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.

viveras

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?

Munich Half Marathon.


mim

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.

Barney’s Birthday Bonanza.


madeinberlin

findthetime

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 Cookiesthe 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

#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

#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.

Bundesbrüder, Bier & Blades.


mim

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.

erasmus

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.


mimIt’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 21st 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 GarmischPartenkirchen 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.