Can you believe it? A year ist fast dabei! Our time in Munich has come to an end.
Tomorrow is Reisetag. We head for the airport at 8:30am. If all goes according to plan (knock on wood, because it usually doesn't), 11:40am is wings-up.
This year was full of wonderful experiences and interesting challenges, zum beispiel: attempting to speak German, trying to fit in with Deutsche Kultur, and learning to like pork (I'm still working on that one). We met amazing people and were afforded fantastic Erfahrungen. Our time here was taken advantage of to the fullest extent.
We also have a big year ahead of us. In the next two weeks, we are planning to pack-up again and move up through the South and into the Northeast. We have the world of maple syrup, cheddar cheese, and Ben and Jerry's to explore: Vermont.
We hope you'll stay with us as we begin our new adventures.
And with that:
Now it's time to say goodbye to all our company.
M-Ü-C, C ya real soon!
N-H-E-N, Naja, because we like you!
B-A-Y-E-R-N.
Monday, August 9, 2010
High Stakes Cleaning
Early last Saturday morning, Jamie and I set off for the local hardware store to pick up some painting supplies. We were taking the first steps on a long journey towards making it seem like we had never been in Munich--well, to be more specific, we wanted to create the impression that we had never lived in our apartment, a goal which we both dearly hoped was not a futile one. On the line was the massive deposit we'd had to plunk down last November when our 6-week-long apartment search had brought us to the point of accepting almost any place with four walls, a roof, and a working internet connection. Paying up the deposit at the time we moved in was an almost gleeful experience--the long search for somewhere to live was finally over, and we were cleared to move in!
Shortly thereafter the reality set in. Each time we scuffed the floor, left a mark on the wall or sat on the couch the wrong way, we heard the imaginary cha-ching of another few Euros being deducted from our deposit--the money we had been forced to save back in the fall seemed to be dwindling, despite the fact that no one could get anywhere near the account it was being held in.
So after months of feeling uneasy each time we dropped something or left muddy tracks on the hallway floor (a particularly easy task during a long, snowy winter and a cool, wet spring), we were definitely ready to clean. The potential payoff seemed huge--each hour of cleaning could earn us a few days' rent in Vermont (if we didn't blow it on beer and Brezeln before we ever made it out of Bavaria)!
Then again, our deep-seated worry that no matter what we did and no matter how hard we scrubbed, it wouldn't be good enough wouldn't let up, either. After hours of trying to remove a year's worth of grime from our oven rack, I wavered between fears that the rack was nowhere near clean enough because it still had a couple specks burned onto it, and hopes that no one would even bother to check that closely anyway. All this led to doubts about the economics of the whole cleaning enterprise--were we actually saving money, or just wasting time?
The suspense was miserable. Luckily, there is lots of good beer in Munich, and this being our last week here, even a solitary ray of sunshine seemed a clear signal that it was time to put down the mop and the paint brush and head for the local beer garden. We spent several evenings there last week imagining just what would happen on Sunday when our landlord came to check in on our work.
In the end, things worked out fine. Even though the sun was shining, the accumulated dust and grime of a year of our lives (not to mention the billows of dirt and grime constantly blowing in our windows from the construction site across the street) were not enough to dissuade our landlord from returning our deposit. Instead, he watched a few minutes of Shawn the Sheep to make sure the TV was still working and briefly turned on the radio--which gave him cause to ask us whether we liked Bavarian music--before showing us the money.
We were done, and it was a nice August day in Munich. The kind of day where even Jamie was forced to admit that the weather was "almost summery." We headed straight for the beer garden.
We had just about enough time to finish our celebratory drinks before the bad weather set in. We departed in a light drizzle, and then watched out our window as a huge thunder storm attacked the city. Later that night, we braved the weather to meet a friend for a drink downtown. At around 11pm on Sunday night, we waited for the subway to ride home and get some rest before another day of jumping through bureacratic hoops and rewarding ourselves with a few hours in the beer garden.
