There's more to Munich's Garden Show than meets the eye
Munich is in the grip of a green-fingered monster. For the past few months, an army of over-sized compost bags have been springing up on pavements around the city, sending pedestrians scattering. In their wake has followed a flood of propaganda in the local press, all aimed at converting an unsuspecting public to a pastime that has previously been confined to isolated garden plots. Yes, we’re talking BUGA. Germany’s National Garden Show has come to Munich—and it hopes to convince four million visitors that gardening is the new, erm, knitting, or whatever the latest hobby may be.
I can’t say I blame the BUGA machine for setting such high targets. After all, the cost of the whole thing has been estimated at around € 65 million—and I guess they’ve got to make their figures add up somehow. But what I can’t understand is the willingness of the local press to lap it all up and promote the event relentlessly, no questions asked.
Let’s get one thing straight. I’ve been to BUGA and think it has a lot of potential. There are some good ideas there and, if it transforms what was previously a little-used area of the city, it can only be a good thing.
But there are negative aspects of it, as anyone who’s actually been will tell you. Yet these, it seems, are not worthy of even a mention in the Süddeutsche Zeitung or the Abendzeitung, for fear of deterring gullible Münchner from buying that all-important season ticket. (And, boy, did they buy them—I could only shake my head in despair as I saw the crowds lining up to get their hands on one before ticket offices even opened. I mean, it’s not as if the things are going to run out…)
But back to the point. I have two major gripes about BUGA. One, I accept, is a matter entirely of personal opinion—and that’s the design and conception of the event itself. When I went, there were very few flowers, and those that were there looked a bit the worse for wear. The official excuse? It was early on and there’d been a shortage of sun—which may be the case, but that didn’t seem to prevent flowers in the center of Munich from blossoming. Flowers aside, I can’t say I like the bland, straight-line approach taken by French landscape architect Giles Vexlard. Maybe it’s the height of cool design. Maybe it’s what we’ll all be aspiring to in our own gardens before long. But it’s not nature. Take the two-kilometer-long concrete strip that runs through the BUGA park. The idea is that it marks a perfect east-west line. But that’s all there is to it. There are no flowers or trees lining it, just grass. And the sight of such a long road dragging out in front is not going to inspire me, for one, to walk along it.
Of course, you may be attracted by the promise of great entertainment. How about, perhaps, a course in “laughter yoga”? Seriously, there can’t be many things funnier and, yes, this could only happen in Germany. Friends of ours chanced upon a session, where participants walk round in circles and laugh to order, in rhythm—“Ho ho, ha ha ha, ho ho, ha ha ha.” They were then made to “laugh like a lawnmower.” The memory of that friend demonstrating how hilarious it was will brighten blue moments for a long time to come…
Something that’s no laughing matter, though, is the cost of a trip to BUGA. Again, the press has packaged it up and sold it quite nicely: a day ticket costs € 14, which includes travel on Munich’s public transport system. What they don’t tell you, is that it’s then going to cost you another € 7.50 to travel on the cable car, which is basically the only way of getting from one side of the seven-kilometer-long park to the other. On top of this, the guide book will set you back € 9.95. However, that’s not available in English, so be prepared to fork out € 14 for the use of a BUGA butler information system (a pack you carry around your neck) or € 5.50 for a guided tour of a particular area. If you’re feeling really flush, how about an “artistic” BUGA tour, focusing on work done by Munich art students. For this great honor, which lasts just 90 minutes, you’re looking at prices of € 90! Each to their own, as I said. But I still find it surprising that the local press hasn’t taken a slightly tougher view on the way in which an awful lot of city money has been spent. And I get the impression it’s not just BUGA where spin doctors call the shots. We received an e-mail from the PR folk at the Allianz Arena, asking us not to refer to the stadium as looking like a rubber dinghy or an airbed. Talk about touchy! If they’ve honestly got nothing better to worry about than a bit of name-calling…
Sure enough, though, the local press has gone along with the request. They now refer to it as a spaceship. <<<
