On Friday we headed to P1 which is the most exclusive club in Munich. Back when club meant an actual club and not “place where any old person can get in”. It was founded in 1949 to serve as a club for the American officers stationed here in West Germany. The troops found it difficult to pronounce the clubs address: Prinzregentenstraße 1, so they started referring to it as P-One. On the evening Max and I rolling up with Irina and Susanne, after a couple of rounds of drinks in Schumann’s, Odeonsplatz and greeted the promoter who is a mate of ours. No messing about, we sauntered straight in paying no entry fee and leaving a load of what I refer to as “VIPlebs” in the queue. Awaiting us inside was the gorgeous Amélie and lovely Vanessa who were partying in the VIP section. They are not at all VIPlebs. They are more like Bond girls. Baywatch style they ran over to us as soon as they saw us and we were all ecstatic to see each other hugging kissing and generally jumping around. We celebrated life by drinking and dancing all night long using our cards to fend off nagging bartenders because, quite frankly, being young was somehow reason enough. How lucky I am to have made such great friends over my time here. Every time I say goodbye to one friend, there’s always another one waiting for me round the corner.

On the Saturday after Lerchenauer See with my good friend Andreas. Munich has lakes which you are allowed to swim in just a few kilometres from the ring road. It was so refreshing to dive into the water. Later in the afternoon I met Chris at the stormy Seehaus a Biergarten which is our equivalent of the Winchester in Sean of the Dead: the Mecca of Munich. After this I cycled through the thunder and lightning and arrived soaking wet at another colleague also called Chris was having a house party.

Sunday introduced Chris to the magic of Made in Chelsea, the banker and we had general youtube session where he introduced me to the first viral video of all time: Star Wars kid.

Monday the 5th was time for lunch with Amélie, Vanessa and Techno Tilmann in the FIZ. A civilised affair, apart from Tilmann’s outrageous attempts at trying to make conversation. We’re like naughty and nice, sugar and spice.

Tuesday Chilled out boys night with Tilmann.

Wednesday was Stammtisch with all my favourite BMW interns at Café Blücher.

Thursday a proper early night. Finally. At last.

On Friday the 9th I somehow found myself in a cocktail bar with five girls of five different nationalities. Don’t ask me how. I certainly wasn’t asking any questions. Amélie, Vanessa, Frankie and Sophie as well as Annabelle. We ordered jumbos. Then to Ruby where Max and Sascha were awaiting us both absolutely battered and sitting like “the Babo” with their drinks.

Saturday Tilmann’s big weekend started at the BMW Museum with Kai and Nico. What I thought would already be a good weekend became even better as I was surprised by my good friend Simon Falk – an essential cast member in the play that has been Year Abroad. We organised for ice cold beers to be delivered to the BMW Welt from my dear Kurdish friends at the Getränkemarkt which they brought within minutes. We relaxed in the sun playing frisbee and having a picnic with the whole gang. Tiffany with the help of Craig had managed to organise a great meet up and Lauren was also in Munich at the time.

Sunday Eisbach with Tilmann, Nico, Kai and joined by Si, Tiff and Lauren as well as Julie and Miren later on. A brief Seehaus session with Chris was in order complete with Post-Ibiza debriefing.

Monday brief beer with the Verbindung. For those of yo who don’t know a Verbindung is a secret German fraternity. Good lads overall with a few small exceptions. Some great characters and budding workers.

Tuesday Auntie Sue arrived for a city break in my city.

Wednesday ate with Auntie Sue. must be BMW Stammtisch day. It was a fairly average event and I was considering heading home for an early night when my mate Auri rang and somehow managed to persuade me to go to Jack Rabbit with him and a couple of girls. The night is a hard one. Partly because of the clientele being a mixture of drug-dealers, body builders and  and the sketchy location. This was not #madeinmunich.

Even though according to ThoughtCatalog, “Catholicism is an S&M cult masquerading as a religion” they do understand the importance of holidays when Mary is going up down like a holy yo-yo suspiciously often in summer. Thanks to Mary, Thursday was a Feiertag. A visit to Dachau was planned with Auntie Sue. Two days after Angela Merkel became the first Chancellor to visit the camp. There’s obviously a lot to take in when visiting a former concentration camp – it’s just so difficult to come to terms with. Particularly disturbing for me were the circulation of the Völkischer Beobachter – the Nazi newspaper. In very simplistic terms; a lot of people must have known roughly what was going on yet few people attempted to do anything about it. Dachau was the first camp of its kind and was to be the template upon which all future camps were to be built. The first prisoners were political enemies of the state; the chairs of various communist or socialist organisations, brave journalists etc. Also incarcerated were genuine criminals, the disabled and then once the propaganda wheel was rolling, Sinti, Roma and Jews were also rounded up as well as homosexuals and others who would have at the time been termed as “undesirables”. It was hell on Earth. The torture and punishment of the prisoners was simply daily routine.

The prisoners would have arrived on trains and then been marched to the camp, stripped of their worldly possessions and photographed like criminals.

Emotional and desperate letters from the prisoners’ loved ones who had escaped to America were futile and rejected on the grounds that their release would endanger the reputation of the Third Reich. Some of these letters can be read in the main building. Of course, particularly striking was to see the iconic wrought iron gates with the cruel twisted words: “Arbeit Macht Frei”.

The 63rd Infantry Division liberated the camp in 1945 and there is a beautiful film in the Dachau Cinema of those first moments when the American liberators clothe and feed prisoners and tend to the injured restoring their humanity. The smiling children in their striped pyjamas throwing their hats into the air, knowing somehow that they were free. Many of these children still live – they just look a bit older now. Another horror is that this atrocity (Dachau representing all concentration camps and death camps throughout Europe) happened in my grandparents’ generation. That means, the perpetrators of these crimes were the grandparents of many of my German friends. Two (sometimes three) generations on they of course feel disconnected and even if they know the history of their family they are quick to say: “Yes, Opa may have been in the SS, but he wasn’t a proper Nazi”. It is difficult to imagine being related to a Nazi. But they were no more monsters than the prisoners were undesirables. The hopeless thing is they were all just people like me and you. This dark corner of history is important to remember in the hope that nothing like that could ever happen again. People are capable of anything – and that can be a good thing as well as a very very bad thing. 68 years on from the end of the Holocaust, let’s hope America can go back to being a positive role model after their recent governmental misbehaviour regarding PRISM.

In the evening, Auntie Sue and I said our goodbyes and I am pleased to report she made it safely back to London. I showed the Seehaus to Jenny & Ricardo with colleagues Chris & Mat. It was nice to relax after a psychologically demanding day.

Friday: pool session and TUM Dachterasse with Chris & Kenny. Followed by Lardy’s & Shamrock.

Saturday: We headed to the pool with Anita and also met up with Laura + sister. Seehaus with Chris, Nicole & Anita. Followed by Schumann’s & Call Me Drella where I bumped into Promoter David again.

Sunday: Chilling out in the AWA listening to Babo and a hilarious rap analysis about his song Haftbefehl. In the evening we did the Lerchenauer Biathlon with Kai, Matthias, et al which involves running to a lake, swimming across the lake, swimming back across the lake and running back home before showering once we realised we stank of fish.

Monday: Madness ensued as Tilmann returned for one night and one night only. Stefan had his Abschiedsfeier which was shut down by the police.

Tuesday was a relaxing evening with ConnectedKai.

Wednesday I had a great lunch with Amélie and in the evening was Stammtisch @ Schall & Rauch.

Thursday was P1 again with Chris. The madness continues.

Friday 23rd of August – today will be the Seehaus with people.

As you can see – it’s been pretty hectic…

Don’t stop the Munich!

The Duck & Declaration.

This is what I’ve been up to: Firmenlauf, Kastenlauf, Ruby, Seehaus, Pacha, Ungererbad, Seehaus, Chinesischer Turm. There are some great photos and a couple of anecdotes in the post, by way of a reward to the loyal followers of this blog.

#madeinmunich

So my last post was on the 12th of July on a gorgeous afternoon in Munich. Shortly after publishing the post, I was off out on my adventures again. Friday evening got off to a fine start. After a busy and satisfying week of work, driving the European economy and pushing profits for the most reputable company in the world, we had a bite to eat and began our brainstorming by rolling around Munich in my very good friend Max’s BMW 3 Series Touring. It was a cool and breezy evening in Munich and we were pondering what to do with ourselves. As usual, the world was our oyster. We got back from our little drive and had a few civilized drinks at the Wohnheim. And if you believed that you’ll believe anything.

When I’m pondering what to do in Munich, a good idea is to see what Niklas is up to.  Fate was such that Niklas was also pondering what to do after a few Maß in the Augustinerkeller he gave Doctor Marcus a call. My instincts came to me and it turned out to be a night of wonder at Christophe’s recommended club of choice in the Bavarian capital. I prescribed a night out a Ruby’s at Stachus which is a guaranteed night of relaxed hip-hop counterbalanced by slightly overly aggressive bouncers of indeterminably Mediterranean origins. I was thrown out for being asleep, which doesn’t really make sense when you think about it. I mean, once he’d woken me up I expressed my gratitude to the bouncer and proceeded to stand up and continue to dance and drink. This was however, never going to happen, as apparently slipping out of consciousness is a crime against clubbing and I was bundled out of the club faster than an Albanian at a border crossing.

Ruby

The night was declared a success, posthumously. After a fairly heavy night out, probably the last thing that’s a good idea to do is a beer marathon. Although on the other hand, since it’s not a proper marathon, proper training isn’t necessary valid. The photos of “Kastenlauf” show the beginning and end.

My mate Jeff and Kat.

Tiffany is in Munich and I made her partake in this traditional Bavarian beer Marathon. We even managed to get in some great Guerrilla Marketing for the blog. This event sums up my year abroad. Beer and running have both been regular activities. A minimal 8km doesn’t sound too bad at first – what’s all the fuss about Marcus? The fuss is having to run around the Englischer Garten carrying a crate of beer and having to complete alcohol-based challenges at five checkpoints along the route.

Me and Tiff  proudly promoting the blog.

The heat was unbelievable and led to our swift intoxication. Those Spanish students who organised it were totally crackers.

A very upbeat Spanish guy. Of course he was – he wasn’t in Spain.

Afterwards there may have been a few girls who I threw into the river. All in the name of good sport. They loved it really, even though they protested at first. Like when you offer them more chocolate cake.

Thursday – Firmenlauf

Disco Dave has now officially moved out of the Wohnheim and is off going travelling in August. He will be sorely missed. one of our final achievements together was B2Run. It’s a 6.2km Fun Run around the Olympic Park and is basically a massive corporate jamboree. Still though, the atmosphere was great and we were fed and watered and generally looked after. We got T-shirts AND medals!

Everyone’s a winner!

Techno Tilmann has been doing another one of his mental downhill races (last week) here is a video of the race in which he took part involving loads of mountain bikers falling down a mountain.

Friday 26th July.

Seehaus

Seehaus again

Last Saturday was Max’s birthday. We trotted down to Pacha and Max treated us to a very civilized evening. Cheers mate! It was very Made in Munich.

Pacha #madeinmunich

On the Sunday evening I enjoyed a Maß with the boss at the Chinesischer Turm. All was well, although the weather did turn a little too English for our liking at one point. The main event was a couple of quite attractive American girls who were putty in my hands as the British accent was rolled out.  I took it upon myself to do a little more Guerrilla Marketing and went over to the table. Furthermore, I had the displeasure of running into a rather uncouth Australian last night. He seemed to be shouting about how he worked for Audi, which I couldn’t understand. Firstly, is that something to show off about? Secondly, was anyone impressed? As I was sporting a BMW Product Genius T-shirt (thanks Kevin) it became clear that I was about to be picked on. Sadly the Aussie didn’t have the charm to disarm and he was bowled out, just like his fellow countrymen in the Ashes. his tone was unappealing to me and in a rather ungentlemanly manner he made his biggest mistake of the evening. He interrupted me mid-chat-up. There are many things I will let slide, but interrupting the Fabian routine is an unforgivable crime.

“So youuu work for BMW, right?”

“Er..yes.”

“Oi wiirk fa’ Auuudi.” – he sat back and crossed his arms, a faint breeze of satisfaction blew gently over his face. I thought I must have misheard so I raised the question to my colonial brother in arms:

“Sorry I didn’t catch that, do you mean the budget cars or the budget supermarket?”

He was a sitting duck, you could go as far as to say that I’d bowled him out for a golden duck. He was lacking in the comeback department and his mates laughed him out for six. Hey, hey – I didn’t start it. After that I let him be. He had had a lot to deal with. The Australians who I’ve had the discomfort of meeting tend to go one of two ways sadly. There’s the positive way: the guy with a tattoo of the outline of his country tattooed onto his arm and tells you where Perth is even though you already know, they’re nice but slightly dim. Then you’ve got the second path: the smart-Alec. Unfortunately for this particular specimen he was one boomerang short of a hunting trip and suffered duly under some basic wit.

In my personal life I’ve also met someone who’s completely changing the way I think about everything mainly because she’s gorgeous and talented and modest and makes me laugh. She knows who she is. If you are reading this now then I guarantee you know who you are. Yes, yes it’s you. So there you have it. Now she’s now been written about and made me look like a right Charlie. But there it is. There I said it. That’s life. Life is complicated but you just have to embrace those challenges and be thankful that you had the chance to spend some time with the right people.

I’m still loving Munich and I’m making sure I enjoy every minute I have left with my great colleagues, friends and everyone else. I’m definitely not ready to leave yet.

Oh, alright that’s your lot. Get out of here.

Freude am Feiern.

Just when Nath and Ludo packed their bags and headed home, I thought that my 12 month internship might have been about to drag on a bit. I was wrong. BMW is a bit like Star Trek, in that there’s always the next generation. Instead of civilised alien socities, there is a pool of intelligent and of interns that feed BMW’s creative conscience. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from this year it’s that there are always more people to get to know. And even though it might have seemed like the highlights had been and gone they are in fact stretched across this twelve month placement in Bavaria and the fun in Central Europe continues. This past weekend I was lucky enough to be a Englishman playing football for a German company in Italy. We had been invited to wage war against BMW Italia at the BMW Alpencup. From now on, “the French” will refer to BMW France, “the Swiss” will refer to BMW Switzerland etc. Being a less experienced in the realms of footie, my one goal in this tournament was to scare the French. We didn’t score any goals, but I feel I may have scared the occasional Frenchman. And if so, then I have done my job. It was a memorable trip whereby only one team member ended up in hospital in two countries. It was a different team that drove down to Milan, than the team that drove back to Munich. We bonded well. If we had called each other colleagues on the way to the tournament, we called each other friends on the way back.

Key vocab:
Ciao!
Rrrrragazzzzi!
Ciao, Ragazzi!
Frederik-o!
Lei non mangia la carne.
Dieci euro?!
Salute!
Grazie mille!

On Friday, we set off from work in convoy, nestled in our shiny company cars and looking forward to the football tournament that
lay ahead of us. It was hard not to look smug and we didn’t bother trying. We made good headway down to Austria, Switzerland and eventually the Italian border and enjoyed the wondrous alpine scenery complete with soundtrack. The journey down was getting the weekend off to a positive start. You know a car is nice when you refrain from releasing a single fart inside. The BMW 3er Touring is this nice, that you hold in that fart and keep the unpolluted, light atmosphere tasting good. This could be thanks to the new BMW f-Drive Fart Control Assistant package that came with the car. It really works!

People are always going on about how “It’s not the destination that counts, it’s the journey” or words to that effect. These people haven’t driven through Milan in rush hour. Once we were past the alps, it was definitely about the destination. We were confronted by all types of poor driver and our driver, Mario (a German with a red beard, despite his name) was forced to use the horn on several occasions. Such automotive atrocities had already been anticipated and were well prepared for the situation on hand. Listening to Italian radio soothed our nerves and helped us to consolidate our knowledge of what to us seemed the most important phrase on my useful BBC Languages printout: “She doesn’t eat meat”. Leeeeeeiiii non maaaaangia la carrrrrrne!

A warm welcome.

We arrived at the Crowne Plaza Hotel a little later than expected, checked in and dropped our bags off before getting straight onto the bus to the NSC, BMW Italia. They welcomed us into their spectacular showroom where we were wined and dined and various rules were explained (one of which they forgot was that Italian referees may rule in favour of Italy as long as the dives were dramatic and dynamic). The Italians were impeccably behaved but one got the feeling that you were watching another episode of “The BMW Italia Show” as they showed off the fact that they won last year’s trophy. They really were vivacious and admirable and I have nothing but slightly sarcastic compliments to offer. A great team.The Italians are just so chic and characterful, you can’t help but like them. In my most humble of opinions, I found it a shame that everything had to be conducted in sterile business English – the room being filled with fantastic emotive languages with different nuances which due to various acceptable reasons, one of which being the nature of time, no-one really bothered to learn. Still though, it was unfortunate that multi-nationals presentations have to be boiled down to a bland version of broken English. Being typical Italians they had put an attractive woman in charge of their affairs. It seemed as though, when selecting a presenter for their show, they placed virtues such as attractiveness and leg to waist ratio ahead of rhetoric. Anyhow, with said attractive woman in charge of their affairs, who was a lovely person I’m sure but let’s just say she wasn’t in line to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. In plain English, listening to her, whether it be on loudspeaker or even just on a good old microphone, it was like listening to nails down a blackboard. Sharp nails. The Italians were punished for this butchering of our admittedly mongrel language on various occasions as I carelessly cut up their seamlessly romantic sentences into barbaric hunks of grammatical flesh.

The soundtrack of the team: “It’s Kevin, you know, hard to believe it’s not Scholes, it’s Kevin, you know, hard to believe it’s not Scholes”.