While the three of us were standing there, bemoaning the miserable weather that had once again descended on Bavaria, we watched a team of workers cleaning trash from between the rocks and rails down on the subway tracks. One stooped over to pick something up and emerged with a sheet of bubble wrap at least three feet long. But mostly, they were scooping up litle bits of wrappers or unnoticable cigarette butts that had found their way into hiding places between the pieces of gravel.
A display above the platform lets passengers know when the next train is approaching. As the minutes ticked down, we grew increasinlgy concerned about the cleaning crew. Even after the monitor informed us that our train was approaching in less than one minute, the workers continued searching for the wretched refuse of the Munich subway system. Finally, when it seemed like we could already feel the wind that the train pushes down the tunnel picking up, a siren went off, and the workers dived into a small cavity under the platform. The train sped into the station and we got on board. The workers must have been right next to its fast-moving steel wheels as we minded the gap and boarded above them.
Now, I realized, we knew what real high stakes cleaning looks like. After all, what else can you call playing chicken with a subway train in order to remove some bubble wrap? And perhaps these workers' experience was even more German than our whole struggle to clean our apartment. Where else in the world do people risk their lives to remove a couple pieces of trash from a mice-infested subway track? Our companion, a Bavarian who had recently moved back to the Southern Germany from Hamburg answered this question before we even had a chance to ask it out loud. "Only in Munich!" he remarked as we sat down in the spotless subway car.
Shortly thereafter the reality set in. Each time we scuffed the floor, left a mark on the wall or sat on the couch the wrong way, we heard the imaginary cha-ching of another few Euros being deducted from our deposit--the money we had been forced to save back in the fall seemed to be dwindling, despite the fact that no one could get anywhere near the account it was being held in.
So after months of feeling uneasy each time we dropped something or left muddy tracks on the hallway floor (a particularly easy task during a long, snowy winter and a cool, wet spring), we were definitely ready to clean. The potential payoff seemed huge--each hour of cleaning could earn us a few days' rent in Vermont (if we didn't blow it on beer and Brezeln before we ever made it out of Bavaria)!
Then again, our deep-seated worry that no matter what we did and no matter how hard we scrubbed, it wouldn't be good enough wouldn't let up, either. After hours of trying to remove a year's worth of grime from our oven rack, I wavered between fears that the rack was nowhere near clean enough because it still had a couple specks burned onto it, and hopes that no one would even bother to check that closely anyway. All this led to doubts about the economics of the whole cleaning enterprise--were we actually saving money, or just wasting time?
The suspense was miserable. Luckily, there is lots of good beer in Munich, and this being our last week here, even a solitary ray of sunshine seemed a clear signal that it was time to put down the mop and the paint brush and head for the local beer garden. We spent several evenings there last week imagining just what would happen on Sunday when our landlord came to check in on our work.
In the end, things worked out fine. Even though the sun was shining, the accumulated dust and grime of a year of our lives (not to mention the billows of dirt and grime constantly blowing in our windows from the construction site across the street) were not enough to dissuade our landlord from returning our deposit. Instead, he watched a few minutes of Shawn the Sheep to make sure the TV was still working and briefly turned on the radio--which gave him cause to ask us whether we liked Bavarian music--before showing us the money.
We were done, and it was a nice August day in Munich. The kind of day where even Jamie was forced to admit that the weather was "almost summery." We headed straight for the beer garden.
We had just about enough time to finish our celebratory drinks before the bad weather set in. We departed in a light drizzle, and then watched out our window as a huge thunder storm attacked the city. Later that night, we braved the weather to meet a friend for a drink downtown. At around 11pm on Sunday night, we waited for the subway to ride home and get some rest before another day of jumping through bureacratic hoops and rewarding ourselves with a few hours in the beer garden.
While the three of us were standing there, bemoaning the miserable weather that had once again descended on Bavaria, we watched a team of workers cleaning trash from between the rocks and rails down on the subway tracks. One stooped over to pick something up and emerged with a sheet of bubble wrap at least three feet long. But mostly, they were scooping up litle bits of wrappers or unnoticable cigarette butts that had found their way into hiding places between the pieces of gravel.
