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.

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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.

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.

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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.


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.

Meet the Fuggers.


Hello again and apologies for the small delay of this post. It’s been a very busy week.

Summary. This weekend was yet another hectic one! Last Friday, Simon drove to Munich with two mates in a truly Inbetweeners-style car. We went out then they left on Saturday afternoon. In the evening I visited a Turkish restaurant with Ludo and a couple of other Erasmus people. We then went to Augsburg with a whole bunch of students on Sunday.

Living it up at the Hostel California

On Friday afternoon I met Simon and his two colleagues (Flo and Sebastian) at the fountains by Universität. We started off with a Maß at the Chinesischer Turm in Englischer Garten, a compulsory checkpoint as anyone who has visited me thus far will know. This is mainly because of the beautiful environment but also due to the tuneful brass music.

Having quenched our initial thirst, we trotted off to Sausilito’s, a well known bar in Türkenstraße. It had great ambience and fairly good-value cocktails. Yes, a couple of group deals were enjoyed. We had a fair few drinks, after which the cherry on the cake was the heroic emergence of “Prosecco Barney” just before we were about to leave. He earnt his nickname by ordering a bottle in shortly before our scheduled departure from said bar, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He then bagan generously pouring glasses and sending them down the table in a sort of pass-the-salt attitude.

By this stage we were all fairly tempura* and we headed off to an edgy club called Neuraum, located behind Hauptbahnhof, the closest station actually being Hackerbrücke. The night started off well and we headed downstairs to the main clubbing area and straight to our table. When you book the table you actually pay by guaranteeing that a certain amount of alcohol will be consumed. I learnt long ago that forcing Jägerbombs down Simon’s throat, although fun while it lasts, will almost certainly lead to extreme emesis. In my old age I knew that, much like a fine wine, the Jäger must at first be aired so that the drinkers can psychologically adjust to its prescence, thus off-setting the vomitus projectilis effect.

A great night was had by all, Good Deal** played a couple of times which was very exciting for me and Simon, and a bit like “what?!” for everyone else. The usual amount of piggybacks were achieved and we all left content yet stumbling at around 3:30am. We still can’t quite yet party like the Germans – they will often stay out until sunrise which is ridiculous in my opinion.

Ich verstehe nur Hauptbahnhof

The subsequent Saturday was spent luxuriating in the sun in the English Gardens after having chewed our way through – let’s be honest – disgusting burgers at best. If you are in Munich make sure you don’t go to La Cucaracha’s for food. Though I’m sure you wouldn’t anyway. Of course there is a bot of Ostalgie attached to it because it is where me an d Nath had our first beers of Year Abroad. Like many of our jaunts it is indeed round the corner from Hauptbahnhof, and conveniently a stone’s throw from Hostel Central. The sun was shining and as any good Englishman will know…when the sun is shining that means you must be abroad. With that in mind we headed straight back to the Englischer Garten. After all, it had been almost twelve hours since we were last there.

Through the day I realised that I was without two items a chap simply can’t live without. Vision and a gilet. This is like a combination of first and third-world problems, I guess. So on average it’s a second world problem. Ok a gilet is obviously a bit of a first world problem, nevertheless it didn’t make it any easier being blind. Vision is probably a third world problem I had taken my contact lenses out the night before and therefore was stumbling around the city not being able to see expressions on people’s faces or to read signs. Luckily I now know the city like the back of my hand, by that I mean I know where the park is and also the main train station. So as the afternoon drew to a close we said our fairwells to the boys and sent them on their way back home to Stuttgart.

In the evening, myself and Ludo were feeling pretty hungry and so we did what hungry people do all around the world. They try to find Turkish people. Not to eat, but to find that internationally renowned piece of meat that delicious treat: the kebab. Having dabbled in a Turkish language module last year, I took it upon myself to essentially practice some of the vocab I had learnt. All you need to know in Turkish is how to order food and drinks. Judging from my textbook, Turks spend all or most of the day drinking Raki and eating aubergines, not to mention plenty of hummus. My kebabulary is now fairly decent, the only problem is that small talk starts and finishes with declaring that “I’m from London”.Anyhow, I managed to remember the word for bill (Hesap) just in the nick of time.

Sunday was not a day of rest. Instead we thought it would be a good idea to go West to Augsburg.  Our initial impression was Croydon-esque at best. As soon as we stepped off the train, the Brits amongst us were blamed for flattening the place 68 years ago.

Sadly, Augsburg is still suffering the consequences of the Allied air raids carried out on the night of the 25th and 26th of February 1944. Meanwhile the Finns were still making jokes about “decorative adjustments to the city by the RAF”. The Brits amongst us came under a heavy fire of criticism for essentially bringing the city to the ground. Although we can in no way compare this suffering with that of the citizens of Augsburg, whose city centre was anihalated during the day by 8 AF (US Eight Air Force) and during the night by RAF Bomber Command with 594 Aircraft, killing 730 people and injuring 1,335. In total 85,000 people were left homeless as a result of the destruction.

Augsburg is the third largest city in Bavaria and since all good things come in threes it also boasts being Germany’s third oldest city, having previously been a major trading hub between Italy and Germany. Generations of bankers made their fortunes here and the mercantile class ruled Augsburg for many years. The banking families even got the Renaissance ball rolling as they funded much artwork throughout the city. Interesting fact: it is also the only city in Germany to have its own legal holiday which takes place on August the 8th every year.  This means it has more bank holidays than any other region in the Bundesrepublik.

Childishly imitating the Emporor’s stance with  Léonard and  Augustus.

NB the fountain is out of action in the winter because of low temperatures and therefore covered.

Fugger, the most established banking family established the world’s ver first council estate. It is still in use today and the prices have been unaffected by inflation. This means that even today only costs 83 cents per year to live there. The only condition is that you must pray three times a day. A pretty good deal I think. Although many Muslims would laugh at this – they pray five times a day and don’t expect free rent. Famous people who have lived there include Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s great-gradnfather Franz Mozart.

In a matter of hours we are heading off to Kitzbühel, Austria this weekend with the colleagues hopefully in the style of Wham’s Last Christmas. It’s going to get chilly so many layers have been packed, not to mention snow boots!

*See previous post for explanation.

**Traditionally sung to the tune of “Good Feeling” by Flo Rida/Avici