Catastrophe after Colazione

Saturday began with breakfast at the brutal hour of six-thirty for seven. We then headed in coaches to the pitches located not too far from the hotel, despite a few wrong directions taken by the drivers. The tournament got off to a catastrophic start with Jan breaking his entire foot (I’m not a doctor) in the first ten minutes of the tournament in the first match against Italy. He was carried off the pitch and taken to the “hospitale” without a second thought. Not only had we lost one of our best players, we had also lost a great motivator. Soon after, Kevin was also unlucky enough to be struck by a twinge and he was out. Two solid players, Jan – BMW’s answer to Schweinsteiger and Kevin who could have been the less famous third Boateng brother, were out of the game and their replacements fought hard. We never gave up and let it be said that the task of footballing was carried out with tremendous spirit throughout the day. By the time the cup was presented to us, we had already agreed to celebrate it as if we had won the real thing. The less said about matches won (0) and goals scored (0) the better. At the end of the day, all teams were glad to have us there and we contributed hugely to atmosphere.

Both teams dived, but at least the Italians did it gracefully and occasionally took the time to over-apologize. As for the frogs, “fair play” isn’t something which translates well into their language. The bottom line was that they were some of the most filthy players I have ever witnessed, twice against us alone, they cut down our players like a rusty guillotine with their poorly timed and aggressive sliding tackles from behind, acting presumably as a way of venting their frustration. Needless to say, it took little excuse for Otmar to bring on the mad Engländer to inject a bit of aggression into the game like a rabid police dog whose primary objective was to aggress them. Their winger against whom I valiantly defended at one point out of nowhere just said to me in perfect Frenglish after he had given away the ball: “You are stooopide” before making a dash for it. He was a marked man by the time I was finished with him. I was so stupefied by this that I had really no comeback, which rather annoyingly completely validated his insult. I guess he was right, I really am just a plain old stupid British barbarian.

But we celebrated as if we had triumphed under the motto: “It’s the taking part that counts” and everyone seemed glad to have us there. We gave it our best, and at then end of the day that’s all anyone can ask, even if they do ask it in Italian. Interesting to observe was the importance of the family and this strict patriarchal hierarchy in italy. A true wonder to behold. It was so easy to see who was in charge of whom. This part of Italian culture is obviously great when it works, but as we know from Arthur Miller’s A view from The Bridge, it can prove disastrous when tinkered with. Language-wise, it’s been a while since I did GCSE Italian, but I was able to talk with my hands and try to speak with my body language. After offering “complimenti” the “capitano” of the hosts, I was told to contact him if ever I was in Milan and he would sort me out. So an effective bit of networking was done.

Corso Sempione e The Old Fashion.

After some stodgy food we were on the bus and back to the hotel. There was no hanging around. Everyone had 15 minutes to don chinos and a shirt. Then we took the train straight into the city. Once there we wandered through the city centre given the official tour from the brilliant man Frederik, il capitano nosso. The way we swaggered through the city centre, any onlooker would have thought we were a middle of the table Bundesliga team. In truth we were a bottom of the table BMW team but we didn’t care: it was an 80s AND 90s night at The Old Fashion. So we finished up our pizza under Napoleon’s overcompensating arch and saw off our cocktails before casually trotting off to the next event.

As a general rule, groups of lads don’t get into clubs, but most groups of lads didn’t have Frederik leading them. The evening concluded at The Old Fashion where our capitano, Frederik managed to charm, persuade, bribe our way into a VIP lounge in the middle of the dancefloor in this open air club. Shot girls, vodka, gin, sparklers neon paint, dancing on the stage. After hours of partying with Max and the rest of the lads we managed to make our way home in various taxis via a paninni stand.

On the Sunday everyone woke up at different times, some made breakfast and some didn’t. I did, before you get any thoughts. After a short debrief we were ready to hit the pizzeria for our last tast of Italy before the drive home. Once tucking into our pizzas (Soviet Serguei ate his inside out like an absolute Spast, I must say)

Serguei… Bist du ein Spast?

The road trip with Alex, Mario and Andreas on the way back provided me with a chance to tell them about my time in Germany so far. My German is of a really good standard now – you know you’ve made it in a language when you can tell a story which makes people laugh. I had the Germans on the floor. Very satisfying indeed. I will be a spy to be reckoned with if it comes to another war, don’t worry Grandparents.

When it comes to footballing prowess, the Bavarians know their stuff. A millions thanks go to Otmar for sticking with us and being the sort of coach you would trust with your life. This post is dedicated to Jan the Man, the injured striker from Bielefeld. Having visited him in hospital, he’s seems to be doing fine, apart from his leg is yellow, it’s as if all the Simpsons cartoons he’s been watching have just spilled out from the TV and all over his lover half. He is recovering slowly but steadily now back at home.

To be in the company of my team was all my pleasure, some of the stories they told were more captivating than Guantanamo Bay. I hope we all stay in touch.

The team:

Otmar (coach)
Frederik (capitano)
Wolfgang
Florian
Alex
Christian
Tobias
Serguei
Andreas
Jan
Sebastian
Christoph
Kevin
Jan
Max
Mario

and me.

Until next time guys.

Three Little Pivos went to Prague.

Prague Design © Alissa Nelson

As I ponder whom to grant the rights to the film which will tell the story of my Year Abroad, here is the 41st entry from my online diary. It’s much like that of Samuel Pepys, but with more reporting on beer and babes and less whinging on about fire and plagues.

The long weekend played host to the second trip to the Czech Republic, I’m referring to my second visit since the voyage last year in which I spent a similar four day trip with Leeds Legends: Adam, Angus, Alex, Miles and Vinnie (a Glasgow Legend), to mention but a few. My outlook was positive but last year’s perfect weather, enchanting company, comfort and central situation of our accommodation, outrageous puns on the word Czech, nosebleeds, having our ears twisted by bouncers, not to mention the sheer novelty would prove hard to top. Although I find it difficult to compare the two, what the two trips did have in common (as do many of my ventures now I come to think of it) they shared the universal goal; immersion in the culture of the place. This included the synagogues, bridges and castles as well as getting to sample the fine delicacies of Central Europe, the most famous of which must be the sharp and refreshing local beer. In this case, we were looking to satiate our greedy thirst for that fine nectar: Czech Pilsner.

On Thursday we made the most of our bank holiday and trotted off to Prague. Techno Tilmann and I met Georges “of the Jungle”, Pol-Jean (who I would be about to refer to as Sean-Paul for the following 100 hours) Party Pierre and Julie la Jolie at Munich Hauptbahnhof. It’s safe to say we were all fed up of the atrocious weather in Munich, not that it would be any better elsewhere but at least it would be different. Needless to say, it rained cats and dogs all weekend. Jokes about English weather being even worse were funny the first hundred times and then after that 100 mark they started to lose that je ne sais quoi. Despite my persistence, no-one paid attention to my cries as I tried to explain that it was actually BBQ & Pimms weather across the channel. In the English way, I would on no account let weather put a dampener on things.

On the Friday afternoon after a controversial scaling of the castle walls and being given a light scolding by Czech military police, we trotted off to the Charles Bridge where I leaned against the bridge à la Spencer with raised eyebrows and pouted lips. This was our chance to enjoy the two or so hours of sunshine that we would see all weekend. As I looked over the city I felt nostalgic and remembered commandeering pedalos and racing each other, Angus whacking out the cigars, sitting on the island etc. At that moment, out of nowhere appeared a good friend of ours: Disco Dave had arrived! He had stopped off during his little tour of Germany stopping over at his parents, then to Heidelberg, to Bonn and to Halle before taking his final Mitfahrgelegenheit to the former Czechoslovakia. When he joined, the three of us were an unstoppable force who many people tried unsuccessfully to reckon with. The evening came and we ventured out on the town to indulge in Prague’s stag-do/hen night culture that attracts hordes of tattooed Italian men and shameless numbers of Brits.

The highlight of Saturday has to be waking up, one beer turning into seven and having one of the best conversations of my life with these two men: Disco Dave and Techno Tilmann, each distinguished in their own right. All three of us are from three completely different worlds, yet have bonded so closely in the time we’ve spent together as Lords of the Frankfurter Ring in Mordorstraße. I can’t and won’t divulge the contents of the discussion but it was dynamic, intimate and showed just what great friends I’ve made during this academic year – I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Unfortunately, we only made it 500m away from the apartment and once sozzled, we lured into a fantastic Italian restaurant where we gorged on pizzas the size of small tables.

“No women, just music”

~Techno Tilmann.

My Czech vocab remained basic without the trusty notes in Kittler’s wallet, he took a slightly Dizzier more Rascalous attitude to the language when he taught us how to ask someone to dance: “Tanchich?” My confidence in the Czech language has now soared and I am please to announce I can now toast to people’s health: “Nasravi!” and I through this, I rather unsurprisingly got to know the word, for beer which is “Pivo“.

On the Sunday we packed onto the train back to Munich, fairly shattered and looking forward to a proper shower, not a cold Eastern European one. As luck would have it, the poor quality of the train would mean that we got what we wished for. We were experiencing the Czech railway at its finest, a free shower as the roof collapsed and we were being rained on. Luckily I’m a man of action and set about fixing the problem on hand. Like TinTin, I reached out for Pol-Jean’s umbrella and with a bit of percussive maintenance, I was able to prop the brolli between two suitcases and we were sheltered. What we then realised was that all we had done was offload the problem onto our fellow passengers. Thankfully, the roof decided to man up and we were comfortable-ish for the rest of the journey apart from the occasional dribble, it was nothing compared to the initial splash and it didn’t phase us. Our experience was in fact a drop in the ocean compared to those who live in flood-stricken areas in Germany and the Czech Republic. The newspapers reported it to be the worst flood for a hundred years.

Sometimes in life, you are really glad to see an old face. That’s why I was really happy to see my old mate Hugo, I should use his proper name: Hugo from the Yacht Club. Hugo is underway on some sort of Euro-trip and because he’s Hugo he managed to weasel up to a charming girl called Helen who he met doing a ski season at “Anton”. Helen strikes me as the sort of girl who knows how to network and they have been able to visit a great deal of interesting people so far. I managed to introduce him to loads of people as we went to watch The Great Gatsby with Charleen, Nelli, Jenny and Ricardo. We then popped into Die Bank for drinks with Nath. An emotional goodbye was exchanged as it was our last night out together in Munich, although the real wet kisses will come on Monday as he jets back to the UK and prepares for his trip to South America. It won’t be the same without him. We’ve had a great 10 months together.

My website of the week is www.viveras.com – all Erasmus students should take a look at it.

It’s the weekend again and the weather has improved drastically. Vitamin D, swimming trunks, jogging, beer with David and a couple of Maß with Chris at the Seehaus were all called for. I’m currently playing Nelly’s “Hey Porsche” on full blast in the BMW apartment block which is the automotive equivalent of reciting Thine Be the Glory whilst on tour in Mecca. But hey, even if my choice in music is poor, nothing will stop me enjoying the summer which has finally arrived. Munich still has lots to offer.

If you made it this far…congratulations. Maybe it’s time to go and do something productive for a change?

A Bavarian Birthday.

#madeinmunich

This weekend I wasn’t the only one partying in Munich, everyone in Munich was out and about, even though technically “they weren’t invited to my party”. This is because Munich was hosting its own party: the Champions League Final party. Friday was spent mentally preparing for the day ahead.  Many of my friends and colleagues had their doubts and to be fair it was looking a bit grim in Bavaria’s capital, the forecast was overcast with a chance of rain. We’re now in the end of May and we’ve had grey skies and damp air which has been chipping away at our spirit. The weather has clearly had an adverse effect on people’s mental well-being and thus the final financial forecast was overdrawn with a chance of pain. The plan had been to meet at the Augustinerkeller Biergarten for 11am and then to remain there the entire day drinking in the sunshine. Instead it rained (as expected) and the change of plan came from Justin who suggested it might be a good shout to watch the match at Paulaner am Nockerberg. As I arrived, I was on the phone and spotted Nath sitting with…wait….Simon?!

You know who your mates are when they travel from another city to stay with another friend so that they can surprise you on your birthday. Simon Falk, the image, the man, the brand, our very own resident Leodis Democrat. It was a fantastic start to the day, I had just spoken to my parents about how Si wouldn’t be able to make it due to last minute plans to go to Valencia.

My surprise for Simon was that there was no real back-up plan and that yes, despite crippling doubts of the Germans who were trying to rain it off, I enforced a standard Fabian Family policy of refusing to let weather impact on activities (within reason). We ended up sitting in the Biergarten on a wet bench on a Saturday morning. Even though all reasonable sources were pointing to the horrific weather, I was stubborn/determined enough that if I didn’t think about the rain, it wouldn’t be able to dampen our spirits. I was sort of wrong, in the sense that we became wet, but sort of right, in the sense that we got on with it anyway. Of course the weather was fantastic in the UK, just as this time of year always has been and will always be on the 25th of May…

Despite the match itself being held at Wembley in my home town of London, all hell broke loose in Munich as footballing titans FC Bayern Munich clashed with giants Borussia Dortmund, making them both seem normal sized. This was the first time two German teams had battled it to the final and history was about to be made for one lucky team. Both my be “German teams” but they even make colossal Derbys like United vs. City look like a gentle stroll in the park. This might be due to the deeply rooted religious and cultural significances attached to each team. It’s as if the Holy Roman Empire is taking on the Kingdom of Prussia. It’s personal. Of course the Germans are silly about things like crossing the road, protecting themselves from the elements and having zero speed restrictions on large sections of the motorway. Although I can’t speak for Borussia, in Bavaria three things are taken very seriously. These include Catholicism, beer and the most serious of all; the English disease: football.

It was great to be able to spend the day with so many good friends: Nath and Si of course were the founding fathers of the party. Tilmann & Tiana took their time but were there when it counted, the charming David & Larissa came on down, Susanna was being her usual lovely self Jenny, Charleen & Nelli got the chocolates in and a mini-candle cake, Maciek brought his Polish spirits as usual, this time he smuggled my present in from Poland: a bottle of 37,5% Hazelnut vodka.  Ludo even amde it down to the game despite his parents being in town.

The Game itself

“Naturally the superior team soared to victory; history wouldn’t have allowed anything else to happen.

A couple of innocent enough looking Dortmund fans were wondering around and I did slightly feel for them as the Bayern fans singled them out and ridiculed them as sons of bitches “Ally ally ally ally oiiii, BVB, Hürensöhne” and repeated times ten. They’re not known for their sporting nature the FCB fans,, although I can’t imagine the chants being any better for the Bayern fans at public viewings in Dortmund.

From then on it was game over for me, even though it was only half time for Bayern.

My lovely BMW girls: Charleen, Nelli & Jenny.

Shortly afterwards, Bayern fans tried to kill me by throwing cigarettes and broken glass Rochtung Engländer

Susanna and the lads got a card in for me as well as a Viking hat to wear.

Misinterpretation of my childhood name for myself “Barcus” (due to pronunciation incompetence)

Danke Susanna, David, TIlmann & Serguei

Marcus’ typical singing antics:

“We love you Weasley, we do” he did look a lot like our good friend Ronald. Meanwhile, later on Leopoldstraße I decided to recite Hot ‘n’ Juicy’s 1998 hit “Horny ’98” as I paraded around in my single-horned Viking hat, to the bemusement of many passers-by and to the amusement of onlookers.

falling asleep for the first half of the

“How high do you want to goal, how high do you want the goal how high do you want the goal how high do you want the goal.”

The Bayern fans mistook this jest for an England chant and we already tense given it was 1-1. I was greeted with a barrage of cigarettes and eventually even bits of broken glass, but nothing could stop me I was truly indestructible on the day.

Techno Tilmann notified me on Sunday that I retorted to the medieval mass of Münchners that “I was for Munich but now I’m for Dortmund” at the 1-1 stage which in Hindsight is exactly what my mother had feared would happen. I’ll blame Maciek’s Marvellous Medicine on my rowdiness. Measured in terms of Jones, I rocketed from Bridget to Indiana levels after half a bottle of the nutty vodka.

Premium colleagues: Auri, Serguei and Sascha

On Sunday as the weekend drew to a close, Nath and I revisited our favourite Mexican bar/restaurant near Hauptbahnhof attempted a severely hungover swim and saw Simon off. Overall a great weekend was had despite the weather trying to put a downer on the proceedings.

Adam’s adventures continue as he leaves his Burg and ventures to meet Natalie in the Far-East. From Made in Munich, we wish him the best of luck on his voyage and may there by much sun, few nuts and zero tsunamis. Basically realised that everyone I know is going to be in Thailand in June, including the triple A’s. Alfie, Adi and Angus will all gracing “the Dulwich of Asia” (South-East Asia) s going to Thailand that I don’t know about?

Also many thanks to friends and family who sent gifts and cards to Milbersthofen-Am-Hart, it was much appreciated!

Heil to the Busführer.

#madeinmunich

Hail to the bus driver is a song which softens the heart when sung. When heard in England, that is. In the primary school charts it was second only to The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round but was a clear forerunner of Old MacDonald Had a Farm – on account of their over usage of vowels in general. The melody may be whistled, hummed or sung on the way back from school, lunchbox swinging in hand. Not a problem. But what about when you hear the same tune in Germany? Well I’ll tell you: it’s a completely different kettle of sausages. If you consider for a minute that “driver” translates to Führer! and “hail” translates to…well…Heil!, these once naïve notes take on a sinister shape and thus loses this innocent charm. I’m not suggesting that my neighbour in the changing room was advocating a return to nationalist indoctrine, but it certainly sent a shiver up my spine as I prepared my towel to use as a symbol of ownership over my chosen deckchair – I’ve become one of them! I will consider writing about “How to swim like a German”.

