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?

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.

Festivities with the Fabulous Fabian Four.


mim

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

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

A truly unbeatable car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Isle of Wight

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

A plaque in the village reads:

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

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

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

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

Indeed. The steaks were high.

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

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

Actin’ up in Acton Town

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin Freeman captured Bilbo’s split personality perfectly.

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

Made in Mordor

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the better to Leeds you with.

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

Weihnachtsmärkte, Weißbier & Woody Allen.


mimIt’s that time of week. Time for another notch on my blog post.

On Friday evening I met up with my Personal Tutor, Mandy who is Director of German Language Teaching at the University of Leeds as well as being a DAAD Lektorin. She is THE persion to know when it comes to the realm of Germanistik. We agreed to meet outside the Apple Store at Marienplatz and go and have a drink (non-alcoholic) somewhere. Upon hearing of our well-planned date, Ed Gallaway (who left without paying for his beer last week) then decided it would be a good idea to third-wheel us. I wasn’t quite sure how he’d got wind of it in the first place, but it was good to catch up with him too, even if he did insist on taking us on some mad wild goose chase around the back streets of the old city centre. Having stepped through a french window at the back entrace of a restaurant, we eventually got ourselves sat down in Paulaner im Thal. Little did I know this wouldn’t be the last time I would visit this place. We had an Apfelschorle (it’s just fizzy apple juice, but the Germans get a bit overexcited about it). I managed to speak almost entirely in German and I was happy to hear that my German has apparently improved a lot. Tick!

Back at the Wohnheim, Remi le Roi cooked a fantastic meal and introduced me to some of his colleagues, Sebastian, Christian (such German names), Melissa and Francis (fairly French names, yet all four admitted to being German – hmm…). He cooked a load of “délicieux” French food and even cracked open a bottle of cognac that his parents had brought him, presumably to really kick the evening off. Upon polishing off a bottle of red, he proudly declared “ca de plus que les bosches n’auront pas” which roughly means: “That’s at least something that the Germans can’t take away from us”.

“Ein echter Pirat sticht auch ins rote Meer” ~Christian.

Having just about finished a three-course meal after ten we headed off to Niklas’ highly anticipated Hau5 Party. After a few minutes of brief interrogation of  Frnehcman (almost always neccessary) Remi was eventually admitted to the event. I had thought this process would run slightly more smoothly, but when in Germany, such administrative tasks become the norm: where are you from, who the hell even are you, why are you here, are you working in the country, are you Greek/Italian/Spanish etc). Niklas eventually handed poor Remi’s ID card back to him and we were admitted to the flat. As we opened the door, Jean-Remy shouted “Mahlzeit Marcuuuus” – and then we knew. We knew that everyone was completely and utterly battered. Prince Charming was pouring red wine into his belly-button (for some reason, and showing off his hairy chest to some LMU girls). He is usually more charming than that. I promise. As per usual, Ingo (wiz zee cool hair) came out with another cracking Sprichwort at the house party:

“Woher nehmen, wenn nicht stehlen?”~Ingo (when opening himself a beer).
Where should I get it if I don’t steal it?

We made our way to Ruby in Stachus and a good night was had by all. Drinks were flying around, shots were all over the shop, Remi was falling all over the place, Jean-Remy was blind drink. All of these memories are hilarious. What I will say to my apprentice Christophe is the following: “Christophe you have learnt much along the road of Babology. Your powers are becoming stronger”.

On Saturday I woke up and recovered from a brutal hangover. The ingredients of the hangover potion are ancient, but contain a modern twist. Force a Frenchman to watch British comedy. We started off with the Inbetweeners, but Remi didn’t warm to it – mainly because he was suspicious of Jay’s British hair.

Sorry Jay, you’re just too British. Especially your hair.

Continuing my Bavarian travels, I visited Nuremburg (Franken) on Sunday, in order to see the world famous Christmas Markets. At Hauptbahnhof we met the MESA Erasmus Group and they sorted out tickets for us. I also happened to bump into my mate who plays Basketball for MTSV Schwabing. They had a match against Bayreuth in the afternoon. This is one of the things I quite like about Munich. It’s a city in its own right, of course, but it’s still small enough that you are constantly bumping into people. On the registration list, I managed to just about scribble down United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland in a tiny box intended for one word,  which I found pretty hilarious until I saw a column of “Italy, Italy, italia, Italy” , at which point I looked up only to find that there were lots of very confused bearded men looking at me with an air of scepticism. “Eh Marco, why you write so many word for country?” Whilst waiting for the international biffs to eventually put pen to paper, I did what Londoners do on a daily basis – strike up conversation with a Polish person. Medical Maciek (as he was known from the start) is studying Medicine (surprise surprise) here at LMU but is from Krakow.  I could tell me and Maciek were going to get on from the start, as his first impressions of the city were the same as mine. We quickly became friends and planned what we were going to do in Nuremburg. Upon arrival, we were both disappointed with the “English weather” and decided it would be best to hunker down in a Bierkeller somewhere until the dreariness had blown over. So that’s exactly what we did. We headed to the Hofmühl Bierkeller, a stone’s throw from the main Christmas markets.

