The hostel was a quick 5 minute walk from the train station. After check-in, I went up to the room, a 6-person mixed dorm. It was here that I met my roommates: an American moving to Munich to take up a career in chemistry, a New Zealander moving to Munich to take up a career in finance, and two Aussies on a tour of Europe. The American was a tightwad, even though he was very informative on what there was to do in Munich. The girl from New Zealand was quiet and kept mostly to herself. And then there were the Aussies. Personally, I have a soft spot in my heart for Aussies. In them I see contemporaries, and deem them to be on the level of Canadians, though certain things about them raise them a few notches above the Canucks: they love to drink strong beer, they always follow American to war no matter what the cause, they’ve produced such memorable characters as Steve Irwin and Crocodile Dundee, and they are a country and a continent at the same time. These Aussies were particularly cool. They regaled Mike and I with their wacky adventures across Europe, and even told an enlightening tale or two about Thailand that I made sure to keep in the back of my mind for future reference.
That night I decided to head to the Hofbrauhaus. From what I know about the place, they serve really, really top notch beer. It is also famous because Hitler gave a really good speech there once. Upon entering I saw many Asian tourists being stereotypically touristy, taking flash photos of everything from the waiters in the lederhosen to the gigantic mugs of beer. I was a little put off how one of those giant liter mugs of beer cost 7 Euro, but Mike convinced me it was worth it.
The events that followed the beer hall were washed from memory by a wave of beer. Moving on to day two…
The hangover the day after the beer hall tour was splitting. Breakfast did little to alleviate it, nor did the couple hundred milligrams of Aleve I took (ironic, I know). As the day became hotter, there was but one solution to my dilemma, and that was to drink more. Mike and I made our way to a large park in Munich that housed an authentic Chinese pagoda. It was here, on a family trip to Munich I took with my family 5 years prior, that I feel I got wasted for the very first time (even while under parental supervision). After wandering the park for about an hour, we finally found the place. We bought mugs of beer and purchased some schnitzel and fries. Indeed, drinking did turn out to cure my hangover. I became especially fond of the Radler, which is a beer mixed with lemonade. It’s normally a drink reserved for girls who pussyfoot about drinking beer, but honestly, it’s damn tasty and goes down easily. I must’ve had 2 while we sat there and drank and discussed politics, life, and a myriad of other topics that Mike and I toss around while intoxicated.
The final night in Munich was spent, as one would guess, drinking. However, it was a special night to be drinking. That night, the Germans were squaring off against the Spaniards in the final game of the European Cup. Mike and I decided to go out with the Aussies, who were headed to the Olympic Stadium. It was here that large screens were set up so that the game could be watched by the masses in a controlled environment. Before we departed, pre-gaming was a must. I procured myself a bottle of Jagermeister because I had not had any during my entire time in Germany, and since this was my last day there, I felt obligated. It would also serve as a precursor to a successful strike-out (three consecutive nights being blacked out from over-consumption of alcohol).
The Olympic Stadium in Munich, built for the 1972 Summer Games (which will forever be remembered for the infamous events that would become known as Black September) is an incredible piece of architecture and art.
The stadium itself was packed with patriotic Germans. In many discussions I‘ve had with Germans, football events are the only time in which Germans can express patriotism without being reminded of what evils it had produced in the past. To me, this is particularly pitiful, as the Germans of today (except for the very elderly generation) have no direct connections to the brutalities of the past and thus should not be held accountable for them. Tragically, Germans of today possess a crippled spirit, one that prevents them from fully taking pride in themselves. Nonetheless, the stadium was packed with jubilant Germans waving flags.
The game was a great contest. I was having a great time nursing my fifth of Jager, taking an occasional pull here and there. Here’s a pic of me in action, and notice the local girl eyeing me precariously:
While the game concluded with the Spaniards coming out on top, it sure would have been nice to see a German victory, as the streets would have been full of parties that would have lasted well into the wee hours and on till morning. Alas, it was not to be. The Germans are no stranger to defeat, and what impressed me the most was that they took it in stride. They still sang their songs and chanted their cheers, and only a tinge of somberness could be felt. They did not hang their heads, nor did they sulk. They consoled each other, and drowned their sorrow in beer. In this they demonstrated the best spirit of sportsmanship I’ve ever seen.
While I do not remember much from the rest of the night (the Jager bottle was 3/4 empty by the end of the game, I do remember getting back to the hostel) the Aussies decided to kick off a rock star-style tantrum of drunken destruction. They went wild tossing things about the place. One of them jumped up on top of a bunk bed and began jumping up and down. I knew this wouldn’t last very long for obvious reasons, and prepared my camera for the inevitable. And
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