This year it hasn’t been appropriate to blog about my work; you don’t become the most successful premium automotive manufacturer in the globe ten years running if your interns are spilling the beans and sharing secrets on the world wide web. Nevertheless, in this post I will make a small exception because what I witnessed needs to be written about. Last week we were shooting around town organising the BMW Marketing Workshop 2013 which was a success all round. The content of the workshop will remain top secret but what I can inform the reader of is the great participation and the visit to the BMW Driving Academy in Maisach.

In a normal job you’d be annoyed at working for 12 hours without sitting down. Luckily for me, my military training kicked in and I was able to stay concentrated on the tasks in hand whilst staying on my feet for a day. Guillaume was not so forgiving and seemed mildly traumatised after giving an Audi Q7 a quick scrub a dub dub. He had a good time overall though, of course and was thrilled later in the day as you are about to find out.

The final day of the workshop took place in Fürstenfeldbruck, an old airbase which has provided the stage for a lot of interesting history in modern times. Breaking Faulty Towers’ regola numero uno, I feel obliged to explain that during the war it was a military airport belonging to the Luftwaffe. As my Dad always says: “A German joke iz no laughing matter!” a colleague did insist “Zis is ver ze Führer used to keep his toy planes”. Not sure whether to laugh or cry, I opted to follow the masses and chuckled off this humour even though it was very much on the political edge of what is wright and what is not. In fairness though, I suppose the Luftwaffe are now hilarious – in the sense that all known events, however sinister or tragic, will eventually become so caricatured in the present to the extent that they come full circle and are inevitably remembered as comical at least in part; David Mitchell cleverly uses the vikings raping and pillaging their way through Northern Europe as an example. But in all seriousness if the Luftwaffe being there wasn’t enough to tickle your historical armpit: there is also even more history to behold.

A camouflaged aircraft hanger with sign reading: “Fire and Smoking Forbidden”

Munich hosted the 1972 Olympic Games and there is a legacy of green spaces and sports that lives on in this fantastic city. Unfortunately, what the Games came to be remembered for were the tragic events which took place, I am refering to the kidnap and murder of Israeli athletes. The old air base was site of the Munich Massacre in which nine Israeli athletes were kidnapped  from the Olympic Village and flown via helicopter to Fürstenfeldbruck, where the terrorists believed they would be flown to a friendly Arab nation. After a botched rescue attempt by Bavarian Federal Police and Munich City Officers the majority of the athletes would not only never compete again, they would be tragically killed. As I stood on Friday marveling at the BMW M3 skidding around what is effectively our very own Top Gear track, I was expecting the Stig to pop out of the car and Clarkson to make a witty remark. Instead I was  I was struck by the thought of fighter jets taking off preparing to rain hell fire down on Great Britain and I took time to remember that less than thirty years after the Americans took control of West Germany, terror reigned again as Palestinian terrorists executed their captives and incinerated a helicopter containing four athletes. It’s certainly an airport that has drawn the attention of the world more than once.

Vorsicht!

Guillaume did manage to get a video of us in a BMW M3 driven by one of the nutty instructors and a video is available, but I’ve had a bit of an digital dysfunction and I can’t seem to get it up. Uploaded, that is. TO be honest, the video doesn’t really do justice to the experience at all, so in a way there’s no huge loss.

When you get back from a long day, all that you need in life is an Italian girl to cook you up a dreamy pasta. On Friday evening Susanna decided to take pity on the fact that I had no food in, and my extreme fatigue and she resurrected me with her traditional tuna pasta. We went for drinks with Pierre, Davide, Viviana and Julie which meant that I was outnumbered completely, but somehow the lingua franca remained English. The night was 100% Made in Munich as we trotted on down to Pascha in Sonnenstraße, here is where you find a goldmine of Schicki-Micki partygoers, or Munich’s elite. Some of the most horrific people in the world but in fairness they look bloody good. The only problem is: don’t they know it. We then were introduced to a friend of Davide’s: Federico from Torino and this man just walked the lot of us straight into the club without any money changing hands, that is because he regularly spends thousands per week in the establishment. Alright for some. As usual more French came crawling out of the woodworks like little termites but despite the stench of garlic, the night was deemed a success.

On Saturday, I eventually awoke from my slumber and met Nath and Ludo as well as some other international biffs in my gardens (Englischer Garten) and sort of invited myself to Ludo’s where he cooked a good pasta dish. Whilst gobbling down our carbohydrate for the night ahead, we witnessed a lady performing what I can only describe as a webcam dance in front of a laptop. Of course, in retaliation I felt it polite to dance back, which she seemed to find hilarious until Marlon (the son of the parents that Ludo lives with) decided it would be a good idea to shoot at her with a BB gun. I may have joined in. She was still laughing though, she understood that the gun was not intended to harm her, a promise which the weapon fulfilled. Our quest for happiness led us to a filthy corner of Hauptbahnhof, following Jess who was to be our Napoleon for the evening. She lead disappointingly more like Bonaparte’s Six Days Campaign as opposed to his First Italian Campaign. Saddened and dismayed by the percentage of clueless Australian backpackers in this youth hostel we had just arrived in who were lecturing us about “how we should travel the world and see all the nature that it’s got to offa'”, I decided it wasn’t Made in Munich enough for me and gave the reliable Pierre a ring who happened to be in Neuraum with the French (again). This is a club in which I always seem to find myself going to, but not out of choice.

On Sunday morning we left Neuraum and I was still surrounded by the frogs, at one stage even foolishly resorting to dusting off the GCSE skills in a bid to familiarise myself with my captors. We eventually had enough Call Me Maybe for one night and left the discotheque where we proceeded to stroll into town to satisfy Pierre’s undying urge to enjoy Weißwürstfrühstück at 7am. On the way from Hauptbahnhof (imagine a French person trying to enunciate that word, considering they don’t regard “h” as a consonant) I suggested it to Allison that we should run through the fountain at Karlplatz as a joke, but she took it seriously and we did it. She then called me a “coureur du jupon” which I didn’t understand but took as a compliment.

Eventually our hunger just about outweighed our fatigue and we settled for McDonald’s breakfast.

Unsurprisingly, my bewitching British accent continues to mean I face an onslaught of European attention which I am desperately trying to fight off with sticks and other assorted weaponry but I am becoming less and less successful in doing so. Such issues were delved into in more detail during a skype conference with Alex and Angus surely a highlight of the week so far. Those two – what are they like.

In online news, I have found a website which combines three things which I love: cars, comedy and caffeine. My website of the week is comediansincarsgettingcoffee.com which combines all three. Michael Richards takes a classic car, picks up a famous comedian and takes them for coffee. Even Ricky Gervais was given a good run for his money.

This post is written for my Grandpa Andrew Paul Fabian who is celebrating his 83rd birthday  in Devon the way everyone should: with good friends. With Grandpa’s experience, who could possibly doubt that visiting good friends is always a satisfying way to spend your time?

In terms of my dear old roommate Techno Tilmann, he and I are still getting on like an Apartmenthaus on fire and are a recipe for trouble when let loose on the Bavarian capital. Really looking forward to celebrating my birthday tomorrow, it should be a good turnout providing it doesn’t get rained off. I guess I will find out who my real friends are.

And that was the last blog post I shall write at the age of 20. Until next time.

Munich Half Marathon.

Ein Schriftsteller ist ein Mann, dem das Schreiben schwerer fällt als allen anderen Leuten.

~Thomas Mann

Good old Thomas – he knew a thing or two. The reason I have started with this quote is because it perfectly encompasses what I feel about writing. It explains how writing is more difficult for a writer than for everyone else but if you want a slightly more literal translation – it would go something like this: “A writer is a man for whom writing is more difficult than it is for all others”. Regardless of this I’ve got down to writing the blog this week and will be informing the reader of the main event, being the Marathon.

But first I would like to make an observation about luck. “That was lucky” you’re thinking – it’s just what I want to read about. The reason I want to write about this word is that it interests me greatly. There’s much talk in life of luck but noone agrees on what it is. People who are lucky seem also to be happy. Does that just depend on your perception? Does even feeling lucky, even if you aren’t, make you somehow more lucky? Either way, it’s happiness that most people seem to be trying to achieve. If you make your own luck, then does that mean you are also responsible for your own happiness too? What got me thinking about this was the Germans don’t distinguish between the two. Well, of course, it depends on the context, but the word for luck and happiness is the same: Glück. Naturally this was a pain for the translators of the film Happy-Go-Lucky  which ended up with the hopeless title of Unbeschwert, Sorglos, Leichtlebig (lit. blithe, carefree, easygoing).

I’ve also been very lucky in my life and I’m glad that I was lucky enough to participate in the Munich Half Marathon, something which I didn’t expect myself to want to do. Sometimes you meet people in life who inspire you and make you want to be a better person. You could say this has happened to me.

The big run.

On Sunday morning Ludo and I arose to run the Half Marathon. To our surprise, the weather was glorious and Munich was alive with colour for the first time since I can remember. The Germans were taking things quite seriously and were well kitted out, many choosing to sport tight running-wear, bright colours, Lara Croft-style belts with navigation systems, water bottles and lots of unnecessarily technology strapped onto them. It was at this moment in time when I realised, to my disappointment, that my socks weren’t matching. Awkward.

True to form, Ludo was one of these very well prepared people in lycra and a fluorescent top shining brighter than the sun. There was no worry of losing sight of him at least!

Highlights of the run included running into Ludo as he started to walk and pushing him until he began to run again. I also remember getting carried away in the moment and bellowing “Das Leben ist ein Marathon!” at some spectators in a bid to hype myself up for the final lap. The most mixed emotion I felt during the run occurred when I was overtaken by a man who must have been in his seventies who was brandishing crutches and screamed words of encouragement at me as he sprang haphazardly past me like a fearless mountain goat.

The run was harder than expected and my biggest challenge came when I tried to speed up on the final lap, I had zero gas left. I have utmost respect for those who have completed twice the distance the London Marathon etc. My time of 2hrs 6 minutes is distinctly unimpressive but I met my challenge which was not to walk at any point. Anyway I guess it’s all about the taking part that counts and the money raised for GOSH. Thanks again to all those kind donations from family and close friends, it means a lot. The page is still live so if you still feel like parting with a few pennies then head straight to http://www.justgiving.com/marcus-fabian.

Thanks go out especially to Angus who gave me great advice for training and to Anna who (albeit coincidentally) supported on the day. Thanks guys.

We are in Germany so it was almost inevitable that the run would be sponsored by a beer, even if it was a non-alcoholic one.

What better excuse to head down to the last evening of the München Frühlingsfest, the fourth beer festival of the year. Ludo and I had planned to celebrate with a couple of Maß in the Augustiner Zelt. Amazingly, Ludo and I managed to not see each other at Oktoberfest at all, not even once. Despite being there simultaneously we were both too inebriated to meet, at one point even both being in the same tent and still failing to coordinate a successful RV. The spring festival is of course much smaller than the Wies’n, but nevertheless we got a load of people down to the fest and celebrated our achievement the only way the Bavarians know; with litres of beer and an awful band. The Sunday evening was unbelievable, certainly a day to remember.

“Man hört sich, man sieht sich” – Friends section:

Narnia Nath’s parents were in town and I was invited along to “meet the parents” because Nath is single. I always love meeting people’s parents, Nath and his Dad have all the same mannerisms. Great stuff. I hope they had a great time in Austria this weekend and thanks again for the grub!

Techno Tillman is my newest roommate and by far the most normal. Being from Berlin he listens to techno but not only to prepare him for a night out, we also have the pleasure of breakfast techno to ease us into the day as well as work techno to keep us productive during the day. At around 5pm a decision must be made as to whether we eventually graduate either to party techno if we’re partying or bedtime techno to prepare us for sleeping. Sweet electronic dreams. He also loves motorbikes, bikes, mountain biking. Basically if it involves two wheels he’s interested. He has taken part in some pretty brutal downhill races, has stories of injuries, jumps and accidents. He took part in an intense downhill race in the Alpe d’Huez called MegaAvalanche 2012 and recorded this video with a chest camera. It’s worth a watch just to see how suicidal the conditions are. What isn’t included in the video is the part where he breaks a pedal and goes down the mountain using one foot. He’s a madman but in a good way.

Since my last post I have learnt how to prepare and cook Schnitzel, the highlight of which was watching him tendering the meat and seeing his face as he used the full force of a frying pan to guarantee the bits of turkey he had purchased were in fact completely dead. Having experienced Disco David’s methodical process, I like to think I am now fully qualified to prepare and cook an authentic Bavarian delicacy.

Emmanuel (Mannu Malade) has finished his internship and is now doing bad things in Paris en famille, starting a degree in Real Estate Management at the rather swanky sounding “L’Institut Supérieur de Commerce et Gestion” in September.

Maintaining the unwritten rule of always having at least one very extrovert French friend to go out with until their placement ends. Jean-Rémy was replaced by Rémi who was replaced by Emmanuel. Guillaume has introduced me to “the two Pierres” who I believe will provide adequate Francophone fun for the next few months.

The biggest surprise in May has been that my friendship group is nicely still expanding and I’m still having such a great time in Munich.

Skandal in Stuttgart.

My lovely mother described me as a “fluffy bunny that has just arrived from another planet and started bumping into things” and with that I begin my first blog of the month of May. But first we must hark back to April, at the end of which two harrowing accounts of the weekend have been written by good friends Nath and Adam. Both blog posts are definitely worth a read if you want to gain more depth to the weekend. Links to these can be found at the end of this post.

#madeinmunich

Friday > Travel to Stuttgart

Nothing finishes off a week quite like a leisurely lunch at the astonishing BMW-Vierzylinder building. Wolfgang, Emmanuel and I opted for a five-star burger and chips, after we’d eaten our fill we went for a stroll as the sun was finally shining unashamedly in manufacturing heart of our beautiful city. Wishing Wolfgang well on his holiday in France and wishing Mannu a good rest of the afternoon, I left my colleagues and headed for the U3 Olympiazentrum with a spring in my step. A hop, skip and a jump and I was sitting in Marienplatz with Nath who had gathered necessary supplies for the weekend, namely sunglasses, sure for men/fauns, sausages and bread. This shopping basket was in many ways very predictable. Perhaps with hindsight, the purchase of sunglasses was tempting fate and in accordance with Sod’s Law the clouds began to darken as we embarked on our journey West across the border into the next federal state.

The transfer from Munich’s coach station (Hackerbrücke) to Stuttgart Flughafen was comfortable even if we were travelling on some stinky commuter bus with a bunch of plebs. During the journey we almost managed to convince Simon that Nath had been involved in a scuffle with police and was being held in custody in Munich over drugs charges and had consequently not been able to travel thereby tragically missing the connection and waving goodbye to a 15€ for DeinBus.de. “Was any of that actually true?” interrogated Simon knowingly and before we knew it the story had fallen apart.

I’d be lying if I wrote that beer hadn’t played a central role in brewing of the Year Abroad adventure. Some are now coming to then end of their placement years and their stories will come to an end. This group of German studying friends are called The Berlin Six. We’re a team and just like in all teams, substitutions have been made along the way as members have fallen by the wayside, but in spite of this we remain a sturdy sextet. Members of the Berlin 6 are strewn across the Fatherland living in major cities or at the very least in their suburbs, with the exception of Adam in Blankenburg and perhaps also Euan, although Wolfsburg will always be well-known as long as the headquarters of Volkswagen.

As part and parcel of the Year Abroad experience we, the six, can whole-heartedly say we’ve participated in lavish reunions starting in Munich, taking us to Hamburg and of course Berlin, and as of last weekend, what I assume was the last of our “great reunions” to celebrate Simon’s 21st at the Cannstatter Wasen in Stuttgart. For those who don’t know, the Wasen (pronounced “vaah-zun”) is Baden-Württemberg’s feeble attempt at mimicking the world famous and unbeatably original Wies’n (pronounced “vee-zun”) know to most as the Oktoberfest. The rivalry between Bavaria and Baden-W is clear, the two states being similar both culturally and geographically by which I mean both are predominantly catholic and together make up the south of Germany. Baden-Württemberg can be described as a New Mexico, if Bavaria was the Texas of Deutschland. As an honorary Bavarian, I am supposed to turn my nose up at the mention of Baden-Württemberg disregarding the lot of them as a worthless inferior bunch of losers. But I’m nice so I don’t mention anything. However, competition is rife and competition is life: Stuttgart is the home of both Menacing Mercedes and Pretentious Porsche so I took my BMW keyring with me to keep me safe.

If I’m honest we didn’t feel welcome amongst the Swabians (don’t worry Simon this post will get positive at some stage, I promise) we were greeted  by disgruntled weather very soon after we left the heavenly Holy Free State of Bavaria and slipped into the marsh that is Baden-Württemberg. Perhaps the Gods were taking revenge on me for the sheer havoc Ludo and I wreaked in Tübingen during our school exchange way back during the Easter of 2009, the upshot of which being that along with an inexcusable number of our peers were raided by Polizei as we partied on an island in the middle of a river, causing one of our friends to be found too drunk and then being hospitalised and diagnosed with alcohol poisoning. In light of this desperate story, in which no-one appeared more heroic than John Hewitt-Jones, I was determined to show the Schwabens that we were ready to behave now, having spent five years on the naughty step.

After a pleasant journey, we arrived at the airport. Nath was first to look out of the coach window and spot Simon, whom again seemed to be pursing his lips and looking like a man with a plan. The way Simon was dressed in black and clutching his rucksack and looking at his shiny watch, I deduced that the weekend would involve a high frequency of “quick turnarounds”, “chivvying” and many a “rendez-vous”.