We exchanged stories and he explained how cheap and awesome everything is in Krakow, whilst we took a look at the menu. Bearing in mind it was coming up to one o’clock, I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to order a beer. Maciek felt otherwise and we both got a Weiß‘ in. Then came the food. I ordered not six, not eight but TEN Nürnberger Würstchen with a side order of Saurkraut. (Andere Länder, andere Sitten). And they were fantastic sausages. After digesting our meals, we felt it would be best to end on a high. So the desert menus were brought to us immediately. Of course we ordered the most Bavarian thing on the menu. Apfelstrudel with custard, pomegranate, laiced in a wild berry sauce. It was to die for. Undoubtedly the best Apfelstrudel that I have ever tasted/ever will taste. During the course of the meal Maicek and I realised we share a love for Woody Allen and Weißbier. After the food we wandered around the markets tasting all the different varieties of Glühwein. It was amazing.

On Monday, Far-Eastern Felix cooked a Chinese (what else?). For someone who is more of an Indian-lover at heart, it was difficult to get that excited about. Having said that, the soup was great and Felix invited his mate Joe (not Farrag) as well. Joe is also a Chinaman (of course) but has slightly more dubious opinions about the communist party and basically thinks that Chairman Mao saved the Chinese people from themselves. To me, this was like waving a Chinese flag at a bull and I refused to accept his rather patronising explanation of how amazing this tyrant eradicated hunger and mobilized Chinese industry such that it has become a leading world power. Some of which is a fair point. Who cares about systematic human rights abuse when you are exporting little McDonald’s toys by the millions.

Tuesday night was the big night. Dreckige Dienstags, Troublesome Tuesdays – call it what you will. We were out, we were about and it was another Tuesday night in Munich. We found ourselves in Paulaner im Thal with a massive table. The Weißbier was flowing and “Other Bethan ” also made a cameo appearance. It wasn’t long after that our good friend Ben turned up. Ben lives in the Bavarian State Parliament as part of an exchange with St. John’s College, Oxford. He very kindly sorted us out with drinks and led us on a candlelit tour of the Bavarian State Parliament. It was fascinating to see the place from an insider’s perspective.

Two lions on the shirt. (Where it all began)

Two lions on the shirt. (Where it all began)

Prosecco Barney and Myself

Prosecco Barney and Myself

Treating German politics with the respect it deserves

Treating German politics with the respect it deserves

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

You know it was a big night when

Enjoying the post so far Bethan?

Wednesday was a night of recovery, but on Thursday I had the pleasure of seeing Izzy, Nath, Greggers and Alex Smith (a friend of Ed Gallaway’s also studying German at Leeds). We all went to Tollwood and had a really “toll” time. As per usual plenty of Glühwein was consumed but it was also time to say goodbye to Izzy, who is going to be in Toulouse for the remainder of her Year Abroad.

Tonight (Thursday night) I am on the Tollwood again for a last shindig with Jean-Remy, Juliette, Lena and Sisom, all of whom won’t be with us in January. Sisom is starting a proper job in Frankfurt and we all wish him the best, and Lena is finishing off her Master’s in Kaiserslautern. Maybe we will see each other at Oktoberfest 2013? It will be a shame to say goodbye to all of them but especially JR, who has taught me a lot since I have been here. No more allegorical Allied Table Football competitions where JR would surrender to the Hun as soon as we let in one goal, leaving me (brave old Tommy) all alone to fight the Jerries. Alas, it shouldn’t be the last we see of each other as he is hopefully heading to London with his girlfriend in February! From everyone here we wish them the best of luck in London.

Oktoberfest memories

Oktoberfest memories

JR & Juliette

JR & Juliette. We will miss you!

Speaking of London, I am looking forward to heading home on Saturday morning, even if only for a short while. It will be great to see family and friends again. Greggers and I are heading to the airport Friday night, to make extra sure that we won’t miss our early morning flights. I regret to inform you that we won’t be travelling in leather. We haven’t become completely Bavarian. Yet.

