Doing Munich like a local – or not

I’ve learned three things since we arrived in Munich yesterday – number one, being able to read a map is more important than speaking the language – number two (well really 1a), even when you do get directions from a local, they’re probably missing some bits, and – number three, why goose-step marching is still popular in Europe.

It’s raining today. Not what we Aussies call ‘real’ rain, but that half-hearted sort of stuff that can ‘rain on your parade’ if you let it. Yesterday was supposed to be spent relaxing, recovering from the back to back long-haul flights and just generally adjusting to the new time zone. Unfortunately, thanks to Karl, it was none of those. Ok, let me paint a few images that sort of blur together into a half-remembered whole.

As foreshadowed in the last story, we land in Munich around 5 AM. Cruise through the arrival formalities and follow the detailed, but wrong, instructions sent by the shuttle people. Ah, here’s our driver, who I’ll call Karl. We introduce ourselves. He grunts and walks off towards the carpark. We follow, dragging our assorted luggage. All aboard the van and off onto the autobahn for what is supposed to be a 45-minute trip to town. As Karl cuts in and out of the traffic at over 130 km/hr, he tells us, between sips from his open topped coffee cup, that he lives in Austria and commutes two hours each day before he starts his overnight shift. Needless to say, when we arrive at our hotel 20 minutes later, our jetlag is long forgotten.

The nice lady at reception tells us it’s way too early to check in, but maybe we could find a coffee shop to relax in for a while. Nanette, still high on post-autobahn adrenalin, suggests that we could walk into town to ‘look at a couple of things.’

9:30PM. We’ve finally arrived back at the hotel. We’re both dead on our feet after an epic attempt to see every famous spot in Munich in one day. We’ve visited churches, markets, glockenspiels, and more spots called ‘Something Platz’ than most folk see in a lifetime. Oh, and we also spent the last hour tramping the streets looking for somewhere to eat, only to find that the best spot was just around the corner from the hotel.

So, like I said, it’s raining. What’s more, we’ve just discovered that much of the inner city is closed off today for the Munich Pride march and festivities. What better opportunity could we have to grab that quiet catch-up day – but – Nanette has been googling again. “I reckon we should see if we can get to Schloss Nymphenburg. The website says it’s one of those must-see places.” The website also says it’s ‘simple’ to get to the Schloss via Munich’s very efficient public transport system. All we need to do is – get (wrong) directions from reception to the nearest underground station – get (incomplete) advice from the information desk at Hauptbahnhof station about travelling out to the Schloss by tram, get no advice from the girl at the local shop about which direction we should walk (apparently she’s ‘never heard of’ that enormous palace about one block away from where we’re standing).

We resort to that tried and tested travel navigation technique of following some other people who look like tourists and soon find ourselves at the palace. It’s so impressive, we decide to check out all the fancy houses the royals had built for themselves around the grounds. These are also worth the visit, but we wish someone had thought to place a few signs here and there telling you which forest track to take – oh, and perhaps it would be nice to let people know there are no spots for ‘comfort stops’ anywhere along the three hour walking route through the park.

Anyways, it’s now 5PM. It was a bit easier to retrace our walk-tram-underground train-walk route back to our hotel. We’ve just started to finally relax when Nanette questions the strange odour permeating through the room. Oh – the soles of our shoes are crusted with – well, there’s these geese all through the grounds of the Schloss, and geese eat a lot, with the result that all the tracks are heavily coated with …

Now I understand why the royal guards invented that special marching style they call ‘goose stepping’. And, the sergeant-major always seems to give them clear directions as they go.