We checked into the hotel, where Simon had placed chocolates on our pillows in anticipation of our arrival, reinforcing my Mum’s belief that he will make a great husband. It looks like she might be onto something. We were introduced to Simon’s friends, Colin, Joey and the Italian girl, Mazza was it or Mazzi. Sorry Italian girl you were important to me but I forgot your name because it wasn’t an easy one to remember. Colin and Joey kept us entertained with their stories involving Simon speeding in Switzerland and with occasional updates about Stuart the office melt. Who actually, even though we were fed propaganda to persuade us that he was a volatile personality, he actually turned out to be a really nice guy who needed a bit of a hug. We were impressed with all of Simon’s lovely friends and we all knew that if we’d been in Stuttgart with him, we would have got to know them really well.

Simon managed to maintain a comfortable balance between sticking religiously to the timetable thereby making sure we met the objectives outlined and also at the same time his gentle nature ensured we Gentiles were all able to enjoy ourselves, even if some members of the group didn’t know where to draw the line and wound up sleeping in a bed of pringles (Adam Shaw, I’m looking at you). Unexpectedly but thankfully, Sara would also make an appearance and act as the Robin to Simon’s Batman for the course of the weekend, radioing in different sections, establishing ERV’s and coordinating attacks on some of the city’s most visited cocktail bars.

Saturday > on the Wasen

As previously mentioned it’s sort of like a post-apocalyptic take on Oktoberfest, or Oktoby as Barney lovingly calls it. Adam said it reminded him more of Hannover Volksfest in terms of size and I think I vaguely remember Euan nodding in agreement. That said the rides were extraordinary, noteworthy was an astonishing haunted house with a fountain of blood in the front garden. The weather was pretty dreary if we’re honest but Simon didn’t let that dampen spirits. He led us to our tent: the Göckelsmaier tent which had some inexplicable fetish involving chicken, which then justified decorating the entire place with them. Beer was flowing, music was being played and the atmosphere was starting to pick up. The best thing about these festivals are the difference between people drinking their first beer and people drinking their second. During the first many were still cursing themselves and nursing the hangover, but during the second we were all dancing on the tables as if it was perfectly acceptable, which of course it was. Then came the strange conversations. At one point we got onto the topic of Harry Potter, no-one dared question that Nonie would have been in Gryffindor, and Sara seemed to fit nicely into Ravenclaw which was all completely reasonable. I then almost dropped my Maß and looked around me in horror as I heard that everyone, everyone was synonymous when they agreed I would be in Slytherin. Upsetting stuff indeed, although I took it as a slight compliment, I mean, hey, at least I wasn’t in Hufflepuff with Euan.

Eventually, German punctuality gave us the boot and we were kicked off our tables like common criminals because our tables were strictly reserved from 11am until 4pm. Shortly afterwards we became caught in a sea of people and Scouse, Adam and I clung to each other like lions caught in a stampede of wilder beast  When we floated out the other end we were greeted with a cold shower but nevertheless pumped full of desire to ride rollercoasters. Dodgems were a highlight as Adam was flung about, eventually realising that reverse wasn’t the only gear that could be utilised. We then thought it would be a great idea to go very high up on some swings which was the equivalent of paying 5€ to be put into the heart of a tornado. Which is quite good value the more I think about it, but we were very cold as the wind and rain ripped into our skin and our leather shorts began to chafe.

A few missed calls, a train journey and a walk later, Scouse, Adam and managed to find the rest of the group Adam making only a slight detour to kick a pigeon that took a quick dislike to him (fair enough). With a little help from Simon and Sara, winners of Mr. & Mrs. Stuttgart 2013, we found ourselves sitting comfortably in a tapas bar in the city centre. We made the natural transition to the place to be in Stuttgart on a Saturday night: a cocktail bar called Mauritius, where Adam angered some nearby Muslim women having purchased some ham from LIDL and started to fashion different varieties of jewelry with said slices of pork. What he was doing was far from halal, but the ladies can’t have been all that religious sipping cocktails at 4,99€. Shortly afterwards our drinks we then briefly returned to the ‘fest and those who had missed out on roller-coasting were able to scream their heads off once again.

Sunday > Back to MUC

All to quickly the weekend was over. We checked out of the hotel and the next stop was Vapiano’s. Afterwards we had time for a little sightseeing and what better tour guides to have than Simon and Sara.

Many thanks to Simon for literally sorting everyone out and buying us presents even though it was his birthday, what a man. A very happy birthday to a great man and a fantastic friend, we’re lucky to have him. Thanks to his friends for integrating us nicely into the group and a massive apology to the pigeons of Stuttgart, we promise Adam will not be thinking up any more ways to practice avian athletics.

As promised the links to my friends’ accounts of the same weekend 26th-28th April 2013.

“Snonie White & the Seven Dorks” ~Nath Thorpe 02.05.2013

“Simply the Fest” ~Adam Shaw  30.04.2013

Go East: Life is simple there.

This post was written by guest writer Adam Shaw.

#madeinmunich

Last weekend I finally got a visit from Marcus. Naturally he had expressed a desire to venture East throughout the year but due to various ski-trips/beer festivals/driving lessons, rarely had the time or the funds to reach me. However, a few weeks back we had settled on a date in mid-April and after the standard umming and ahing, made the collective decision that if Marcus was to grace Blankenburg, it was now or never.

Throughout the year, whenever I have had to travel further afield, I have often complained about the sheer hassle involved in getting from A to B. I like to think that having done the journey in reverse, Marcus can now appreciate that although not physically draining, it requires a fair degree of planning and mental effort.

Anyway, he set off from Munich in fantastic spirits, resembling a Furby that had just been fed. After a quick joke where he pretended that the guy taking him to Halle had cancelled at the last minute (which I must admit, well and truly fooled me), we buoyantly shared a phone call and promised to speak before the next leg of his journey.

A few hours later and Marcus was in Halle. Everything had gone smoothly but due to the timetabling, he would have to wait at the station for a couple of hours. Here he was to first experience the downside of visiting someone who lives in the middle of nowhere. I needn’t have worried however as Marcus was absolutely fascinated with East Germany. As soon as he crossed the border from Bavaria, he acted as if he were Columbus discovering the New World. He highlighted the beautiful countryside as if Bavaria was just one giant city, marvelled at the lack of people and general greyness and came to realise that although being situated in the western part of the former East Germany, the whole region has a different mentality, regardless of geographical position.

This mentality was explored further on the way up to Blankenburg. Speaking to anyone and everyone, Marcus was particularly intrigued by those who had experienced life in the GDR and some of the restrictions they had faced. Seriousness soon vanished however when he was on part three of the journey in a taxi from Halberstadt to my temporary home. By this stage several beers had been sunk and although technically we were drinking alone, there was some sort of connection that made it seem as if we were in fact sharing a beer together. After an excitable conversation Marcus explained how he had ended up at the infamous Coma, Blankenburg’s one and only bar.

I met Marcus and after much jubilation at having seen one another, introduced him to some fellow Blankenburgers. He had heard much about the football team I had joined for the year and, inevitably, there was one of my teammates nearby. Coincidentally he was also called Marcus (with a C!) which created an immediate and unbreakable bond between the two. Even when German Marcus’ drunk friend came in and starting causing a minor fuss, leading English Marcus to confront the two of them, the recently blossomed friendship could not be harmed.

We drank and drank and drank. The highlight (aside from the beer) had to be how nice it was for us to sit around a table speaking endless German. Marcus and I only broke from this when we needed to say something serious about someone else. The company was great, including German Marcus, Max who I had previously met and on this occasion discovered he was a former German Luge Youth Champion and Marco who had an uncanny resemblance to a Who from The Grinch. The only negative part, for me at least, was drinking a shot prepared by Marcus, not knowing it contained an unhealthy amount of Tabasco and as a result spent five minutes mimicking a dog, panting with my tongue hanging out, desperate for it to cool down.

We left at closing time, which was somewhere around 4.30 and despite being small and no more than a bar; I like to think Coma gave all it’s got and that Marcus had a good time. In a rush of excitement, we felt the most suitable thing to do next would be to visit the Castle which overlooks the town. Although it looks fairly close, it is a steep climb to the top. However, when drunk and hyper, everything becomes easier. Aside from the abandoned buildings, they just become creepier. We headed up with a couple of beers each and took in the views as Blankenburg twinkled below us. Unfortunately coldness and tiredness overcame us quite quickly and as a result only drank about half a beer each and missed the sunrise. It had been a long day and an eventful evening but above all, it was great to have Marcus in the Harz.

We woke up late the next day and I for one felt hideous. After a lazy morning, we finally got ourselves together and headed out for some lunch. As with all my visitors, I recommended the Potato House as the top place to eat. I further advised Marcus to try the fried potatoes with bacon, onions and fried eggs which he took and enjoyed immensely. I opted for soup due to a somewhat delicate stomach and after a coke or two, felt a lot better. Marcus now has a theory that cola is to me what spinach is to Popeye. If Popeye got hangovers.

Again, as with most of my visitors, we headed for Thale. Marcus continued to be in awe of rural East Germany as we wound through the country roads on the bus. We headed up the craggy mountain via the cable car and after a few snaps, made our way towards the Harzbob. The Harzbob is a toboggan run through the woods which is surprisingly lengthy and allows you to get up to a decent speed. Marcus and I had perhaps a bit too much fun on it and had we not checked the time, would have missed the last car down. Still, it was worth the rush to experience hurtling down the shoot separately and together – even if Marcus did insist I drove blind during the latter.

With the sun setting over the peaks, Marcus again found himself stumped by the beauty of the Harz region although in this instance, it was more than justified. At dusk we headed over to Saunawelt to relax having convinced ourselves that it wouldn’t be awkward. It turned out not to be although all German liberalism on display in the saunas goes out the window once two men are spotted together. We got a fair few confused looks, even when we weren’t speaking English, but despite all this came out feeling relaxed. As on previous trips to the sauna complex, the highlight was the Witches’ Sauna. Here we experienced a menthol session during the ‘Good Night Sauna’ and despite almost blinding us, was extremely cleansing. We paid our bills (Marcus racking up 22 Euros including a whisky and ginger ale and half a litre of tomato juice) and took a taxi back to Blankenburg.

The ride back gave Marcus the chance to pick the brains of another former GDR resident. He was a great bloke, explaining how the restriction on travel he experienced years ago pretty much remains the same due to his financial situation. He also mentioned that life was simpler during Socialist times, overcome with the ‘Ostalgie’ phenomenon. Despite mild hints of racism leading to a few awkward pauses, it was a great journey back which rounded off a great day. There was still time for epic Skype sessions with Angus and Mahmood before we were once again crippled by tiredness and decided to give another night at Coma a miss having done more than enough that day.

We realised Sunday would be a case of getting up and heading off to Halle. I decided to accompany Marcus and after another chilled morning, we reached the former state capital and found somewhere for lunch. As if an evening at Saunawelt hadn’t been enough, we settled on an Italian restaurant decorated with false street lamps and large paintings with romantic music softly playing in the background. To further the mood the waiter immediately lit a candle for us as we made the decision to eat the pizzas we were so desperately craving before quickly getting back to the station.

The pizzas were superb, Marcus rewarded my loyalty in travelling with him by paying for my meal and as we headed back in the sun, it was clear that the time had gone too quickly. We parted ways at the platform and from what I could tell; Marcus had had a great time. He certainly didn’t seem to mind taking the time and effort to get here and as we frequently said, he would have surely regretted it had he not. I have no doubts that Marcus is in love with Munich. If he knew he was going to have money, it would certainly be a place he could consider for permanent residence. Yet I also sense that he appreciated what living in an unknown area can be like. It might not have thousands of people walking the streets or be dotted with major landmarks but for different reasons, it’s certainly likable.

~By Adam Shaw

To read my version of events on Adam’s blog click here.

Licence to become Führer: access denied.

#madeinmunich

Gone are the days of the weekly update but fear not: Marcus’ digital diary recommences. In this post I will be including a bit about Easter (admittedly overdue) instructions of how to fail a driving test in German as well as touching on my new roommate, but not like that.

Far-Eastern Felix has gone back to Karlsruhe Insitute for Technology to write his Master thesis. I imagine our paths cross in the future, we certainly became great friends and learnt a lot from each other. What do I mean by a lot? Well, he  introduced me to Germo-Chinese cuisine and taught me to love Chairman Mau.

Interesting to note is that the Chinese apparently still seem to think of the British as we used to be in the 19th Century, kitted out with top hats, pipes and what have you. Felix learnt of the hazards associated with eating bacon and eggs with chopsticks and that it is possible to watch entertainment which doesn’t involve either the Japanese or anime. A truly great man.

 

Easter in the Isle of Wight

All of a sudden it was Easter and I was happy to be able to spend it with my family. Managing to tear myself away from Justin Bieber’s promising concert in the Olympic Park, I made my way to the airport. I’m not someone who has ever had a problem whilst travelling, not that I can remember at least so you can imagine my surprise when two minutes before boarding I heard my name over the tannoy in not one but two languages. As I stood up and made my way over to the desk, the crowd parted like the red sea. They were clearly wondering whether I was a criminal on the run or guessing how many explosives I had sewn into my jacket. Travelling with two passports at the time didn’t exactly help live down this fugitive aspect of my character. I thought I was done for. Where are the police, take me away, I thought. I was expecting to appear on the front page headlines the morning after and I cursed myself for being so accommodating to that charming Albanian chap who asked if there was space in my suitcase for him and his family.

The reality was rather unexciting and the BA staff had “deleted my travel details” so I struck up a conversation with the nice lady whose son was also doing a Year Abroad, in the hope that my fellow passengers would see that I was clean to fly. I boarded a plane and flew back to London from chilly Munich. Auntie Sue played a cameo role and was to be our chauffeur for the evening. We headed back to a brand new refurbished house in a sleepy London suburb for quiche. It was perfect. Mum even managed to get hold of some Weihenstephan (a Bavarian beer), presumably she had assumed that I would refuse anything less than German-brewed beverages. She was right. The purpose of the visit was to visit my slightly nutty but adorable family at Fabian Regis (the Isle of Wight homestead) to see pater, mater and my three not so l little brothers Fabians Major, Minor and Minimus. I couldn’t wait to catch up with my family and have a good old chin wag. Hopefully I would still be clinging onto the title of tallest brother. Against stiff competition, titles such as cleverest brother and sportiest brother, as well as most musical brother and even best-looking brother have all slipped through my fingers, however I am glad to report that tallest I do remain.  I suppose we’re a bit like the spice girls. Sort of. I mean there’s a few fundamental differences like gender before we even get into performance ability. During the bank holiday weekend, a fab time was had by all, racing demon seemed to be a somewhat compulsory activity as was fine dining and of course it wouldn’t have been Easter without the traditional Easter egg hunt in the garden.

That’s what Dads are for.

New roommate

In accordance with the communist theme, my new roommate comes from Russia, not with love but rather with two suitcases. If you’ve read a fair bit of the blog you’ll know that my housemates obtained nicknames to flesh out their characters. A reminder to those who might have missed out on the fun, I started off living with Macbook Matthias (proud to say that he was the fifth person into the Apple store in Regent Street) Reini der Schweini who was often naked when I came home from work, Bavarian Ben was the most conservative and most stereotypically German housemate, next in the running came Far-Eastern Felix a successful mechanical engineer from China who referred to Mau as “The Chairman” making him sound more like a wrestler than a dictator. For consistency, the bestowing of nicknames will continue, I was more than happy to welcome my new roommate Soviet Serguei (Cоветский Сергей) to Motorstraße or as my boss refers to it: Mordor. Managing the transition from Far-Eastern Felix to Soviet Serguei has been simple. The first thing Serguei did was cover the light spot on the wall where Felix’s portrait of Mau had previously shone with a portrait of Vladimir Putin who looks simultaneously intimidating and yet forgiving. here is the image for your enjoyment.

Putin sa mere.

Back to Munich

Having ventured back from the UK, I arrived to find that Niklas was back from his adventures in Italy and Helena was also in Munich, being an utter Trojan and pretending to fight off various attackers but ending up letting her fortress get invaded by suitors who have pledged to wed her. She partakes in a great night out and never fails to seduce our friends which makes for a great spectator sport. Ten out of ten.

And now some sad news to report: the German Driving licence looks like it’s gone down the drain which is a shame really – it would have sat nicely alongside my Iranian marriage certificate and Taiwanese tax return. Maybe another time. It did make me think though, you’re asking for problems, politically speaking, if you make it available to attain a licence to become Führer. Will the Germans ever change?

Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of blaming it all on a nasty driving instructor, I just genuinely drove awfully during the test. “But what went wrong?” people asked, amazed that I hadn’t passed. For example, things got off to a bad start, when I drove off with the handbrake on. From then on I knew it was going to take some seriously good driving to pass. It was more a question of what did I do right, than what I did wrong. Lesson learnt: do not argue with the driving instructor about theory even if you are right. He may fail you to show you he can. I didn’t crash, or cause a crash, so surely that’s a pass? But unlike the forgiving DVLA in the UK, where learners are prohibited from driving on the motorway, in Germany, an ability to drive safely on the Autobahn is considered paramount to learning to drive. Thus it is a part of the training and rears its head in the practical test. Essentially, learning to drive in Germany is like learning to play Mario Kart on Rainbow Road.  I was penalised for not hitting 80 quick enough, and also cruising at 75 for a small stretch where I thought, since it was the test, I’d be on the safe side. Understandably, driving too slow is actually worse than driving too fast because it could cause rear traffic to brake creating a domino effect of breaking and resulting in accidents and traffic. No-one’s impressed by it of course, but the Grandparents reassured me and explained that those who don’t pass first time are better drivers for it. Definitely not a positive moment in my Year Abroad but a highlight nonetheless. Probably karma of some form. Obviously I would have preferred to pass first time, but I guess that’s just karma. Cold chicken karma.