2012: what a year!

London, England. Agenda:

  • sip tea on British Airways flight
  • arrive in LHR
  • use the Royal Mail (even though I have no need)
  • ring someone from a red phonebox (also unneccessary)
  • top up oyster card (unfortunately very neccessary)
  • party at the Elliott’s (22nd)
  • Dad’s birthday (23rd)
  • Xmas eve and Day
  • Boxing Day football
  • drink optimal champagne
  • drink good wine
  • drink awful beer
  • make jokes about the Germans
  • Isle of Wight (26th-27th)
  • Brogan’s 21st (28th)
  • pre-drinks with Prince Harry
  • eat scrambled eggs & bacon sarnies with the Queen
  • Windsor/London
  • New Year’s eve (31st)
  • Fly home (1st)

If you are around in London on the 29th, 20th or 31st and have any ideas, then do get in touch. Nächster Halt: London Heathrow. Bitte zurückbleiben. In the meantime, if anyone would like to feed me, clothe me and put a roof over my head on the 29th, 30th and 31st of December, do let me know – I will be very grateful and also very homeless.

A Merry Christmas to all my readers and a Happy New Year!

Berlin’s Best Burger Bar.


mim

So another week has passed and what does that mean? It means it’s time for another blog post to be etched into the World Wide Web, so that everyone will always be able to experience my Year Abroad for the rest of time. Forgive me for going on a bit in this one, I can only apologise for getting so much done.

Let’s start from the beginning. It’s Friday evening. I left work promptly and headed to Fröttmaning Station: the location of the Allianz Arena. Now it’s time for a fun fact. Not only is the arena Germany’s third biggest football stadium but it also happens to be the largest car park in Europe, providing a total of 9800 spaces. How thrilling.

Munich's biggest football Stadium

The Allianz Arena, Munich.

After a brief chat to Adi who was sat on a train in Magdeburg, I met a colleague of mine, namely Seductive Sascha. We had planned to share the same car-share. This specific car-share (Mitfahrgelegenheit) was organised by a man by the name of Haphazard Harald – a German businessman who tried to convince us that he was made his millions building wind farms around the world, a tale involving properties in the Far East, a Chinese wife and five Germo-Chinese children. Whilst listening to Harald’s eastern adventures, he made us guess at the real estate value of a 75 square metre apartment in Hong Kong, the journey ran smoothly and we made good time. Sascha and I passed the time by exchanging accounts of cross-continental conquests and general antics. We were enjoying ourselves a lot, bursting out into cackles of laughter every five minutes. The girl in front of us (who was trying to crack on with work for her Masters at the University of Leicester) wasn’t too impressed with our numerous heroic encounters and wasn’t afraid to give us the standard passive agressive stare that I am now so used to in Germany. As someone who is generally regarded as rude, I thought I’d fit in perfectly in the Bundesrepublik, and in most cases I rudely go about my daily rude-tine. But that doesn’t stop the Germans trying to out-rude me. Escalators are the worst. Anyway I am beginning to prattle.

“Stille Wasser sind tief” ~Sascha.
(It’s the quiet ones you want to watch out for)

One particular passenger was a cursed, pungent and rotund Bosnian man. If I tell you that his ringtone was “Who let the dogs out” – would you think of me as a judgemental person? Anyway, this man added constant delays to our journey because whenever he was let out of the car, he bought a coffee and a small meal. This happened during all three breaks. Half way through the journey I had to endure a phone conversation with Adam and Euan who were evidently “well on their way”. (I picked up the call and in the background I overheard Adam: “We’re so ringing Marcus – I bet his reaction will be: ‘f*****k off!'” followed by Euan cofirming “I’m ringing him!”). They were in fact sharing vital information with me. Because the matter was sensitive, you would have thought they’d tell me in person. But so sad the news, they felt obliged to share the unfortunate news that our favourite kebab restaurant (Keb’up) had in fact gone Keb’down and was shut, presumably until the end of the Mayan calendar.

Anyway, we did eventually make it to Berlin and I met Adam, Euan and Sam (who had by that stage arrived from Hamburg) in our favourite shisha bar underneath the Fernsehturm (TV Tower). After a few cocktails and a tiny bit of unimpressively weak shisha, we proceeded to head to the station to meet Scouse and Simon (travelling in from Tübingen and Stuttgart together) en route to Nonie’s at Moritzplatz. We had all our stuff with us and compeltely invaded her apartment. Her housemates greeted us and seemed prepared for the onslaught that was about to occur.

