To Bavaria and Beyond: Day 1

“Boring” is not a word I generally associate with family vacations. The prospect of traveling to Munich, Germany to visit my sister historically carried with it an expectation of the unusual and the unknown. I had no idea what sort of stories we’d soon be making; I just knew they would be anything but dull, especially in the company of my adventure-hungry, risk-surfing Sister, Beth.

Pam Spray, Power Bars, and Uncomfortable Seating Arrangements
Saturday afternoon, my parents picked me up at my apartment. I was careful to make sure I had all the essentials - passport, driver’s license, ample cash, power bars for my sister, etc. Of all items, my sister wanted me to pack a couple aerosol containers of Pam Spray, and although applicable restrictions were written quite clearly on the TSA website, she assured me that they would be totally cool with me taking explosive materials on a large passenger aircraft. When I got to the airport, I found myself handing the Pam containers to my parents under the suspicious supervision of several TSA officers.

My flights were booked with US Airways, an airline which I swore I would never travel on again, namely after a terrible experience of being stuck in the Philadelphia airport earlier this year (With that trip, I finally decided to drive home, and made it the following day in the same time as other Columbus bound flying travelers). For my trip to Europe, I arrived at Port Columbus a good two hours in advance, and as I stepped up to the check-in counter, the lady told me it was unfortunate that I hadn’t been there twenty minutes sooner. Apparently, she could have booked me on a previous flight to Philadelphia (my only lay over before heading to Munich), a possibility which I was totally unaware of. It was going to be tight as I only had an hour in Phili before the next bird, an AirBus 330, would leave the ground for the seven and a half hour stretch across the North Atlantic, and above the picturesque landscape of western Europe. The lady at the desk continued by warning me how bad the Philadelphia airport was, and how I might miss my flight to Germany and how I might be stranded in that dreaded Cheese Steak city until the following day when I could catch another flight to Munich.

Around 5:30 pm, we boarded the economy jet for Phili. I was totally comfortable in my padded chair until a very large woman came and sat in the aisle seat right next to me. She was quit nice and was apparently headed to London to visit a friend. Her sides were literally hanging over the arm rest a good 5-6 inches. I’m not kidding. “It’s all good,” I thought, “She seems like a sweet lady and we only have an hour flight ahead of us. Let’s be respectful here.” A couple minutes later, the steward approached and asked if I could move to the empty exit row several chair lengths back. I agreed, with the random image of the escape hatch ripping off at 35,000 ft while my small body sucked through the whistling opening of the aircraft into the lonely blue atmosphere which hung above the North Atlantic. Then again, maybe I’d be perfectly safe strapped in my seat, oxygen mask on the face, cheeks flapping from the incoming air and the thrust of the jet engines. The weird things we think of. As we approached the runway, the captain mumbled over the tinty P.A. that there was a delay and we would need to hang out on the runway for a good twenty minutes or so. Two words came to my mind. US...Airways. Anyways, we finally got on our way after twenty minutes of shuffling around various runways and enjoyed a relatively smooth flight over the mid eastern states. And no, the exit door never came off.

Alas, The Cheese Steak City
We touched down in Phili around 7:20 pm or so, and I and a few other Munich passengers grabbed our bags from the overhead compartments and stood impatiently in stooped positions as others exited the plane like turtles. After exiting the plane, I zig zagged around a few time takers as I hurried down the winding hallway towards the open door leading to my favorite airport in the world. Our next flight left from Terminal A, which could only be reached via. a shuttle bus. We made it just as the bus was leaving. As I sat down in the poorly lit and nearly packed vehicle, several people starred at me as I adjusted my passport filled waist belt with such curiosity you would have thought I was wired with explosives. Had they not ever seen a waste belt? Were my Hanes showing? I hadn’t even left the US, and I was probably already striking the pose of “tourist.”

After exiting the bus, we had a long trek ahead of us as our gate was (as you would expect) at the very back of the airport. As I was running, I met a young police officer from London (also headed for the same gate), who had been in the US visiting his girlfriend. We were literally running with dragging luggage as we spoke. In a few minutes, we arrived winded at the gate, and boarded the monstrous Airbus 330. I hadn’t been in a big plane like this since I was a baby, when my missionary family and I flew back from France in 1980. This was actually my first time back to Europe after twenty seven long Americanized years. Maybe I need to get out more.

The flight was a smooth one, which included my very own “special” (this is the term they used) tv dinner of rice, chicken, packaged baby carrots, and air sealed peach slices. I was eating better than most astronauts. The flight was to take about seven and a half hours, and I could hardly pass the time with sleeping so I instead resorted to watching portions of Shrek the Third and an in-flight VH1 special with some cool new artists I hadn’t heard of, and various hip hop artists which inspired nothing more than the fast forward button. I was rather jealous as I panoramically observed all the other passengers who had somehow managed to squeeze their way into dreamland. Then, there was the one guy with the glazed over eyes in the left row right ahead of me. He spent the entire flight glued six inches away from the flickering 4x6” inch screen on the seat in front of him, watching everything from Pirates of the Caribbean to various B class action movies.

We Ain’t In Ford Country No More
We touched down in Munich safely, but a good forty five minutes late. As I was standing in the customs line ready to show my passport, a younger guy with a European accent of sorts asked me if I was an hurry. “Um... no...,” I answered, “Do I look like I’m in a hurry?” It didn’t occur to me that he wanted to go ahead of me. After he explained that his next flight was leaving shortly, I gladly let him go first. As I continued to stand there in line, I had visions of corny Kirk Cameron movies, the mark of the beast, and the end of the world. Not soon after, an officer was stamping my passport and I was on my way.