The people that know me well knew that I would only react to comedy, and told me their best stories of relatives who had failed five times. The most reassuring of which had to be David’s, he was told to drive back five minutes into his test having smashed the wing mirror off another car as he was passing it. Oh well, I guess I’ll just do the licence in the UK then, providing I get used to driving on the left…

Important weather update: Angela Merkel decided to cut costs by removing spring from 2013 and extending the brutal winter, to compensate for the lovely weather in Southern Europe. The only thing this has meant is that we have gone straight from Weimar Winter to Sri-Lankan Summer in a matter of hours. That what happens when the “problem countries” refused to sacrifice their sunshine. The result of this weather is that everyone is out and about and grilling meat whenever they find an excuse to do so.

Some of you might know already, I am undertaking to run the Munich Half Marathon on the 5th of May with my friend Ludo and training is going superbly. I’m up at 5am twice a week to run 15-20km, cycling 50km a week and swimming a bit just to keep the body is ticking over. I’m looking to raise £1000 for Great Ormond Street Hospital to which there is an important emotional connection. We’re 10% of the way there, but with only 20 days to go, it would be great if we could get a bit closer to the target. If you would like to read more you can do so by clicking on the following link: https://www.justgiving.com/marcus-fabian.

“We need to raise £50 million each year to help rebuild and refurbish Great Ormond Street Hospital, buy vital equipment and fund essential research. Amazing things happen at Great Ormond Street Hospital every day. With your help we can keep the magic alive for our very ill children & their families.”

~GOSH

Barney’s Birthday Bonanza.

It’s always good to start with a quote, this one is from one of my favourite songs. Don’t worry I haven’t set up a tumblr account and gone vegan, it just started playing on my iPod as I left Berlin on Sunday afternoon and I thought it would be a good way to start this post which will describe the people and events from last weekend.

No persuasion whatsoever has ever been needed to get me travelling to Berlin, a city that I can now boast to have visited just under ten times since I first went with Ludo in 2009. Notably, my mate Simon even managed to persuade me to go on a whim one Sunday evening following a lunch at the Royal Park Pub. As soon as I received the call from Barney, it was on. Swanky restaurants, meeting new people and lots of birthday celebration was in order. Over the weekend our leader set a cracking pace, both in terms of walking speed and event management. After two nights in Berlin I woke up with more stamps on my hands than there are days in the week. It is true; Berlin never disappoints, but for that you pay a physical price. In spite of this, a week on, you start to miss the relaxed lifestyle they have in the Wild Wild East. This story begins Friday 15th March or Independence Day, for the Hungarians amongst you.

ICE ICE Baby.

Thanks to a hiccup from Nath, I took the ICE (Inter-City-Express train) from Munich to Berlin. As cliché as it sounds, trains here in Germany run more smoothly and are just generally more efficient, which I admit is an obvious and boring fact to state, especially given the poor (albeit improving) state of affairs in the UK. As Inglorious Ingo always used to say, the best thing about travelling with the Deutsche Bahn is that they make occasional announcements in English. These consist of polite greetings such as: “Lädies end Gentellmen, velcom on board zee I-C-E to Stralsund, vee vish you a pläsent journey”. Other than that, not much happened on the journey, other than some fairly attractive girls got on at Augsburg. For the time being, we’ll refer to them as Augsbabes. In my experience these girls are all foam and no Weißbier. Having said that, my experience is based almost exclusively on a volleyball player of Lithuanian origin, but still. They overheard me speaking British English on the phone and had a huge debate about which British actors sounded the best. Predictably, Hugh Grant came out on top.

I won’t bother translating the title. You’re better off not knowing.

But my sense of flattery was about to come to an abrupt halt when we stopped at Nuremberg. The seat next to me suddenly became occupied by a portly lady and things took a turn for the worse. For a short while everything appeared to be normal. She poured herself into her seat, took out a book and began to read. Perfectly legit, I thought to myself, nothing wrong with that. This was until she started getting slightly too interactive with the book, stroking the pages as she read, caressing them as she breathlessly soared through the novel. When she took a break to catch her breath, I realised from the title and strange picture of the author that it was a curious sort of book (see right).

The journey continued. After a few more hours of gorgeous fields, we started to ascend and suddenly the trees became increasingly coniferous and a few pretty inches of snow covered the rocky outcrops. Having spotted a Netto with both SCHEISSE and FREIHEIT carefully spray-painted onto it, followed by two youths stood next to a tractor watching a bonfire, I presumed we had arrived in the former East Germany and as it turned out I was right. We weren’t far from Leipzig.

Berliner Barney.

Eventually I arrived in the country’s capital and marvelled at the architecture of Hauptbahnhof as I took about seven escalators up to find the S-Bahn. How can one station have so many levels, I wondered. I have clearly turned into a small town mouse during my time in Munich. As I tried to get over my initial astonishment, I began to think of which train station the Germans would have converted into their extravagant Londoner Hauptbahnhof, had they been successful seventy years ago. Waterloo seems like the obvious choice? Or perhaps Victoria? King’s Cross seems unlikely, though , whereas Stratford seems like a clear contenter for Ostbahnhof. Or would they have just started from scratch? These were all questions that sprang to mind as I took my seat on the S-Bahn to Charlottenburg, West Berlin, home to Prosecco Barney. Gloriously, this part of town also happens to be twinned with Lewisham in South London. This dawned upon me after I read that two streets away from the flat ran a long thoroughfare called Lewishamstraße. Initially, I reckoned I was either experiencing some kind of optical illusion or last night’s Jäger was still talking. However, it was the real deal: the areas are twinned! Citing the infallible wikipedia as my source, let’s take a moment to appreciate the London borough’s other other international ties; namely with Antony, France and Matagalpa, Nicaragua. Fascinating stuff, I think you’ll agree.

Having rang Barney upon my arrival I was given a slightly worrying set of orders. I was told to meet him in LIDL, near the Russian Supermarket – the sort of directions that would make even urban heavyweights such as Liam Neeson take a second look at Google Maps. Having eventually found a sufficiently suspicious Russian cafe, I cleverly put two and two together, rounded the corner to find the gangster grocery. Clearly every Mafia boss’ wife had sent out her hubby and son to fetch groceries in a Mercedes M-Class, the perfect midsize SUV for the family mobster. I looked marginally out of place as I waited outside. If this was some sort of Oxford initiation then it wasn’t very funny.

Barney and two friends Josh & Ed kindly came to pick me up as I had resorted to asking passers-by if they knew where LIDL was. One clueless Frenchwoman had no intention of helping me and also made no attempt to hide that she was offended that I’d asked her. We then did a quick shop at said budget supermarket to get a few essentials in. Beer and crisps seemed to be fairly high on the agenda, as well as some outrageously cheap wine which would soon unimpress the girls. After brief introductions and a few drinks it was time to head off to one of Berlin’s most exclusive restaurants, Spindler & Klatt. We ate fantastically, I personally opted for Sushi which was good and the whole group seemed to enjoy the food. The coolest thing (literally) about this eaterie were a) the DJ whose unfortunate choice of T-shirt meant that he looked both serious and naked and b) the loos. They were large walk-in boxes made out of corrugated iron, and in the gents the urinal was full to the brim with kilos upon kilos of ice. I think this says it all, really. As well as being strangely satisfying, pissing on ice makes you feel quite important. That was my first time pissing on ice and I can definitely recommend it. Although, sadly I don’t think Phillip Schofield would feel comfortable presenting such a show. Perhaps on Channel 5, but it certainly wouldn’t be up to ITV’s standard.

We then headed to Warschauer Straße, in East Berlin and where the word “edgy” was thrown around almost without justification. The bar we were heading to happened to be having a Hungarian Folk Dancing evening and we sort of just joined in with it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. It appeared to be a sort of Hungarian flash mob, but it transpired that the 15th of March is an annual celebration commemorating the revolution of 1848. After a round of shots which didn’t taste like any of the flavours they had promised to reflect, Ella and I agreed it was time to kick off the dancing. A few minutes later and we were hands on shoulders dancing round in circles with some friendly Hungarians. Eventually everyone came over to our way of thinking, and the whole team were all dancing some form of jig involving turning and simultaneously stamping whilst holding hands and moving round in circles. By the time we’d stamped our last stamp, we were on our way to the club opposite, the infamous Cassiopeia. This is a club which brought back many memories for me. After all, Berlin was the city in which I experienced the concept of clubbing for the first time. It has a simple layout, two dancefloors up- and downstairs, complete with table football and a large outside area which increases the capacity five-fold during the warm summer evenings.

By this stage in the evening I started to feel as if I had a good enough rapport with the group and I was honoured that I had been accepted into their midst, despite being a martyr and insisting on taking photos of “the real team”. It sort of felt like I knew them quite well, as if I had started as a Fresher at Somerville in 2010 and was one of those basket cases you hear about who takes a load of drugs and ends up in a coma, having woken up missing both first, second and most of third year (buddy). It was sort of like I’d known the group for ages even though I couldn’t relate to any of the stories they were telling or any of the characters that featured. It occurred to me that it is perhaps a good exercise to join a tight-knit friendship group, it offers perspective which you wouldn’t normally be able to experience when surrounded by the comfort of your own friends. Sort of like a documentary by Louis Theroux. The team included Katy, Sam, Liv, Ed, Molly, Ella, Josh and of course the man of the moment: Barney. And I think they were some of the most charming people I ever met, there must be an compulsory charm seminar that you take at Oxford. To them I was effectively a complete outsider to the group, because they all studied together at university but in spite of this they made a big effort to include me, explaining different terminology specific to Oxford: including “Crew dates” where they would end up “sconcing” their friends. The most spoken of whom was Stephane, German by blood by British in his heart. Story after story was told about him, without end. More on him later – now back to the content.

After a good stint at Cassiopeia, we then proceeded to an inconspicuous club round the corner in the same complex, but alas our platoon had been decimated and only a mere section remained. All the rest had made the sensible decision and retreated before dawn. Casualties that remained included Barney, Katy, Liv and myself. The day after we were all so shattered we got nothing done, but it was good to just have a lazy day. I think if I hadn’t already done Berlin 100 times I would have been keen to get about but otherwise we were good to vegetate in the flat, only to step out blinking into the daylight to eat currywurst, withdraw more cash and nip into the Jaguar-Land Rover Showroom.

The big event.

Saturday night was the main event, the moment we had all been waiting for. With a bit of help from pop star Finn Martin (a contender to be Germany’s entry for the Eurovision song contest, if I understood him correctly) Barney had managed to organise a series of visits to the city’s most exclusive restaurants and clubs. The highlight of which, unanimously agreed, was the official Birthday Meal; a private dining function at member’s club, Soho House Berlin. Interesting to comment here, is that although the Kaufhaus Jonaß is now occupied by the club, previous tenants included The Hitler Youth and later the Institute for Marxism & Leninism. But I still like to think we made history, to an extent. We were almost certainly better behaved than both parties. Well, definitely no worse than the Hitler Youth, but yet not quite as dull the Marxists must have been.

It was a shame that Nonie couldn’t make it, because she was in Budapest but there was still much to talk about as we got to know her friend Alice. It was really interesting to hear from her about her experience at St. Andrew’s and their crazy Harry Potter-style traditions (for want of a less coarse phrase) in contrast to her life as a language assistant in Europe’s second largest city. The meal was of course extravagant and everyone seemed very impressed with the dining indeed. We enjoyed five-star food, wine and of course vibrant and captivating company. Ed also confirmed it was a successful evening, announcing at one point that he “didn’t feel stressed”, so I guess it was a success all round, despite Josh’s best efforts to send crockery flying in all directions.

Barney then co-ordinated a perfectly smooth transition to our next destination. A convoy of taxis to Cookies, the Schicki-Micki club in the capital) where we would meet Finn the German pop star. People were more excited for the arrival of the infamous Stephane and, after a hectic day of voyaging back from a skiing holiday via Hamburg, the chap eventually managed to meet us outside the club. After a good spell of dancing and drinking, I ended the time in the club randomly winning a porcelain camel as part of a promotion. Camel in hand, we set off to a bar near Moritzplatz, Kreuzberg and despite pumping ourselves full of complex carbohydrates en route, the alcohol meant that some members of the team were starting to show signs of fatigue. But Berlin refused to let us sleep. Once we were done in the “edgy bar”, we set off to our third event of the evening/morning. After a quick tour of a nearby roundabout in arctic conditions, we found ourselves stood outside the club in Ritterstraße at around 5.30am. On the walk there Sam felt it was time to voice his concerns, understandably referring to the sketchy area as being akin to “some sort of dystopian nightmare”.

“Camel, camel on the wall. Who is the edgiest of them all?”

At 8am on a Sunday morning, you really need to summon up all the motivation you possibly can, in order to party on. I’m not sure what’s more ridiculous, taking a camel into a club or the someone actually offered to buy my camel for 11€. I seem to remember having a couple of shots of Jägermeister with Ed and then fist pumping my camel at randomers in the club. Who’s edgy now, Mr. East Berlin?

Hometime.

Berlin taxi drivers understandably didn’t want to lose their licences just because we wanted to get home, so I manned up and took one for the team, taking the U-Bahn and S-Bahn home solo, and getting some disapproving looks from roughly 84% of people I came into contact with. All too soon the weekend was over and despite The Bank of Fabian losing it’s AAA rating I’m of course overjoyed that I was invited to such a prestigious and key event in Barney’s calender. Thanks to everyone who made it a fab weekend, especially to Barney for a fantastic weekend of unbeatable generosity and hospitality, I am confident he enjoyed it, too which is of course the main thing. Now I need to start thinking about my own 21st.

Arsenal Expects.

#madeinmunich

Arsenal 2 – 0 Bayern (agg 3-3)*

Arsenal expected every player will do his duty. Just like Admiral Lord Nelson coughing out his last breaths after being brought down by a firearm, the Gunners kept their promise until the dying minutes.

Wednesday 13th March 2013

Here is a brief run-down of Wednesday’s events, a match report and of course a lash report. Also included are photos and a brief summary from Bavarian Ben. On the Wednesday, Sam flew down from Hamburg in the morning and by the afternoon he was in the office. He met my boss and a colleague and we got the expensive coffees in, which I pretended was completely standard even though it’s only my second nice coffee. Said colleague, namely Jan, had a car spare and offered to take Sam for a spin in the BMW 3 Series Touring Sport Line Edition, kitted out with all M accessories. We got up to 240kmph on the Autobahn Richtung Freising, impressed to see that it accelerated smoothly up to 80kmph. We were able to enjoy that Sheer Driving Pleasure that comes only from driving a BMW and show Sam  a bit about the features that our cars have. It’s only two litres though so it does struggle to accelerate upwards from 130kmph. My boss gave me the nod and I was allowed to leave work early. Then the magic key began to glow…

At the Hofbräuhaus our livers were about to take a battering and little did we know FC Bayern would also be subjected to a football-shaped battering of their own. What the Arsenal support may have lacked in manners, they more than made up for in queuing performance. It’s true, we Brits know how to queue and in London we have our most seasoned queuers and queueees.

Despite being a massive Palace fan, I was happy to associate with the boys from North London. All it took was to pull Sam’s scarf over my shoulders and like that I had pulled the wool over their eyes. It was great to fulfil the Germans view of us as being 80% hooligans. If you’ve been keeping fairly up to date with the blog, then you might have noticed a pattern that fulfilling stereotypes seems to be becoming a somewhat worryingly regular occurrence in my life now.

Inside.

My favourite quote of the night came from an unsightly ruffian stood behind me who, not afraid to voice his frustration, spontaneously declared:

“Fa two years he’s dan nuffin. Naaffin! Give it ta Gervinho“.~ Anonymous yet charismatic Arsenal Fan.

If there was any logic connecting these two concepts, then I was blissfully unaware of any and began to do what all well-to-do South Londoners know how to do: blend in with the Great Unwashed. I turned round and nodded vigorously at the man, desperately trying to give us some common ground in the hope that he would think I was saying “I was just thinking that myself” and subsequently wouldn’t growl at me. However, it was as if the poor man’s shouts fell on deaf ears as he struggled to make himself understood. Wenger didn’t bat an eyelid and play continued.

There was a mutual respect between the fans of the two teams after the game, in line with UEFA’s campaign. But I guess Bayern were just so shocked to be beaten at home. And rightly so. It was unanimously appreciated that Arsenal had earned their consolation win, yet real celebration couldn’t be justified as on paper they had technically been knocked out another team brought low by the bloody away goal. Although I think more factors need to be taken into account. Any goals that Brits score away should take into account a) how much stronger our currency is than theirs and b) how much atmosphere a team creates. Still, at least they managed to wipe off any smug grins off precious Bavarian faces.

I spent my lunch break with Jan and his mate Eddy. Eddy happened to have got hold of a BMW 7 Series which is a great car because the seats have a back massage mode. This year I’ve become akin to some sort of Saudi Prince you is shocked when his translator informs him that some people drive cars without being simultaneously massaged by a robot. We have some new cars at work soon after my test in April so we shall see, in the meantime I still need to pass my theory test next week before I even have a shot at the practical part. Wish me luck!

After the match.

Yesterday morning, I was getting funny looks in the office and I was told I had a suspiciously happy air about me, for a Thursday morning. Have I mentioned the Germans are poignantly observant? I had what I can only describe as that “je ne sais quoi”  that one can only acquire when one’s team has been victorious the day before. To watch Arsenal soar to victory was really the stuff of dreams and we couldn’t have hoped for any better for the boys from North London. Obviously, it would have been ideal for them to slot another goal and progress to the quarter final, but it wasn’t meant to be.