Having stowed our supplies at Nonie’s, we were taken for drinks in the infamously “edgy” district of Berlin: Kreuzberg. We went to a bar where apparently all the photographers hang out, and needless to say they probably didn’t appreciate Scouse capturing sleepy images of Adam and Sam like some mad hatter.

We of course knew that it wouldn’t be long until either Sam or Adi fell asleep. But we definitely didn’t expect both to be completely gone! For Adi it was simply a matter of time; after all he isn’t called Alcoholic Adi for nothing. But for Sam it was another night that had perhaps ended too short. A quick summary of Sleepy Sam‘s Adventures this year: he fell asleep at Oktoberfest, fair enough – he had only had a couple of hours kip before getting on the lash. He followed this tradition when he passed out in a club when we visited him in Hamburg and being escorted outside where he proceeded to empty his guts out onto the Reeperbahn. This third voyage then became the chunderous cherry on the alcoholic cake that has earned him the title of Sleepy Sam, his drowsiness now outweighing the gravity of his character. Although he does still somehow manage to look serious when he’s tired. He also managed to outdo Simon in throw-ups per hour, a strong achievement, even for him! So it was hometime and eventually bedtime (after a small lover’s tiff between Sam and Adi, who were sharing a futon in the main room. We were very grateful to be able to crash with Nonie, although we still aren’t totally convinced why she had a fully functioning BOSCH drill lying on her table. A very special thanks does go out to Nonie and flatmates for putting us up and also just generally putting up with us.

However, no matter how hospitable you are, there is always someone who throws it back in your face. Some say he was raised by wolves in a forest just outside Leicester and that he is allergic to cauliflower. ALl we know is he’s called Adam the Alcoholic.

Alcoholic Adi contemplating how long it will take to eat through a mattress.

It is safe to say, that on Saturday we woke up feeling worse for wear. Some of us more than others.

Attractive Adam

Attractive Adam

So we began trying to semi-organise the shower rotor, despite most of us still being battered to a large extent. After Scouse had what is quite probably the longest shower in history, we waited for a disorientated Adi to get his stuff together, before heading out to East Berlin to eat at Burgeramt; which reputedly serves the best burgers in the city. I, personally, opted for the Avacado & Bacon burger with extra cheese and was proud to be the only one to finish the meal. After this I purchased some boots which I felt would better cope with the winter snow.

Couple of Glühweins @ Alexanderplatz.

Couple of Glühweins @ Alexanderplatz.

When the evening drew closer, we decided to head to the huge Christmas Market at Alexanderplatz for a Glühwein or three. It was here that we met one of Simon’s friends and one of Simon’s friend’s friends. When we had enjoyed enough warm wine, we headed a minute or two down the road to the Pilsner Unique Bar (PUB). Each table had its own taps (dangerous) and a prjected image onto a screen showed showed which table had consumed the most beer in a sort of leaderboard format. An interesting quote from Samthe opposite of DIY sticks firmly in the memory, as well as me apparently trying to pay with lenses at the end. It was after this that we attended the standard Berlin bar crawl, although this time we had to be a bit more responsible than the past two years (not that that was hard).

bearpictureWhilst talking about pets, Alcoholic Adi explained which one of our friendship group would make the best pet. “Scouse is like the best pet ever. He’s just so consistent!” ~Adam Shaw.

Two blondes

I tried to stop them but the dragged me down!

We had a laugh with the first and second years of Leeds Uni German Society and a good night was had by all. It was interesting to hear how well they are getting on, and seeing how they are holding the fort for us in Leeds. Some of them were very excited to see us indeed and overall we received a warm welcome (apart from a certain Amy Simcock pretending that she had become so cool that she had forgotten our names). When it comes to Leeds Uni German Society, no-one is really cooler than us. Punkt.

“Who’s the fat f***er?” ~Anon.

Entering the kitchen at 6am and finding this creature writhing around trying with his flimsy arms to gather some rubbish to use as a pillow, only to lift his head up and smack it on the radiator.

Jewish Jason Statham/Jason Bourne. (Only thing that takes away from this dramatic photo is perhaps Simon’s lovely bobbly woolly hat).