Nothing struck me as terribly different when I first stepped onto German soil. The Munich airport looks like most modern airports, except that the parking lots are almost exclusively filled with BMWs, Mercedes-Benz, and Smart cars. I think I saw only a few Fords and a single Chevy during my 10 day stay in Europe.

I began looking for my sister after I grabbed my bag from the luggage carousel, but she was nowhere to be found. “Ok,” I thought, “We went over this... you were supposed to pick me up... I don’t want to pay for a cab.” I tried to call her German mobile (cell phone) using a pay phone, but for some reason, it wouldn’t take my Mastercard. A cute young twenty something French girl stopped to help myself and another gentleman with our phone troubles. I was trying to figure out if I was dialing the German area code correctly. She assured me I was, so I tried the phone again, but my call still wouldn’t go through. I eventually stepped over to the bank terminal and exchanged some of the American cash I had brought for $45 in Euros and a $5 calling card. I then went back to the phone and finally reached my sister who was actually standing less than thirty meters away near the gate I had exited just ten minutes before. She had been waiting there for a long time (as my flight was forty five minutes late), and just happened to slip off to the WC/toilette moments before I debuted through the opaque entrance doors.

After a hug and hello, we continued through a large revolving door into a moderately busy square outside the airport terminal. Having dressed in shorts, I soon discovered that it was much colder than I had expected... and with this, I stood out like a pink peep in a yellow peep package as I was about the only person around with exposed knees. I later discovered that some Europeans carry a funny stereotype which says that any one wearing shorts in cold weather is probably an American. My sister and I continued walking through the square, into other building, and towards a rental car stand whose walls and desks glowed with muted orange light. (It is a long story, but in short, my sister had to rent a car as she had misplaced the key to her BMW.) We picked up the rental car, and after proposing a few questions about the GPS system, we were off to our next adventure.

Beer And Bavarian Revelry
Our first stop was Oktoberfest, a Munich based festival which, each year, draws millions of international seekers of intoxication. Apparently, the festival has its origins with Crown Prince Ludwig, who in 1810, threw a wedding party of such magnitude and success that it became an annual tradition. I was fortunate enough to arrive in Munich on the last day of the festival, which thankfully allowed me to partake of the festivities free of charge. Beth’s friend, Stephanie, would be joining us in our adventure and we were to meet her at all places, a German Starbucks (I still experience a sense of guilt whenever I drink Starbucks as I feel like I’m shafting the little guy, even more so in Europe where Western culture is eroding the distinctness of cultures abroad). We finally found a place to park and my sister a spend a good fifteen minutes trying to weasel her rental car into an oppositely angled spot as several irritated German drivers waited with furled brows of frustration. We eventually made it to Starbucks, met Stephanie, bought a couple cappucinos, and headed for the subway and towards our final destination of large pretzels and Bavarian beer.

The subway was crowded with a variety of people, many of which were party goers... guys flirting in tall hats and suspendered pants/shorts (Lederhosen) and girls giggling in colorful dresses (Dirndl) and push-up bras (even children were wearing costumes). I’m told these costumes are quite expensive, with people dropping $200 or more on a pair of overalls, and several hundred bucks or more on a nice dress.

Our subway experience was over quickly, and the next thing we knew, we were walking into the entrance of the cherished Oktoberfest (which ironically starts in September).
My first impression was that the atmosphere closely resembled an exaggerated twin of the Ohio State Fair... minus the red necks and the Metallica t-shirts.
There were a variety of fold-it-up-into-a-semi-bed rides, miles of souvenir shops, and a variety of over sized beer tents. While weaving through elbow to elbow crowds, we soaked in the merry sights, and eventually stumbled onto a decorative stand selling sauerkraut and sausage. Very tasty, I must say. After this, we passed through a number of souvenir shops where eventually I found a conservative Oktoberfest t-shirt. We had oodles of fun at Oktoberfest. I even had a chance to flaunt my upper body strength with the old sleg hammer and bell game.

Breath Mints, Afternoon Church, and Jet Lag
Of all places, our next stop was a nearby church (Munich International Community Church). As we entered the church, I met another one of Beth’s friends, Sandy, who happens to be an amazing professional opera singer, who originates from Dayton, OH. Ironically, I have professional opera belting cousin from Dayton who also now lives in Germany).

The church service was in English, and surprisely similar to many of the churches I’ve attended or visited in the US. I was slightly embarrassed as my jet lag began kicking in just about the time the pastor introduced his message.

After the service, we snapped a picture in front of the church (left to right: Sandy’s daughter, Sandy, Beth, Stephanie) and Beth continued our first day’s tour with a walk along the streets of downtown Munich. We scaled a good dozen calve-straining flights of stairs at St. Peter’s church (Munich's oldest parish church, almost totally destroyed during World War II and rebuilt in 1954), and then spent some moments savoring the 260-foot sunset view of the city. Click here to see the video.

After this, we continued walking around the city and stopped into the Frauenkirche Church (which means Woman’s church). Click here to see the video. Following some Munich window shopping, we visited Ratskeller (restaurant), where Beth treated me to a traditional Bavarian meal consisting of pig, potato balls, red Sauerkraut, and Apfelsaftschorle (apple juice mixed with sparkling mineral water). It was especially appetizing to see hair still sprouting from the skin of the pig.

We then traveled home for a well deserved night of slumber. Unfortunately, I didn’t fall asleep until 4:00 am. I guess it takes a while to adjust to the six hour time difference.

Stay tuned for day two.