I’m not sure who I hate more, Bayern or United. Bavarian Ben of course supports both teams which makes him a crime to football. In response to my inquiry about the outcome he writes with bias, understatement and condescension about  how Bayern didn’t deliver the best performance and that he was disappointed with the result. He went on to express how I should be glad that I saw the most beautiful stadium in the world, and at least I got to see a game. He concludes with slightly barbed wishes hoping that I enjoy the rest of my time in Germany.

“Servus, naja also gestern hat Bayern nicht gerade die beste Leistung abgeliefert. Ich war eher enttäuscht. Na dann hast du wenigstens mal das schönste Stadion der Welt von sehen können und auch ein Spiel erleben dürfen Mir geht es gut danke. Hoffe bei dir ist auch alles bestens und du geniesst noch deine Zeit hier in Deutschland” ~Bayerischer Ben

Arsenal are fantastic away supporters, they never gave up. Da Boiz, vey dun us praad, san. I wish Sam and Natalie a great trip to Barcelona and look forward now to Simon’s 21st at the Frühlingsfest in Stuttgart. Time to sleep, Berlin calls!

Starkbierfest and the Autobahn.

#madeinmunich

Starkbierfest is what it says on the Stein.

I don’t want to start off by saying it was better than Oktoberfest, but it was certainly a contender for second-best beer festival. Remi and I planned to go to the Fest as our last big night together in Munich and all was set for the big day when we began to queue outside Paulaner am Nockherberg in the afternoon. Admittedly there were aspects of it that were better than the frankly overcrowded Wies’n. Firstly, I would just like to say a massive thank you to all the absolute babes that turned up. I have honestly never seen more beautiful women in one place. And that’s coming from someone who’s been to Tequila on a Thursday. But as opposed to Tequila’s remarkably low marriage rates, 80% these gorgeous Bavarian princesses were fit to marry, seeming to walk straight out of a fairytale. But it wouldn’t be a fairytale without a few trolls and a couple of ugly sisters to make up the last fifth.

With the exception of the first day, beer can be ordered from 9am onwards at the Oktoberfest. At the Starkbierfest, however, doors don’t even open until the early afternoon. Most beer at Oktoberfest was around the 5% mark, whereas the “Strong-beer-festival” beer is not really beer, it’s almost a wine, with its alcohol concentration hovering dangerously around the 11% mark, this is because it traditionally is the cooked remains of the Oktoberfestbier. Do the maths. If people started drinking this through the morning, they would be more than twice as drunk as at Oktoberfest, for twice as long. That’s fairly annihilated indeed. Thank God then that doors opened at two in the afternoon. Presumably there is some sort of correlation between how many world wars your country has started and what time you let people start drinking. Now I don’t claim to be Bavaria’s answer to Nostradamus, but I’m guessing that shortly after World War III people will get let in perhaps at 1500hrs. And rightly so.

Bavarian Speaking Cash machine.

The day was great, much singing and drinking and cheering etc. The highlight of which was when I took advantage of a quiet crowd to coerce them into singing “Country Roads by John Denver” managing to get enough people to sing along with me such that the and changed their schedule and decided to join in. Having realised our wallets were empty, we embarked on a mission to get cash. There was only one cash machine and of course charged an extortionate rate, but at least it had a language option of Bavarian German (Boarisch) which made me and David (another colleague) chuckle for probably a bit too long. Shortly after this, David and I agreed that heaven would be some form of Bavarian Beer festival. Think about it, what more could you possibly need? Friendly and approachable people to talk to, gorgeous women dancing around in a tasteful fashion. All the beer you could drink in a lifetime. It would  never get boring. It couldn’t. It wouldn’t even be possible. Having sank four Steins, it was pushing eleven o’clock. And with that in mind, Julia (a rather attractive au pair from New York) and I headed to Jan’s house party which was taking place at Theresienwiese, exactly where Oktoberfest takes place. Myself dressed in Lederhosen and my accomplice dressed in a full dirndl, we looked like we had fallen out of a faulty time-machine, arriving at Oktoberfest at the dead of night but at least we were within six months. Not bad time-travelling. After a few drinks with Jan and co it was home time.

The rest of the weekend was spent recovering from Friday and Saturday nights and preparing for the week ahead.

On the evening of Monday the 11th March I had my first driving lesson on the Autobahn. After a nice spell on the country roads (Landstraße), we drove to the airport and onto the Autobahn back to Munich. This system contrasts with the English driving schools where I believe you aren’t permitted to drive on the motorway with a learner plate, however in Germany this is not only encouraged but it is an obligatory part of learning to drive. No speed limits, rapid overtaking and unmarked police cars equipped with cameras are all part of the fun. You just have to strap in a get ready for the ride. I settled into Richgeschwindigkeit of 130kmph pretty comfortably and I took the BMW One Series up to 160kmh which was a great feeling. Forget fifth gear, I though to myself as I shot straight from fourth into sixth. The lesson went well and I only made a couple of mistakes, mainly entering built up areas at twice the speed allowed. Note to self: decelerate to 50kmph before the yellow signs appear. Some of the signposts were hidden by trees though, in my defence. I do need to make sure I don’t get carried away going from 50-60 kmph even though the difference really is minute.

Unfortunately, we have had to say goodbye to some friends of ours. Philip is going off to start his masters, but also bravely starting a three week trip to Coventry to visit his girlfriend. Lisa is leaving us to go and study in Australia and Rémi is off to join Euan in Wolfsburg at the Automotive Giant that is Volkswagen.

In other news, Sam is preparing for his trip to Munich tomorrow and we are both going to watch the last British team in the Champions League as Arsenal come to the Allianz Arena in a clash against the dominant Bayern Munich. On Friday, the Berlin trip begins along with Barney’s Birthday Bonanza.

Driving, Swimming and Portuguesing.

“I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered” ~George Best

A classic Brit he was indeed, I wish I could say the same for myself. Alas, I haven’t been living it up quite like good old George, but maybe it’s been for the Best. In the first quarter of 2013, a vast proportion of the Fabian Millions have been spent on aquiring a German Führerschein, or  “the Hitler-shine” as I fondly refer to it; due to its demanding nature.

At first they tried to make me drive on the right, but I didn’t deem it proper at the time. I drove the English way, into oncoming traffic. We may rules the high seas, but when it comes to tarmac we aren’t so dominant. Must remember to look for the blue arrows in future.

The Germans. They’ve got some sensible rules, and some silly rules. They really do insist on having some ridiculous rules, like for example did you know that even if you are on the main road, unless there is a Vorfahrtschild (see below) then any traffic coming from the right, be it at a junction/ a crossroads/ a built up area/ even if obscured from vision, they have right of way over you. In other words, you have to drive slower as you approach these right hand lanes to make sure you can brake in time to give way. In a word: madness.

Vorfahrtt (right of way)

Vorfahrt (Right of way at a specific junction)

Anyway, having almost mastered the skills of driving in the city, I am beginning the final phase of the driving course this week. Over the next few weeks I will be rigourously trained in the martial art that is: the Autobahn. As well as this I will be travelling over land on the Landstraße (Country Roads) and a Nachfahrt (nighttime drive) also needs to be completed. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t massively looking forward to the Autobahn. No speed limit = what’s not to like. But I’m glad I took advice from parents etc and learnt gradually, otherwise heads may well have rolled.

“Speed never killed anyone, suddenly becoming stationary, that’s what gets you.”
~Jeremy Clarkson

Saunas are Sticky & Sweaty

Probably the most exciting thing that happened to me in February was suffering a sort of sexual abuse, don’t worry though, I took it well. One Saturday I decided to go to the sauna in the Olymische Schwimmhalle, which it turns out, was a mistake. After a couple of hours of damp room, hot room, cold water I was successfully relaxed. I went to relax in the sauna room and strecthed out on the top layer. Around five minutes later I realised that the chap who had been staring at the temperature was actually staring at Little Marcus. Probably well into his forties, this creep of a man decided it would be a great idea to play with his genitals whilst using my bits and bobs as a sort of “Free Adult Channel” as I lay in the sauna. What can I say, I must have been a bit of a catch compared to the other sauna goers. That said, with the clientele pushing an average age of 75 it was pretty slim competition. The man then started to whisper incomprehensibly to my member in German and proceeded to engage with it from afar like some sinister stark-naked snake charmer. Unfortunately my Nether-Region doesn’t speak great German. Maybe it speaks better Dutch?

© Manuel Irritier

I wasn’t sure whether or not to hit him or to be flattered. In the end, the shock got the better of me and I sort of got up and left the room in a bit of a huff, the old chap crossing his legs trying to hide the evidence whilst looking up at me like a lost puppy. I think I just felt sorry for him in the end. Reduced to masturbating over someone you’ve never met in a public sauna? If that’s what he does on the weekends, I though to myself, then what the hell does he do during the week? Perhaps he just got swept up in the moment. Still, he took the concept of #yolao* a bit too far. Although points for enthusiasm are in order, credit where credit’s glued. I really hope that’s the last time I’m masturbated over by an old German man. I feel like it’s one of those things that, once it’s happened, you sort of know either way whether it was fun or not. That’ll be my first and last trip to the sauna in the Olympic Park, thank you very much.

He may be Far-Eastern but he’s a Southerner at heart

Other highlights of February included Far-Eastern coming in absolutely battered with mates Joe and Tchi Bing. Joe maintains that people from North China are supposed to be the heavier drinkers (similar to the alleged divide in England), whilst poor old Mandarin Felix is about as lily-livered as you can get. But as we know all too well, the Chinese, regardless of what they say, do often struggle with their drink. When you say battered in China, you’re usually refering to some tasty deep-fried treat, rather than an alcoholic beverage. It’s not their fault, they are missing this “battered enzyme” which we Westerners are lucky enough to have. Scientists might have given the enzyme a more technical name by the way, but I thought I’d make it nice and simple for my readers which includes a variety of educations and ages. How considerate.

Learning to drive. I can now drive. It’s pretty easy to be honest, not really sure what the whole fuss was about. Mastered manual, I just need to take the theory which I should pass first time and then I can do the practical test afterwards.

A visit to Prince Charming in Prague is definitely in order at some stage.

Until then I am looking forward to next week when it all kicks off again. Sam is coming down from Hamburg with tickets for us to watch Champion’s League Second Leg, Arsenal vs Bayern Munich @ the Allianz Arena. It’s going to be interesting. Hopefully the lively Arsenal fans will give the boring Bavarians something to think about. Of course we have Barney’s Birthday Bonanza in Berlin to look forward to in a fortnight’s time. To say I am hugely looking forward to it would be an understatement.

For those interested, there is a pretty cool site  called Viveras going live on Thursday. It is a great new tool whereby people on their Year Abroad can review and rate places and events that they have experienced, so that future generations will be able to make the most of their experience. This is basically the sort of idea that I wish I had come up with. I have been made an official contributor (whatever that means I’m not entirely sure). The idea is good though and as long as my review of the Hofbräuhaus makes it up there, I’ll be happy. I would definitely recommend checking it out to other fellow Year Abroaders, regardless of where you are. Though probably best ot leave Munich to myself and Nath. We’ve got it covered.

In other news, Adam has survived another Nut-Attack and of course the story will be rolled out in blog form at some stage so watch this space. Also I’m learning Portuguese which is cool. And could be useful if I ever go to the following places.

And that’s your lot. Time to get back to marketing premium automobiles. Greece, Spain and Italy aren’t exactly going to bale themselves out, are they.

*#yolao = You only live abroad once.

Bundesbrüder, Bier & Blades.

So it’s official. Taylor Swift and thingy from One Direction have officially broken up. But the lad knew exactly where his first stop was after leaving the British Virgin Islands, the best place to be single if you are wanting to mingle: Leeds, West Yorkshire. What it may lack in virgins, it certainly makes up for with pouring rain and chips and beer and curry. All mixed together. The shocking news of the death of Olympic and Paralymic hero Oscar Pistorius’ girlfriend at his home has thrown South Africa into the limelight., let’s be honest though he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

But you are probably reading this post because you wan’t to hear about another celebrity, that celeb being Marvellous Marcus, know to some as Multilingual Marcus or even sometimes Mischievous Marcus.

The adventures start here. On Wednesday night we paid a visit to cosmogrill, where the burgers were good, but just not quite big enough. It would be a stretch to say it was disappointing, but uplifting it was not.

The first of February offered greetings to the new month and also the discovery of the racism engrained in European bakeries. On the menu is “la tête-de-nègre” (FR) also refered to as “der Mohrenkopf ” (GER). The  phrases respectively translate as “head of the nigger” and “Nigger head”. The Swiss, French and German colleagues all seemed to be fine with this and asked me what we called it in England, expecting to hear an appropriately outrageous name. I was glad I could reply innocently, explaining how we call it a “Chocolate Marshmallow”. Good old England.

Friday night was good fun. The pre-lash was planned at Wealthy Wolfgang’s, a fantastic colleague from Switzerland. He is also the first “native” I have met with an impecable knowledge of English comedy shows and a solid grasp of the humour. Of course, we headed into town after a well-hosted gathering. It was unfortunate that we parted ways due to some taxi mis-communications. Some big names featured such as Guillaume le Conquérant, Northern Niklas and of course Rémi le Roi.

A poster in Wolfie’s apartment.

Saturday night was the real highlight of the past couple of weeks. Thinking of myself as a rather dashing young Ian Fleming I rushed out of the house at five to meet Rémi le Roi for a drink in town. Soon after, the time had come for my appointment  to take place. Having been summoned by HRH Prince Charming’s invitation to the Hofbräuhaus to partake in the first official black tie event of the year with the infamous Studentenverbindung. A Studentenverbindung is like a fraternity, for those who weren’t aware. For more information regarding this very German concept, click here  Beer by the barrel, plus weaponry plus the German National Anthem all in the location of the VIP section of the Hofbräuhaus. I felt like Jay-Z when he was on his Year Abroad in Paris. It couldn’t have been any more exclusive and authentic. The Germanophile in me was excited beyond words (not like that). I was watching German history in the making. As I walked into the Kneipe*, I remembered past evenings shared here, first with my parents the week after Oktoberfest and evenings with Prosecco Barney** and the like.

The format of these events is comparable to military events in the British Army in the sense that it involves copious amounts of music, speeches, National Anthems whilst maintaining a multitude of strange traditions and rules.

• you can’t go to the toilet at any point during the meal
• you must refer to everyone as “Bundesbruder “.
• if at any point/many points you should run out of beer you must lay your empty glass flat on the table and wait for it to be filled up appropriately. If this is not done in good time, you may shout “Bierversorgung!” This is then understood by one of the juniors to mean “I need beer replenishment NOW” and they will get up form their seat, take your glass. Rush to the barrel. Fill uip your glass and rush back with a fresh premium lager.
• only one type of beer is on offer, traditionally Hofbräu beer is drunk in the Hofbräuhaus. Which makes sense when you think about it.
• if you couldn’t make the event you must send a message to be read out in your absence with an accompanying amount of money (usually based on what it would have cost you to travel there) to be spent on beer. For example, some chap was so gutted he missed it that he donated 500,00€ to the cause, the cost of return flights from Hamburg with Lufthansa (booked last minute/perhaps first class)
• when drinking your beer you must initially raise your glass and preferably find someone to drink to something with. If not then you drink and then raise your glass after you have had a swig.

As one of the “Füchse“, Prince Charming was among one of the more junior members of the fraternity yet despite his meagre rank, he seemed enormously popular with young and old members of the Verbindung, and he had us literally in tears with comments about his various conquests although, some of them must be mere fairytales.

After the various rules have been understood. unnecessary badges, ceremonial swords, colourful flags, odd bits of metal that clipped to your glass. Having experience this sometimes controversially perceived event first hand, I can honestly say it was an absolute pleasure to take part in such it was fantastically rich tradition.

Grandpa always said you should keep the Germans at a sword’s length.

We drank a few to Kaiser Friedrich (or Freddy as his mates used to call him), the sheer mention of his name causing incessant applause and much knocking on the table. I thought to myself…

A little later in the evening, we had all had a fair amount to drink, and it turned out worse for one of the chaps (who will remain nameless). The Bundesbrüder had a Bundes-chunderunder the table, I managed to kick the blue bucket over to him just in the nick of time, and luckily came away without any clumpy frothy beery sick attached to my foot. The evening wrapped up, and as an esteemed guest i was obliged to pay nothing for drink all night. naturally we progressed to a few gentlemen’s clubs afterwards for a few drinks and pleasant company and a great night was had by all.

It was also a massive weekend for Far-Eastern Felix as you can see from the photo below.

Far-Eastern, Chinese Babe #1, Tschi Bing, Chinese Babe #2 and Joe.

Felix likes nothing better than relaxing with a cup of coke in the evening. I got in from work one evening and saw him at the table with his head in the bowl. Thinking to myself that perhaps the British Imperialism had gotten too much, I speculated he might have topped himself. Dreading the inevitable mountain of paperwork that comes with roommate suicides, I was relieved to find that he had run out of clean mugs and was simply using the bowl to drink out of. Sipping the cool dark liquid directly from inside from the bowl and unfortunately soaking his glasses in caffeine in the process. He did look very cat-like at the time. Feline Felix is now a strong contender for his facelift nickname.

In other news, Newsman Nath aka Tumnus aka Bilbo aka Nath Thorpe is currently match reporting about 1860 München football club for the Munich Eye. Perks of the job include free food, interviewing players and being in the Allianz Arean! And all this alongside his internship. What a man. Such a big name in Munich. Watch his reporting debut here. And for the latest updates on his blog, click here. He’s got a new haircut since, though. Don’t be put off.

