Liz's dad talks about his vacation in Munich.
My bavarian vacation came about as a result of five years’ importuning by my daughter Liz, associate editor at Munich Found. Since she finally succeeded in getting me to visit, she and the good people of “MuFo” thought they could get some copy out of a first-time visitor. First reactions are always unique. Here are some of mine. Two weeks is not the Grand Tour. You cannot hope to acculturate in the time allotted. In fourteen days, you will have only scraped the surface of a culture much older than your own. As hard as you try, you will not become fluent in German. A smattering of German language knowledge may make you feel better, at times cosmopolitan. It will allow you the fun of trying to translate signage, although menus, with their talk of “livercheese” and “Bavarian yummies,” will almost certainly be beyond you. Never, however, assume you can actually speak German. The eighth time your guide corrects your pronunciation, you will realize that the best time to have learned this language was the same time you learned your own. The historical attractions of Munich are many. Ancient churches, city gates and the various homes of the Wittelsbach kings of Bavaria all compete for attention. Schloss Nymphenburg, the Versailles of the Wittelsbachs, fits the notion of a fairy-tale palace. The grounds and approaches are elegant, the collection at the nearby Botanical Garden world-class. The remains of Nazi Munich are not to be ignored. I felt a bit of a shiver when it occurred to me, walking south down Ludwigstrasse to Odeonsplatz, that this had been a favored parade route for the SA. After years of studying European history for my Ph.D., it was sobering to actually be standing at the location of the Bierkeller where Hitler began the militant movement with the 1923 “beer hall putsch.” Other chilling stops on the trail of the Bewegung follow Briennerstrasse, where a placard marks the former location of Gestapo headquarters. The concentration camp in Dachau, while a sterile re-build compared to its gory neighbor in Auschwitz, leaves a visitor without words. There comes a time when you wish to see a bit more of Bavaria. Rail access — I wish such convenient tracks crossed America — to other cities in southern Germany and nearby Austria is visually satisfying. Beautiful landscapes speed by en route to the towns I visited: Augsburg, Salzburg and Regensburg. Replete with great and ancient architecture, each brings home to the transatlantic visitor the riches of European culture. It is a moving experience to stand in the crypt of Augsburg Cathedral, nose-to-pigment with a frescoed lunette, which was “fresh” in 1330. Salzburg is gorgeous, especially when viewed from its fortress, said to be the largest surviving castle in central Europe. I had the delight of catching a street fiddler’s rendition of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik just two blocks from Mozart’s birthplace. There is a great sense of immediacy in a tour through the house where young Wolfgang lived until he was seven. Regensburg boasts the not-at-all-blue Danube and intriguing medieval buildings, including the house on Kepplerstrasse where the astronomer died in the days when the city was still called Ratisbon. Be it in Munich or “the burgs” a person needs to eat. Americans are accustomed to service personnel who introduce themselves by first name and cheerfully announce that they “will be your waiter.” Many of us don’t want a personal relationship with our server and are annoyed at the unremitting attention. But the waitperson is always nearby and will, at the very least, bring your check — leaving you alone to decide what gratuity to render. Not so in Bavaria. For starters, I conclude that local service folk, like canines, can sense fear or insecurity. On the two occasions I tried ordering in German, the server pretended not to understand me despite the fact that the three words I spoke sounded exactly the same to me when repeated by my bilingual guide — who was understood. Once your order has been filled don’t expect to see the waitperson again. You may, however, force the normally reserved German server to notice you by casting your voice somewhat above normal American tones (already too loud) in his direction and trilling “Hallo!” In tabulating the bill, the service person, armed with pad and pencil, computes the expense of each diner. The customer is then expected to compute the tip instantly (a practical impossibility for this non-numerate American, even in dollars) and trust that the value of the bill is accurate, with no time for verification. In America you get constant service with a great deal of bother. In Bavaria you get no pestering at all, but precious little service. Having beefed about that, I concede the greatness of Munich’s finest institution — the beer garden. After much sampling, Dachau’s castle-side garden got my top vote — where the tasty Schlossberger brew is cold, the Brezen fresh and chewy. At the end of my vacation, there were many things left undone. I never made it to the Tierpark Hellabrun (zoo) or the Olympic Tower. Given the rare two-week nice weather snap, I failed to visit any of Munich’s famed museums — surely worth several days of viewing. There is so much left to see and revisit. Therefore, when asked if I would return to the city on the Isar I said, “In a Münchener minute!” <<<