Saturday, 21st October.
I spent today sightseeing around Munich. I ran into Keith the
Canadian in the afternoon, and we cruised around together for the
remainder of the day. After we had seen the Glockenspiel atop the
Altes Rathaus do its thing, we wandered around the streets looking
for something to do while it was still light. We were near the
Hofbrauhaus, squatting down, intently studying our guidebooks, when
a mulleted, moustachioed local squatted down beside us.
An aside: when I studied German in high school, our textbooks
were filled with people that looked like this guy. He was wearing
denim jeans and jacket, think they might have been acid wash at that,
his hair was just past collar length, parted in the middle, a brush-like
moustache, and he looked like he enjoyed his bier and
We had something resembling a conversation, and we
found out that his name was Kris. He told us the score of the derby match
between 1860 Munich and Bayern Munich. I asked him which team he
supported, and he sadly replied the he was an 1860 supporter. Sad, because
his team had been done like a dog's dinner by the Bayern Munich boys.
But he was drunk enough to have soon forgotten the afternoon's tragic events,
and he started singing us some of 1860's terrace songs.
One tuneless rendition later, he invited us to join him and some friends
at the Hofbrauhaus for a bier. Keith and I figured it would be a bit of
a laugh, so we accepted. We entered the Hofbrauhaus first, thinking it best
not to be associated with a bunch of huge Germans who were absolutely
plastered, only to find that
security decided that our new friends were too drunk to be allowed in. Whatever
made them think that? They could walk fairly well! Their speech wasn't too
slurred! We went out the side door, but they'd disappeared (how can a group of
large, drunk Germans disappear like that?) so we returned to the hostel to get ready
for a night out.
And where were we going out? The bloody Hofbrauhaus of course! The night was still
young when we arrived. It took us ages to find a seat. We eventually found a
spot next to two young German couples, an American and his friend who was from somewhere
you know I really can't remember but it doesn't matter because he left after a short
The atmosphere was lively, the band was playing, the people were singing, crashing
their glasses together, "Prost"-ing left right and centre; it was a sea of
The German blokes on our table were making fun of my German. Bah! At least I was
having a go! The girl next to me said that I had a good accent. Maybe she couldn't
think of anything else nice to say!
A pair of Scots sat opposite us - Paul and Jane. Paul was a "trolly dolly" - his
term for an air steward. Quite a multinational table we had! And both Paul and Jane
speak Spanish! Why did I mention that? I don't know!
And the band played something resembling Waltzing Matilda. I had a bash at singing
the words as we know them, but there weren't enough verses and there were too many
choruses. After my stunningly piss-poor effort (doing Australia proud) I managed to
convince Keith to sing "O Canada". He took piss-poor to a new level.
Our food took ages to arrive - the cooker had blown up apparently. Better than the
cook blowing up, if you ask me! I left the sauerkraut on my plate. I fart enough
as it is.
Now anyone who's visited Germany recently will have heard this song:
I wanna knoooooooooow if you'll be my girl
Eins zwei drei vier funf sechs sieben acht!
I will be quite happy if I don't hear it again for quite some time.
(Written in my diary next to this day are two words: "brewers droop". I'm sure
it doesn't refer to me, why would I have written it down?)
When things were winding down at the Hofbrauhaus I went off with the Scots in search
of an Irish pub. (An Australian and two Scots go looking for an Irish pub in
Munich...) Eventually we found one (after Jane got hit by a bicycle) and it was run
by a few Indians. Good grief.