The news was ridiculous this past week or so. Richard the Third has been dug up in a car park in Leicester? How much must the parking fine have costed. 1435-2013, in years, not hours and minutes. Unbelievable.

My favourite expression in Bavarian German has to be: “Des isch mi’ Würschd!” (Das ist mir Würst) literally meaning, “That is a sausage to me”, the implied meaning being – “I don’t even care!” I’m assuming this is due to the plentiful amount of sausage consumed every day, therefore making it a very ordinary product, so when you use this phrase oyu are essentially saying that it is “nothing particularly special”.

My driving instructor comes out with some fantastic lines sometimes: “Schmeis den Panzer ein, Marcus!”, ordering me to turn the MINI Cooper on and refering to is as a tank. As soon as I change up into second, he would shout “und……FEUER!” Expecting me to lay my foot on the gas and bring up into third and just below the speed limit of 50kmph. At which point he would look at me and say “langsam mit der Kupplung Marcus, es ist wie eine Frau. Du musst zuerst sanft sein und danach show it who’s boss!” Thanks for the advice Florian.

This Thursday evening, having given up on Valentine’s day with Far-Eastern, Nath and I organised a little meet up with some Erasmus friends at the Bierstube, along with David and his girlfriend. It was a good night, cheap food and beer – what more do you need. And after a swim you really feel like you’ve earnt it.

Adam expressed his love for Van Persie: “I’ve never felt this way about a player”and Alfie is clearly having the time of his life in Oxford, pictured with lots of ladies. But in the automotive world there is plenty being discussed. Take this concept car for example. Look at its beauty, its modernity and its timeless character.

BMW 328 Hommage: Concept Cars

It just looks like it should be driven by Batman. This is potentially the most stunning car I have ever had the privelege to lay my eyes upon.

For the big Champion’s League Match Real Madrid vs. Manchester United, we selected the Champion’s Bar as our harbour of choice. Here we were impressed by the burgers as well as Danny Wellbeck’s golden header.

I have another driving lesson tonight which should be good, although the last three driving lessons I have taken part it, it has either already snow and ice on the ground, snowed just beforehand or snowed during the lesson itself. This makes the conditions for learning even more hazardous. Wish me luck!

Footnotes:

*Kneipe translates as pub in day-to-day German but in the context of the Fraternity it refers specifically to the event at the pub as opposed to the concept of the pub itself. A little bit of “How’s your Fatherland?”

**Barney has since moved to Berlin and is getting on really well there. We have many plans for the coming months, most of which are centred around consumption of alcohol.

Sex, Saufen und Skifahren.

It’s been a while since the last post, because I have been pretty busy. Apologies to anyone who has been sitting on the edge of their seats. Here is the update of the past three weeks or so.

Let’s start from the beginning. I’m back in Munich where I belong and I’m not wasting any time. First item on the agenda: single-handedly sorting out the economy, trying desperately to give it that kick it needs, like a mad surgeon thrusting a shot of adrenaline into Europe’s economic heart. As you may be aware from the news, there’s still a long way to go. Thanks for shaking things by the way up Dave, I’m getting a lot of stick because of you. “Marcus vot ees heppaning viz zee European Union. Vot did vee do rong zis time?”  The question remains: will Great Britain choose to go it alone? Anyway let’s immediately put that on the backburner and think about it again in 2015. Let’s just hope that there aren’t any ancient civilisations predicting our demise this year. That’s enough Mayan practical jokes for the time being, thank you very much.

This blog covers the period of time from present day all the way back to Wednesday the 9th January 2013 AD. Wednesday before last, Niklas organized a cheeky few drinks at the swanky Vanilla Lounge at Münchner Freiheit. A quiet evening was had and we learnt that Niklas’ great-grandfather was a Brit who immigrated to Finland and created the “Domino” a biscuit similar to the “Oreo” and a successful biscuit business which still runs to this day. Also it means that one of his names is “Domino”. I suppose, at the end of the day, there are worse things you could be named after.

After a hard working week, the young professionals of Munich want to let their hair down. On Friday evening it was time to tuck in dinner with colleagues. Of course, Planne-Charlotte made the reservation. What would we do without her? The reservation was at Ocui, an Italian restaurant at Sendlinger Tor similar to Vapiano’s (German version of Pizza Express) but far superior because Vapiano’ (whoever he is) is in my opinion overrated. Discussions about traffic, parking and other amazingly interesting topics were covered as well as a lot of talk about London from Espa, who met her boyfriend on her Year Abroad.

12.01.2013 Skiing Saturday @ Bayrischzell

There aren’t many things that get me up at 5am on a Saturday morning. Skiing, however, is one of the few things that can. Our resort of choice was Bayrischzell which is about an hour from Munich on the train (Bayerische Oberlandsbahn). Some of us brought skis, some of us didn’t, those who didn’t were able rent skis from the Skischule Bayrischzell for the very reasonable price of 20€. As an extra option you could rent sunglasses, goggles or helmets for 3€ each. It was really good value and undoubtedly a good deal overall. Then we got down to the actual skiing. Sudelfeld isn’t the biggest of resorts, but it did make for an interesting day of navigation as the visibility wasn’t great. I’ve been very privileged to have learnt to ski at a young age. I’ve skied as far north as Norway and as far south as Italy, as well as a lot in France (Puy Saint-Vincent). This snow, however, was like nothing I had ever experienced. Pure Bavarian snowflakes settled on the piste and created a fresh layer of sheer velocity. When pressing down on your skis, you could enjoy a smooth descent and as you turned them, they didn’t dig in or complain as you rounded the piste. The blades simply sliced through the snow like a knife through whipped cream. A few pushy Bavarian parents shouted at their children for not skiing fast enough or with sufficient technique, keen to make them professional skiers by the age of eight. Achtung – petrified kids with tunnel vision hurtling down the mountain for the next 200 metres!

Despite Maciek giving it the big talk on the train (or “givin’ it the large one” as Tom Margetson would say) he basically panicked at the idea of skiing off piste. He expressed a reasonable concern of danger so we decided to follow the piste down. Surprised by this change of tune, we continued down to the lift. As we sat on the two-man chair, the cliff face beyond the trees came into view and where I had pointed out a fun bit of skiing, we would have both surely disappeared down the side of the mountain, our backs broken on the rocks below and we would never have been seen again. From then on Maciek was trusted with the decision making. Late in the afternoon the visibility began to get even worse. Knackered from the skiing, Maciek and I felt like a snack was in order. Low on supplies, we sought out an eatery that we had seen on the map. As I once again led Maciek off into the abyss, trudging through snow, I felt like the great OA, Sir Ernest Shackleton. Unlike Captain Scott who reached the pole, but in doing so doomed his men to certain death, I decided to take more of an Ernie angle and put the safety of my men first. The map turned out to be useless, but our desperation to resupply was so overwhelming that we started to imagine figures walking in front of us towards a hut which would appear suddenly vivid and then promptly disappear in a cloud of snow.

The weather eventually cleared and we found ourselves a wooden panelled pub where we could shelter from the elements. We ordered bread and sausage, so we weren’t exactly expecting miracles, but when we got a mouldy crust of bread and two Frankfurters you could say we were downhearted. Still, the mustard masked all flavour, thank God. Also with us on the trip was a lovey dovey couple who didn’t make too much of an impression on us. There was a British girl and a Norwegian guy who were both horrendously smiley people. They kept on bizarrely grinning at each other and dramatically embracing each other. When we tried to make conversation, Maciek didn’t exactly help by starting literally every sentence with “So”.

Couple: “Are you a student?”
Maciek: “So I am studying at LMU.”
Couple: “Oh, right, what do you study?”
Maciek: “So I am studying medicine.”
Couple: “That’s great do you enjoy it?”
Maciek: “So I like it very much. Yes.”

Having polished off our disappointing meal, we opted to get back on the slopes as the weather cleared up. The resort wasn’t huge, but we all know it’s not size that matters. It seemed great for young families, lots of drag-lifts and shallow gradients. And for a day of skiing you certainly couldn’t complain. On a clear day the view from the top of the mountain is apparently fantastic. By the evening we were back in Munich and tucked up in our beds. Here are a few things I learnt along the way from my polish friend.

The world according to Medical Maciek. (Pole Position)

• “The British love to make these ‘stag parties’ in Krakow, you know these parties, Marcus?”
• “Belvedere is best vodka in world but very expensive.”
• “Polish girls are most beautiful in world.” ~ Eastern European girls in Munich have been a letdown so far for the boy.
• “These English and Irish football fans were very very well-behaved during UEFA Euro 2012.” ~ Well done boys.  You’re a credit to us all.
  

On Thursday it was Nath’s 21^st and he opted for some quiet drinks at Kennedy’s Irish Pub. If you’ve been reading the blog from the start, you’ll know that Nath is a fellow Leeds student. Not only that though, he happens to be the newly appointed Match Reporter for 1860 München, the second biggest football club in Munich. As part of his job he gets to interview players and managers. Unfortunately, it won’t be possible to get former England manager Sven Goran-Eriksson out for a few beers as he is longer running for the job of manager. As the evening progressed, so did the propensity to sing. Yes, there was Karaoke services available and yes, we did partake. I lead the charge with a hearty rendition of Country Roads – West Yorkshire. As I approached the stage, I shot past a waitress a bit too enthusiastically and rather embarrassingly smashed an entire tray of empty pint glasses onto the floor. This dramatic introduction spurred me on to even greater things and after I had finished this world première I had an Irishman and a Yorkshireman approach me. The latter gentleman, claiming to hail from Wakefield, approached me and had incorrectly but understandably assumed I was from God’s own county and cut to the chase: “So wha’ parta Yarkshire ya fram?” Thinking that “London” would be too cheeky an answer, I refrained. Instead, I politely explained how I had studied the past two years in Leeds. Having exposed me for the Southerner I am and with that unable to hide his disappointment, the man in question gave me a brief synopsis of his current employment in a software company and soon after was on his way. The highlight of the night was yet to come: it turns out Nath does a great “Wherever you will go” by The Calling. I remember shouting: “Don’t forget to start off low!” Needless to say he did start stir the crowd with his husky recitation: “So lately, I’ve been wonderin'”.

20.01.2013 Skiing Sunday @ Garmisch-Partenkirchen

On Sunday, I travelled faster than the speed of leather to Garmisch–Partenkirchen alongside colleagues Snowball Sascha and Teutonic Tilman for my second skiing experience of 2013. Sascha works for BMW Bank and Tilman is an expert on the motorbikes we sell, how they are put together etc. Two great lads. We left from our Wohnheim at around 9am and we were on the slopes by 10am. This is because in Germany, instead of having a maximum speed limit, on some roads they actually have a minimum speed limit, some sections of road where you must travel at least 80km/h for example. This was perfect as Tilly had rented a BMW 330d which ripped down the Autobahn at 160km/h leaving nothing but a few grams of CO2 and a thin trail of diesel in its wake. I love how this country has stretches of road with literally no limit on the speed. Think about that for a minute. Limitless speed. What does it feel like? Well I don’t know exactly but I can tell you whatever it feels like it is made more comfortable nestled in the leather of a premium Bavarian automobile.

We arrived at Garmisch and we needed to rent skis. Everyone knows the standard German stereotypes, but do they hold any truth at all? Yes. Yes they do. The Germans have an airport-style system when it comes to ski rental. Why? Because “skiing iz no laughing matter”. It must be “so efficient like possible”.

• Step 1: Rental check-in.
• Step 2: Payment and Identification
• Step 3: Ski fitting and collection

Lunch is expensive at these sort of resorts so naturally for our lunch break we ate our packed-lunches and listened to Schläger (German hits) outside a cafe on the slopes: “Da wo früher mein Leber war ist jetzt ein Minibar” being a personal lyrical highlight. After a few beers and we were skiing even better in the afternoon.

I wasn’t in the most international of moods and grew weary of overhearing Americans regaling stories among their friends, a significant proportion of whom were invariably called Brett. I bumped into Bilingual Brian who I went skiing with the week before with Maciek and the Erasmus lot and who acts as an antidote to the poisonous American stereotypes. He was there with Ludo, very randomly. At the end of the day, we met at the Schwegelift. A few people turned up late including an out of breath Peruvian snowboarder who was desperately searching for his friend. When he found that his mate was settling down ready to sip a warm hot chocolate he started shouting:

“Why did you left me alone, man. I almost died”. (sic)

On our return journey the sun did that thing it usually does and sank beneath the mountain, leaving only a dark silhouette of the jagged peak visible. Our BMW xDrive day out was brilliant, utilising the features of the car and just sitting back and relaxing. To see the dynamic lighting system Fernlicht (full beam) is an amazing step forward in technology. The motion sensor allows the adaptive LED headlights to automatically follow the curve in the road and turns a section of the light off when it senses a car is coming in the other direction. Thus the oncoming vehicle isn’t affected by your beam, enhancing the comfort of your own vehicle whilst improving the safety of other road users. In a decade or so this feature will likely be standard across the board in the automotive industry and may even be obligatory, but it really is fascinating to be witnessing the cutting edge technology of tomorrow, today. On our journey back I spotted that the village of Oberammergau is in possession of one of our beloved red phone boxes. They either stole it or it was yet another object that fell out of the sky during WWII. Either way, they now keep it outside their pub, perhaps as a sort of trophy.

One evening in the week I was cycling to the driving school when I bumped into a Ghostly Greggers who had been sent on a mission by one of his housemates. The objective being to replenish the supply of washing liquid which he had plundered (presumably without the neccessary permissions), or else. I pointed him in the direction of Lidl and Aldi and wished him the best of luck. I really hope he found what he was looking for. On Thursday evening we all headed to Lardy in Münchner Freiheit for a couple of drinks with the team. It was time to decide, are you a Praktikant, or a Prakti-can?

25.01.-27.01.2013. Skiing Weekend @ Lenggries.

This past weekend has to be one of the highlights of my Year Abroad so far. We were very lucky to be invited to a skiing trip with the university. We boarded the coach at Universität and withing minutes we were on our way into the mountains. During the journey Good Deal came on twice so I took that as a good omen that the weather would be great. The group leaders were swigging Augustiners on the bus to the resort.

Hostile Hostel. We arrived at the hostel which was clean, well built, I’d even go so far as to say it was pleasant. The only thing was that we were ordered to remove our footwear as we came in. Only the Germans amongst us had remembered to bring their house shoes, the rest of us were left barefoot or in damp socks for the rest of the weekend. The first evening was spent night skiing after which we  used a snowboard as a minibar on top of a

Maciek, Marcus and Nath @ Lenggries 2013.

A stunning view from the top.

Here are the boys, up to no good as usual.

Sandwiched by Joe and Nath.

A little bit of dancing did take place.

Ludo’s moves.

Apres ski on the slopes.

“Do you know who’s a great dancer, Marcus? Kirstie Boulton. She is a cracking dancer, she’s got some unreal moves.” ~ Nath Thorpe

A good deal of apres ski was fitted in, sometimes paradoxically even before any skiing had been done.

OAs on tour.

Korean man hit the dancefloor so enthusiastically when Gangnam Style came on I cannot even explain.

The Team.

In the club, I decided despite being dressed in a loose shirt, jeans and snow boots, it would be a good idea to approach a table of Germans, to see how long I could last, so to speak. The aim was to have a chat, you know. Since 90% of countries in the world have been invaded by the British party due to our determination to seek out good weather, I was quietly confident in my task. I took a deep breath. And I plucked up the courage to go up to the table. Three blondes, one brunette and two serious and “cool” chaps. I assumed a seat next to what my agreed to be the most attractive of the pack but I was dealt the “boyfriend card” all too soon in the conversation, little did she mention that he was on his way to the club. “He plays for the German national Ice-hockey team, you know”, she explained and as I looked up, the guy was stood right in front of me. Feeling a bit like an extra in Wheatus’ Teenage Dirtbag, I tried to plan an exit so I could scuttle away. But it was far too late. Having imagined him to be big through word of mouth, he turned out rather disappointingly small but he did have a scary tatoo on his neck which I thought might make him more the fighting type. I could see his girlfriend desperately trying to explain that I was just some guy who had randomly come up to her. The ice-hockey player was clearly angry and confused, but thankfully he wasn’t at the time in possession of any sticks or blades. He was completely unarmed apart from the cap on his head. Time for plan B: neutralise the target. I extended a friendly handshake for what felt like an eternity but alas, it was completely overlooked. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Nath and the others keeling over with laughter as they watched the painful drama unfold from the balcony seats. When champagne arrived and I noticed there weren’t enough glasses for me, I knew then that I had been officially rejected from the group. An Englishman knows when he isn’t welcome as soon as he stops being offered drink. There was only one option left : I had to get out of there. Still managed to defy Nath and Co. Half an hour on the clock, though. Not bad.

In the duration of the evening, Nath and Phil somehow managed to fall out with a fairly dangerous Estonian man who claimed he had a gun and the morning after we awoke to a rather biblical message on our door threatening to do nasty things to the “British guy with glasses”. You might think that the description fits me but it was actually referring to Phil the Canadaian who ahd been wearing glasses that evening, but been unfortunately mistaken for a Brit. This story is made all the more confusing because I am a Brit and a Canadian who wears glasses. Anyway, no Canadians or Brits were harmed in the making of this low-budget Estonian horror film. The trip was well organised, although it was worrying to see that most of the organisers seemed to have some form of alcohol problem. I suppose that’s what made the trip such a success. Apart from the occasional mishap, a great weekend was had by all. We were back in Munich by dark and looked forward to resting after the hectic weekend of drinking and skiing.