Sunday, of course was Derby day. And what does Derby day mean with the die-hard football fans Adi and Simon? It of course meant watching football at a pub. The inner tourist in me felt sick to the core, but I’ve known these scumbags long enough to already know exactly what I’d let myself in for. It was a good session, despite Simon reaching disturblingly orgasmic levels whilst watching his beloved Manchester United – so much so that he started to look like Sonic the Jewish Hedgehog. At one point, steam started to rise from his hair like a Jewish Duracell Bunny with too much voltage. Adam, however, was keeping it cool as usual. Rio Ferdinand took an unfortunate coin to the old eye but later explained on twitter that the colour of his blood further reinforced which colour Manchester is loyal to, which is the footballing equivalent of saying “This is SPARTA!”.

Eventually I made it back in one piece and at 2am I was in bed looking forward to rising on Monday morning. After a good day at work, myself Jean-Remy, Ingo and Esperanza took the U-Bahn home together. What started off as picking up Ingo’s goggles from his, quickly escalated to going for a kebab and then further escalated to a Glühwein and two Feuerzangenbowlen (brandy punches) in the Christmas market at Sendlinger Tor. I was really not equipped for this,  cashwise or energywise,  but you can sleep when you’re dead, right?

“Je suis au marché de noel avec marcus et ingo” ~an SMS I received from battered JR, presumably directed at Juliette.

On Tuesday it was time for lunch with the boys at work. In the evening it was time for a drink with Barney and Ludo (+friends) at the Hofbräuhaus. Fellow Leeds student Ed Gallaway also turned up because he was in town. He happend also to spend his Year Abroad in Munich last year and is now back at Leeds and generally loving life. When telling colleagues about Barney, most of them insist he is Barney Stinson from How I met Your Mother. It is coming up to Barney’s last week in Munich, before he leaves to start two cool new internships in Berlin. A great quote from the night came from Barney himself: “I would love to get so lagered in Prague”. This boy has no limits. He also promised a visit to Leeds for Freshers week 2013, not only that he vowed and I quote: “When I get to Leeds, the first thing I will do is order 100 VK Tropicals”. I am going to hold you to that one Barney.

“Aus Hackepeter wird Kacke später” ~ Thomas Klasmeier aka Prince Charming.

Wednesday evening I spoke to Hugo on the phone after work. He has just settled in at St. Anton and loving life. He was telling me about how some of the girls he works with love to fight in the snow. Apparently it’s called a “snorgy”. I may not have quite understood what he was on about but I’m sure all will become clear when I eventually get the time to visit him. I cooked bolognese for Remi and Robert, disproving the myth that the English can’ cook, although simultaneously proving that we have a limited number of our own actual recipes. Oh well.

On Thursday night there was a sort of Christmas party in the AWA (After Work Activity) Area. Lena and Christina (the AWA girls) cooked us up a feast with the help of Luscious Lisa and various others. Frankfurters, pasta, weird cheesy stuff – it was all there and it was all Bairisch.

“Zis Englishman. ‘e is fucking barbar” ~Remi

Remi started getting nasty about the English (typical rude Frenchman) and described me as a Barbarian, proving not only that the French hold a grudge but also that nothing has changed for a thousand years. I believe, the Romans called the Anglo-Saxons the exact same when they invaded our homeland all those years ago? Although if I am wrong I am happy to be corrected by anyone studying classics. Only from Oxford though. Whilst discussing language Remi did also mention: “In English you are always saying words with ‘h’. What is the use of this ‘h’?”. Not sure what I am getting at here, other than I found what he said fairly hilarious.

Friday came and I had lunch with the Director of Finance which will be great. Also my Personal Tutor from leeds happens to be in Munich so I am going for a Glühwein with her after work. A great day of networking, I think you’ll agree. In the afternoon it was Jean-Remy, Lena’s, and Sisom’s Abschiedsfeier (leaving party). It will be sad to see them go at the end of December but they are all moving on with their studies and internships and I have on doubt that we will stay in contact and see each other in the very near future. The plan for tonight is to kick start the night with a Glühwein with my personal Tutor. That’s right, Mandy herself has graced Munich with her presence and we are heading off for a Glühwein at Marienplatz. We are also really looking forward to the long awaited house party at Niklas’ place! Which will inevitably be followed by a night out somewhere overpriced. The plan for Saturday is a potential solo trip to Nuremberg, to visit a friend of mine and to finally see the world famous Christmas Markets. On Sunday I plan on doing some sport, potentially swimming again.

There is now just over a week until I go back to my second homeland: I am of course referring to the United Queendom. I am really looking forward to being reunited with my friends and family! Also can’t wait to have tea at Buckingham and go for a few beers with Prince Harry. According to the French and Germans, I am one of Harry’s mates. I’ll take that.

To read Adam’s side of the story, click here.