A display above the platform lets passengers know when the next train is approaching. As the minutes ticked down, we grew increasinlgy concerned about the cleaning crew. Even after the monitor informed us that our train was approaching in less than one minute, the workers continued searching for the wretched refuse of the Munich subway system. Finally, when it seemed like we could already feel the wind that the train pushes down the tunnel picking up, a siren went off, and the workers dived into a small cavity under the platform. The train sped into the station and we got on board. The workers must have been right next to its fast-moving steel wheels as we minded the gap and boarded above them.
Now, I realized, we knew what real high stakes cleaning looks like. After all, what else can you call playing chicken with a subway train in order to remove some bubble wrap? And perhaps these workers' experience was even more German than our whole struggle to clean our apartment. Where else in the world do people risk their lives to remove a couple pieces of trash from a mice-infested subway track? Our companion, a Bavarian who had recently moved back to the Southern Germany from Hamburg answered this question before we even had a chance to ask it out loud. "Only in Munich!" he remarked as we sat down in the spotless subway car.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Wandern Gehen...Goes Wandern
Wandern literally means: to hike or to go hiking. Both my hubby and I love wandern. And being that the Alps are only two hours from Munich by train, we decided to take advantage of our location and spend our last couple of weekends in Bayern exploring these wondrous mountains.
As you can see in the first two pictures below, summer in Germany is not always "summer" as we know it; however, no matter the weather, the Alps are incredible.
The best part about hiking in Germany is that there is a Biergarten every few kilometers and on top of every mountain peak. I think that the only reason that Germans go hiking is to have an excuse to drink. No joke.
Thirsty? How 'bout a frothy beer?! Hungry? Stop for schnitzel! Cold? A steaming hot chocolate will warm you right up!
As a nature purist, I had a lot of trouble getting used to the mountain-side-Biergarten-concept. But after gaining 1.5 kilometers in altitude over 10 kilometers on a chilly summer day, a steaming plate of Käsespätzle easily changed my attitude.
It's just amazes me that after so many brewskies, all hikers make it safely back down the trails.
This past weekend Steve, our friend Christian, and I hiked (well, more like conquered) the treacherous trail up to King Ludwig's hunting lodge, resting 5,628 feet above our point of origin.
First, we marveled over the Partnachklamm, a 700-meter long, deep-cut gorge in the middle of the Alps. Unfortunately, my pictures did not do it justice, so you only get to see one:
Then, about half-way through our climb up, we thought we were fast da. Discovering that we were only half-way was quite a disappointment. At that point we cursed Steve for wanting to fulfill his dream of visiting all of crazy King Ludwig's creations...but, we kept trudging on and on.
The views provided us with inspiration...
...and so did the wild life.
Finally...in the distance...we spotted the lodge!
(No, not the building in the foreground.)
Eventually, we made it, drank a Spezi, and went on a tour of the King's favorite birthday celebration destination. There was even a special surprise at the end of the tour! However, if you want to learn more and/or see the lodge, then you have to work as hard as we did to get there. Trust me, it's worth the effort.
As you can see in the first two pictures below, summer in Germany is not always "summer" as we know it; however, no matter the weather, the Alps are incredible.
The best part about hiking in Germany is that there is a Biergarten every few kilometers and on top of every mountain peak. I think that the only reason that Germans go hiking is to have an excuse to drink. No joke.
Thirsty? How 'bout a frothy beer?! Hungry? Stop for schnitzel! Cold? A steaming hot chocolate will warm you right up!
As a nature purist, I had a lot of trouble getting used to the mountain-side-Biergarten-concept. But after gaining 1.5 kilometers in altitude over 10 kilometers on a chilly summer day, a steaming plate of Käsespätzle easily changed my attitude.
It's just amazes me that after so many brewskies, all hikers make it safely back down the trails.