Workwise, I have the unfortunate news of announcing that Ingo, Anne-Charlotte and Prince Charming are leaving us this month. Such sad times. but we will always have the memories from Oktoberfest, Austria, Hamburg and other trips around the city. Ingo will be remembered for his fabulous idiomatic phrases (Sprüche/Sprichwörter). We will try to plan as well just like Anne-Charlotte did, in the process earning herself the nickname Planne-Charlotte. Prince Charming will be remembered for his love of partying, princesses and Porsches. I look forward to making a trip to see how he’s getting on in Prague in the coming months.

Why am I learning to drive…

• in a foreign country
• on the right hand side
• in the snow
• where they have no speed limit

…I’m not quite sure. Maybe this will all become apparent in the future. I have now had my first driving lesson. I’m being taught by a Jäger on a Mini Cooper. His title translates roughly as rifleman or fighter but literally he is one of the elite German “hunter” troops. He was stationed in Northern Afghanistan for 4.5 months and he seems to be quite a good teacher.

In other news, Far-Eastern Felix has a new Chinese friend (aww Chinese friend) is called Tschi Bing (what like the search engine? Yes, just like the search engine). Rémi le Roi is back in Munich this week, returning to destroy some job interviews and we have very big things planned for the weekend. That said, a big week lies ahead in Bavaria starting with a reservation for fourteen at Cosmogrill, voted Munich’s best burger house by American Airlines.

Festivities with the Fabulous Fabian Four.

It seems a while since I fell asleep at Franz-Josef Flughafen before making my flight back to London Heathrow for the Christmas break. The holiday was unfortunately just a measly eight days long, but luckily it didn’t fly past. I put this down to what they call in the army “concurrent activity”. In spite of my “kein Urlaubsanspruch” (German: “no right to question why you have zero holiday”) we managed to fit a lot in, despite  constantly ticking of the clock. This post is a summary of the past two weeks of fun in which I stay in London and the Isle of Wight but travel to unknown territories including as far afield as the international towns of Windsor, Henley, Reading and Acton. Put on your reading glasses, you’ll need them. This post is ridiculously long. By the end of it you will be well and truly updated on 16 days of Marcus Fabian.

So this story begins by being abandoned by Greggers on a bench at Terminal 2 Munich Airport, so he could connect to the flight from Singapore to Manchester (that well travelled route). We had decided to go up on the Friday night, because neither of us trusted ourselves to wake up in time to catch the train to the airport. Instead we thought, go the night before, get a few beers in etc. I managed to wake up with plenty of time to board my early morning flight and as I settled down in my seat and listened to the sweet British accents of the flight attendants. As I touched down in London I was looking forward to making use of a private luxury service, namely the Terminal 5/Dulwich shuttle. The USS Land Cruiser Amazon has already undertaken many lunar landings in its time and completed many successful return missions, so I was confident when I stepped into the Toyota. Somewhat co-incidentally it is driven by my Dad!

A truly unbeatable car.

Upon arrival in the British Isles, I was expecting a sea of unhappy faces, kids with cauliflower ears, a faint but sweet waft of BO in the air and of course the dismal dismal weather. I was only right about the latter of these. That’s when I knew I was home. The familiar weather did not disappoint, in the sense that it did, of course, disappoint. I thought gloomy and miserable was bad, but jokes aside, the country had been brought to a standstill due to flooding. The sort of convenient standstill that happened to coincide with the festive season. This weather does seem to be following me wherever I go at the moment. Meanwhile they had the warmest Christmas on record in Munich, it was 21 degrees on Christmas Eve.

Once I was back, I seemed to be out every night with the Fabians. Not your average student house parties, where everyone inexplicably wants to either drink cheap vodka mixed with batter-acid or inhale nitrous-oxide from balloons like annoying clowns. No, this was something très chic, sophisticated: les parties à la Champagne. The first festivity was on the 22nd – it was party time at the Elliott’s!

The Elliott’s. Winners of Putney’s Best Looking Family, four years running!

There was of course much good cheer to be shared around as well as a fantastic and professional Indian-style buffet dinner. Here is a picture of me and my brothers, to prove how fun it was. Apologies for how odd we all look, and thanks to Milo for keeping it together.

The Fabulous Fabian Four. From the left: myself (20) , Ned (14), Alfie (18) and Milo (16).

We managed to do the religious version of a pub crawl; visiting church thrice in two days. Consider my sins well and truly forgiven. I should have made the cut for purgatory now. It was worth it to Thanks to the Kötterings we had another superb Xmas eve. Then the big day came. I was looking forward to the promise of chunky chicken soup, but we had to make do with a brilliant turkey put on by Aunties Sue and Jill. It really was a feast. The turkey was about the size of a Ford Fiesta, except with more birdpower and less horse. It was great to see Grandpa & Eryll, Auntie Sue, Auntie Jill, Gwen, William, Tiffany and all at Granny’s in the gorgeous suburb of Penge-sur-Mer. Many presents were shared around and it was indeed a logistical triumph. Good to catch up with everyone.

During the morning of Boxing Day, the hearty footballing tradition was honoured. This year was an especially muddy occasion. With all the flooding etc, it was an absolute mud bath. I have long since forgotten the score but it was an evenly matched game and fair play was maintained, well refereed by Dad. In the evening, we made our pilgrimage to the Mecca of Hampshire: an island just south of England. When we arrived at the cottage, we discovered that our house had been broken into! My brothers and I unfortunately saw the funny side of the situation, which is that our technology is so far behind the times, that it wasn’t worth stealing. After a few more slightly insensitive jokes e.g. “Wait! Shall we check if they remembered to write in the visitors’ book?” Before we knew what had hit us, we had Hampshire Police in and the whole place was crawling with detectives within a matter of hours. And by crawling I mean , someone even came off a tea break to come and take a “closer look”. And by detectives, I mean one officer. The thing is, at Isle of Wight Police Training college they take most of their classes are mainly accustomed to dealing with toaster fires. Anything more and it’s frankly escalated quickly up to MI5.

If you’re waiting for a series of CSI Seaview, you could be waiting a while.  With utmost professionalism, the police informed us that we could clear up the mess left by the criminal “if we wanted to”. Great advice. Anyway, once that malarkey was sorted (footprints photographed, fingerprints scanned) we could finally enjoy the white Isle. No I’m not referring to Ibiza, but the infamous Isle of Wight, just south of Portsmouth. My parents are very lucky to have a house down there. It means when someone asks you where you summer you can immediately respond in a casual manner: “yar, we usually summer in Seaview”.

The Isle of Wight

An interesting fact about Seaview is that it is the part of the British Isles most recently invaded by the French. I bet you didn’t know that Adam Shaw. Obviously, the French clearly didn’t put up too much of a fight. They landed their ships, started trying to set fire to stuff, at which point the Islanders started wearily opening shutters and wandering out of various drinking holes presumably dressed in grubby brown clothes and throwing “all manner of objects” at the French forces. You can imagine tipsy old men waddling away from their casks of ale hurling pots and pans and peanuts at the French whilst swearing a lot. Fortunately for Britain, the French hadn’t experienced such barbaric fighting for a while and consequently had no idea how to react. As a result, they naturally ended up scarpering back to the land of brioche and brie. Or perhaps a rogue messenger had rushed to them shaking his head and explaining that there were still “no plans to set up a Waitrose par excellence” on the island. Presumably due to this lack of European food, they vanished. Either way, to this day Seaviewers are proud that, whilst the Mary Rose admittedly took a turn for the worse (#awkward, considering how much it costed), they fought off the second sly invasion of the frogs.

A plaque in the village reads:

“During the last invasion of this country hundreds of French troops landed on the foreshore nearby. This armed invasion was bloodily defeated and repulsed by local militia 21st July 1545”.

We watched a few films over the festive period including The Holiday, Blade Runner and Titanic. I would like to share with you Ned’s thought for the day at the time. He grinned at us, completely out of the blue: “There’s a guy at my school who can whistle whilst smiling”. Thanks for that Ned. Now we understand why your nickname at school is Nutty Ned.

On the 28th I travelled up to London to witness 21 years of Brogan O’Neill! She has had such an impact on the universe despite only being alive for a fraction of its existence. Amazing. The location of Bar Rumba did not disappoint. It was a sort of massive basement in Piccadilly Circus with a bar attached to it. Although initially the extravagant London prices took some getting used to, it was great to see all the old housemates and their friends again, especially the girls who I hadn’t seen for ages. It was a good turnout indeed. One memory that sticks in the mind is the look on Angus’ face when he was told that the two sambucas he had spontaneously ordered came to nine pounds and fifty English pence. His reaction was definitely worth more than he paid for the drinks. Shortly after eleven, Angus and I found ourselves a bit strapped for cash (the £19.95 Woo Woos had taken us a bit by surprise) so we ventured outside the club in search of a banking corporation, with which we could negotiate an increased cash injection to fuel the rest of our night. We struggled to find a cash point initially, to our immediate disgust. Then  it dawned upon us. We were near Chinatown. Angus and I looked at each other. Pretty much in unison, we realized we must be just a chopstick’s throw from a branch of HSBC. After all it is the world’s local bank, we thought to ourselves. So we trotted on down to the Far-Eastern themed part of town (Felix would be proud). We punched in our pins and withdrew copious amounts of sterling. You’d have thought that was that. But it wasn’t. By this time, our walking had got the better of us and we both wanted to make use of the “lavatorial facilities” available nearby.

It was the restaurant above the bank that tempted us inside as we stood in a waterfall of wafting ginger. Our sole objective was to utilize the toilet facilities. When Angus suggested a small sit-down, I thought nothing of it. But once we were both sat down and menus were placed into our hands… we shrugged at each other and wrinkled our noses, for we both knew: it was Game Over. Ten hot pancakes, six chicken skewers and a half of duck later (no, that’s not the Chinese version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”) and we had filled our boots. Half an hour later and we were back in the club. What’s more, it wasn’t even midnight yet! You shall go to the ball Cinderella! But the London ladies inside were no fairytale princesses. After a few more hours of tiresome Gangnam style (how can one video make so many idiots think that they can dance?) a punctual minibus convoy back to Windsor was organized, where a kebab and a hotel room would await us. You know you’ve made it into the big time when you wake up in  Travelodge overlooking Windsor & Eton Central Railway Station. Living the dream! Again, many thanks to beautiful Brogan and her great parents, a fab night was had by all. On Saturday morning, I was lucky enough to be able to accompany Angus to Henley to see Mother Wooding and all the hilarious birds that she keeps. Twit twoo!

Indeed. And they were also delicious. (Image: courtesy of Angus’ Lumia 920)

By the afternoon we were ready to take the train to London from Reading. Of course we ate at Aberdeen Angus Steak House in Leicester Square. After a witty check-in, within minutes our incisors were chomping through delicious Scottish-reared red meat. The only downside being that unfortunately, they missed the vital ingredient to garlic butter, namely the garlic. But the butter was good. It even had green stuff in it, to distinguish it from normal butter.

Actin’ up in Acton Town

During the day we had been in touch with Alex and Robbie (aka the Kittler Youth) and we were privileged enough to be invited along to one of their mate’s houses for pre-drinks. Just a nice, casual pre-drinks. It of course wasn’t long before drinking games started and absolute chaos ensued. After agreeing that the Russian Vodka was in fact fairly Standard, I could tell we were well on our way. We took the tube somewhere. We weren’t lost, but we just didn’t know where we were at the time. Until our knight in Pakistani armour arrived, that is. A rickshaw driver appeared out of nowhere and just in the nick of time. Long story short, we took a rickshaw to tigertiger. Definitely one of the best touristy things I have ever done in London.

Myself, the Kittler Youth and Sir Angus Wooding of Henley-upon-Thames.

Wooding dusting off his French skills and became the eleventh Englishman to approach a French girl in the history of time. He had a French girlfriend so it comes fairly easily to him. But I didn’t let Angus show the rest of us up. Keen to butt in and shake up the dynamic (no change there then), I opted for a joke which is always a risk when it comes to the French.

“Est-ce qu’il y a des tigres dans l’interieure?” ~Marcus.

And it worked an absolute dream. Within seconds the French girls were giggling away. They loved it. After a good night of unleashing balloons on people and paying £33.20 for two double vodka cranberries and two Jägerbombs (yes, I have got the receipt) we eventually staggered out of the club onto the Circus and did the standard post-club, pre-crib fast food run. Our chain of choice was McDonald’s in this case. Robbie and co finished the night very relaxed indeed and we were all glad for those that came. So the weekend drew to a close as we woke up a bit hungover in Acton Town. I still owe John for the taxi, but I have promised to get the first drinks in when he comes to Leeds next academic year. A tube, a train, a ferry and a lift and I was back on the Isle of Wight.

It was during this train journey that I started to wonder: what made Britain great? The tea, the sugar, the Indians, the double-decker buses, the fox-hunting, the industrial revolution, the slaves, the sandwich, Bond? All of those things. But what stands out for me, having not been around for the past four months, is that we British are unrivalled when it comes to Customer Service. Now whether that’s because we’re basically polite or because we actually care about people or both – remains to be debated. But people selling you things will actively seek to help you out. They will try to get you the best deal, even though they don’t get paid extra for it. Nine times out of ten, they will be genuine and friendly. Of course the Germans have lots to learn when it comes to being nice. This aspect of British culture is something that really stood out when I returned over the Christmas period. No bloody wonder then, that we took over the world. We probably charmed our way into anchoring up in the world’s harbors. Once we’d made clear it was “an imperial thing”, we then started to give people helpful directions in their own countries. Making them do everything on the left, so that we could raise our swords on the right hand side. This management, it’s in our blood. When people look back at the various empires throughout history, I bet the British one will get the best score on TripAdvisor. Oh the great sea-faring, peace-keeping and directional-assisting nation we are.

I realised that when I’ve been in Munich, I’ve missed apologising to people all the time, regardless of whether I am actually sorry or not. I have missed walking in a straight line through crowds. I have missed desperately trying not to make eye contact with people on the tube (and if you accidentally do make contact, you are both shamed into looking away immediately again). I love Britain and I love being a Londoner. What a fabulous multi-cultural city we are privileged to live in. But sometimes the city does get a bit too much. It’s at this point that one retreats to one’s hobbit hole. I was back on the train to Portsmouth Harbour calling at Woking, Guildford, Haslemere, Petersfield, Havant, Fratton, Portsmouth and Southsea and Portsmouth Harbour. A family outing had been planned, we went to watch the The Hobbit in Ryde Cinema.

Martin Freeman captured Bilbo’s split personality perfectly.

So one of the main characters is Thorin Oakenshield (pictured below). He is essentially Middle-Earth’s answer to Spencer from Made in Chelsea (only with Olly’s former haircut). Thorin son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain is reported to be auditioning for Season 2 of Made in Mordor. His only discredit being he needed to be airlifted out of battle by eagles. You can’t always rely on Ctrl+Alt+Gandalf to bail you out. Come on Thorin, you’re better than that.

Thorin son of Thráin, son of Thrór (King Under the Mountain)

After a nice relaxing New Year’s Eve, it was time to plod on back to Munich. The route from the Isle of Wight to Germany is a well trodden one. It is essentially a competition of how many different types of transport you can use in under 12 hours. Ferry > Train > Coach > Shuttle > Plane >S-Bahn > U-Bahn > Walk. And you’re home. It’s as easy as that. You whack on some Jason Derülo, sit back and enjoy the journey. I have to admit, a tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the English countryside rush past before my eyes. The pastures green, the Guildford golfers. Pomp and Circumstance started to play as I watched the quaint cottages, the private schools and the sheep fly past. The journey went well and I eventually made it back to Bavaria.

Since being back in Munich, I have registered at the driving school and started learning the theory. All in German. Went for an Afghani (doesn’t sound great does it) and I was half expecting to read Road-Side orders of potato, spinach or semtex. Hattie and I discussed a potential Double Date at Dachau (not a blog title anyone wants to be subjected to, however convenient its alliteration). And I spent the best part of Sunday 6th Jan performing CPR on a massive black man as part of a first-aid course.

Munich is of course not the same without Rémi and without Jean-Rémy. Or as I call them, “One and a Half Rémys” (the French version of Two and a Half Men). Nevertheless, Monday morning came and the new interns arrived. And what do new interns mean? They mean new nicknames. Guillame is Jean-Rémy’s successor. It didn’t take long to work this one out. He has invaded and his name is the French version of William. Can you hazard a guess as to what it might be? The nickname Guillaume le Conquérant sprang immediately to mind. That’s that sorted then. Guillame le Premier d’Angleterre aka William the Conqueror aka William the Bastard. Not sure how he will respond to this as of yet. I’m sure it will be fine though. The French know how to take a joke, right?

In the meantime I have set Far-Eastern Felix up with a hot Chinese. And I’m not talking about a take-away. I’m talking about a Chinese woman who I met in Starbucks. Having spoken to her briefly I assumed she’d know him in some way. Yes that’s right Marcus. All Chinese people know each other. Just because there’s lots of them does not necessarily make them more sociable. I’m an international matchmaker! Although I may have had a shocker because as Felix explained, Chinese women seem younger than they actually are. She turns out to be a manager of some kind. Oops!

A big thanks to everyone who has helped me out in the past year, it would be unrealistic to hope for a more exciting year than 2012, but let’s just cross our fingers that 2013 is above average rather than below. Even though, the core few were seen, there were a few people I didn’t get to see at the end of December.

All the better to Leeds you with.

There are so many people I look forward to seeing when I’m next back. It was really nice to be reunited with parents, brothers, grandparents, godparents, aunties and friends. If you made it this far down then – thanks for reading. And also get back to what you should be doing.

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 2,400 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 4 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.