This past weekend Steve, our friend Christian, and I hiked (well, more like conquered) the treacherous trail up to King Ludwig's hunting lodge, resting 5,628 feet above our point of origin.
First, we marveled over the Partnachklamm, a 700-meter long, deep-cut gorge in the middle of the Alps. Unfortunately, my pictures did not do it justice, so you only get to see one:
Then, about half-way through our climb up, we thought we were fast da. Discovering that we were only half-way was quite a disappointment. At that point we cursed Steve for wanting to fulfill his dream of visiting all of crazy King Ludwig's creations...but, we kept trudging on and on.
The views provided us with inspiration...
...and so did the wild life.
Finally...in the distance...we spotted the lodge!
(No, not the building in the foreground.)
Eventually, we made it, drank a Spezi, and went on a tour of the King's favorite birthday celebration destination. There was even a special surprise at the end of the tour! However, if you want to learn more and/or see the lodge, then you have to work as hard as we did to get there. Trust me, it's worth the effort.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Mud Pie in the Eye
Just like a little puppy, Steve has been begging me repeatedly to write a post about the "fouling of footways by dogs" in London.
I agree that dog owners are responsible for cleaning up after their little friends. Dog-doo is gross. And. It's even more disgusting when it's stuck to the bottom of your shoe...or your husband's shoe...or your friend's shoe. The smell alone is nauseating. But did you know that dog poop is dangerous, too?
Yep. You read it here first. Or maybe you already discovered this statistic yourself, but that's beside the point. "Every year up to 700 people are blinded after contact with dog mess." Yikes! Does that statistic only include Londoners? Should I be worried? Is there a flush I can use if I ever get dog crap in my eye? Please help!
Bottom line: clean up after your dog or you will be fined.
Otherwise, someone else will have to pick up the mess for you (gasp!), which invariable, will never happen....unless someone steps in it, which doesn't really count.
Worst of all, if you are walking a dog in London and fail to comply with the rules, you are liable to prosecution. Do you want that on your record?!
To avoid a big mess, clean up after your dog's mess. There are even special bins provided so you don't have to carry around a poop-filled doggie bag throughout the city.
Design Time
Yes.
You are in the right place.
No.
You aren't seeing things.
wandern gehen is experimenting with a new look.
What do you think?!
I bet I can guess...
You like the look.
But.
You're annoyed.
I've spent time too much time obsesessing over font colors.
And.
Not enough time entertaining you.
I can't say that I blame you.
You have a right to be annoyed.
There are no excuses.
Well...
There is one.
Actually, it is more of an explanation than an excuse:
I have been in blog-post-procrastination-mode since June.
Maybe it was the three weeks of insanely nice weather and/or writers block, but instead of writing, I have been focused on organizing a gigantic move (and, in my spare time, enjoying a little "R and R" on the Isar).
There.
I admitted it.
I procrastinate...sometimes.
Are you happy?
Oh! And in case I forgot to mention it earlier, beginning August 30, Steve and I repositioning ourselves in a new zip-code: 05301 (a.k.a. Brattleboro, Vermont).
SIT...here I come!
You are in the right place.
No.
You aren't seeing things.
wandern gehen is experimenting with a new look.
What do you think?!
I bet I can guess...
You like the look.
But.
You're annoyed.
I've spent time too much time obsesessing over font colors.
And.
Not enough time entertaining you.
I can't say that I blame you.
You have a right to be annoyed.
There are no excuses.
Well...
There is one.
Actually, it is more of an explanation than an excuse:
I have been in blog-post-procrastination-mode since June.
Maybe it was the three weeks of insanely nice weather and/or writers block, but instead of writing, I have been focused on organizing a gigantic move (and, in my spare time, enjoying a little "R and R" on the Isar).
There.
I admitted it.
I procrastinate...sometimes.
Are you happy?
Oh! And in case I forgot to mention it earlier, beginning August 30, Steve and I repositioning ourselves in a new zip-code: 05301 (a.k.a. Brattleboro, Vermont).
SIT...here I come!
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