The Bittesuite

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything. I think it’s been too long, so I’m going to bring the frequency back to normal (1-3 posts per week). I’m working on the rest of the story that ends with Roxana and me scoring an apartment in central Munich. In the next installment, our agent Wolfgang shows me the inside of the first apartment we were to view. But I’m not done with that, yet. In the meantime, this is a post about some cool things we’ve done during the past few weeks. I hope I’m as excited as you are about this.

Fruhlingsfest

“Fruhling” is the German word for Spring. And, as many of us know, “fests” were large oaken boats from the American Civil War. It goes without saying, then, that Fruhlingsfest is a festival that celebrates the beginning of Spring.

I’ve heard it called “small Oktoberfest.” I would get a little more specific and compare it to a beer-drinking 5k on the road to Oktoberfest’s marathon. If you’re a Texan, you can imagine the Texas State Fair with big tents and a lot more beer, but it only lasts a week.

Roxana and I went on a Friday during the celebration of “Bayern-America Friendship Day.” The “Hippodrom” tent hosted the celebration, so we went there and found a table amid maybe 1,000 other people. Soon, we were joined by three German girls. Soon after that, a German guy and two more German girls sat–we had a full table.

While we waited for our 1L mugs of beer, Roxana and I enjoyed some pretty fun conversation with the Germans at our table. I dutifully asked them why people in Munich seem to like light beer so much (they didn’t know why) and made a corny joke about Roxana being from South Texas. They asked us about Texas and Mexico and explained that they were stopping by after work to relax. Then, the beers came.

For the rest of the night, a German band covered German and American songs while everyone in the tent jumped onto the tabletops to drink and dance and yell. Amazingly fun. But enough words. Below are some pictures. Also below is a list of the American songs the German band covered. American setlists played by non-American bands in non-American countries are really interesting, it turns out.

The Setlist:

1. Sweet Caroline
2. I Love Rock and Roll
3. Sweet Home Alabama (the tent went absolutely nuts over this one)
4. Stand by Me
5. Blue Suede Shoes
6. Tutti Frutti
7. Hey Jude (I guess the magic here is that neither country can take credit for it, but everyone loves it, anyway)
8. What’s Goin’ On?

Enough Words. Picture time.

Music Festival In Dachau

Dachau is a small town to the North of Munich. Roxana and I went there to visit Carolina and Steffan, another couple. That night, a bunch of the town’s bars and entertainment halls hosted bands from different styles, but mostly rockabilly, blues and soul.

One of the more remarkable moments of the night happened during our walk from Carolina’s and Steffan’s flat to the center of town. Before, we had all been discussing the differences among our home countries (Carolina is Bolivian and Steffan is German). Carolina and Roxana noted many differences, but I mentioned that my experience in Munich and those of mine in Texas are pretty similar–that Munich seems to value the same things as the US, but to a greater degree. For example, in the US drinking tends to be a pretty democratic affair. Each person orders however much of whatever they want, and you just start drinking when you get your beer. It works much the same way in Munich, except every social activity involves beer. Compare those customs with those of Central and South American countries. If you don’t say “Salud” while looking directly at one of your friends before you drink your first drink, the roof collapses on your head and you die a sterile hermit in the nearest gutter (or maybe it’s 7 years of bad luck). The Chinese also have a custom that requires everyone to drink the same amount of alcohol during a gathering.

Anyway, as we walked toward the center of town, I saw the outline of a large structure over some trees (it was dark out). “What’s that?” I asked.

“That’s our castle.” Steffan said that way too casually, if you ask me.

Okay, so Munich is different from the US in at least one very important way.

Enough words. Picture time.

Neuschwanstein Castle

This was our most recent destination. Last Thursday, Germany had one of its 31 May holidays (exaggeration alert). This meant that Rox didn’t have to work, and I didn’t have class. A two-hour northbound train ride into our day, and we were at the base of the mountain that houses this medieval beast.

An astoundingly beautiful 40-minute hike up the mountain took us to the castle. I haven’t done my research, yet, but I do know a few things about it. Ludwig Maximilian had it built in a year between 0 and now. I think. It’s one of his vacations homes, but they never finished building it. I’ve heard that, when he was young, he went through a phase of obsession with building castles.

Enough words. Picture time.

This is the fourth “Post 9” on my hard drive. For a week, I’ve been writing 3 other “Post 9s” and have finished 0 of them. One is about the Dachau Music Festival we attended last weekend, and why I think adapting to German culture has been easy. Another is about the night Roxana and I went salsa dancing with another couple and how language barriers crumble when soaked in alcohol. The third is about Fruhlingsfest (Spring Festival) and how cool it feels to celebrate American culture in another country with the residents of that country.

I can’t seem to get through those, yet, so this post 9 (the actual post 9) is simple. It’s about beer, and a bizarre mystery surrounding it in Germany. Or at least in South Germany. Or at least in Munich.

Most places (read: nearly all places) in Munich serve beer. Most also emphasize (read: only sell) three types of beer: Hell, Dunkel, and Weiss. Sometimes you can find a Radler (light beer + Sprite) or a Pilz (bitter Czech beer), but the first three are all that usually matter. So, you sit down and, when you’re asked what you want, you reply ” Ein Hell,” “Ein Dunkel,” or “Ein Weiss.” Usually.

Anyway, Germany, or at least South Germany, or at least Munich prefer Helles Beers. By a Kilimanjaro landslide. It would seem that not even Germans know why this is the case. Here’s the evidence:

• Refrigerators absolutely full of Augustiner Helles and barely anything else
• Biergartens at which every member of every table has a mass (1 L mug) full of Helles
• Streets full of soccer fans watching the game through bar windows–each person holding one or two of those Augustiner Helles bottles
• Night clubs packed full of people trying to dance–every one holding an Augustiner Helles bottle
• Restaurants packed to the rafters with customers eating a vast variety of entrees–and each drinking an Augustiner Helles beer

I have seen at least one of those situations play out every single day since I arrived 3 weeks ago.

I understand why it’s always Augustiner. Everyone tells me straight away that they make the best Helles beer. But why Helles? Helles is at the bottom of my ranking system:

1. Weiss
2. Dunkel
3. Helles

Of the three, Hell tastes the most like water (not anywhere near how much Bud Light tastes like water, so keep in mind how relative my assessments are). Dunkel tastes like super beer and Weiss tastes like alternative beer, so those two seem obviously special to me. Hell tastes like a conservative beer (not too hoppy, but it does actually taste like beer).

It doesn’t cost the least–0.5L of any of those beers costs EURO 3.50 in most drink shops.

It’s likely not the healthiest (read: least unhealthy)–my German teacher actually supposes that Weiss is the least bad for you.

I’ve spoken to 8 native Germans about this, and their responses are so similar it’s creepy. First, their face expresses momentary doubt while they examine my claim that everyone drinks Hell. Then, they slowly nod their head and make approving noises as they start to agree. Finally, they shrug and say something like “I don’t know–I guess it’s just the German way.”

So no luck with the horse’s mouth. Yet, at least. I’m sure somebody knows why Hell is so popular, here. I will find that person. Don’t worry, though; I have some theories:

1. Hell is the easiest to drink. If you want to drink a lot, avoid the other two, which fill you up quickly.
2. Hell is the easiest to produce. This would mean that its stock is the greatest at public events and that it’s the easiest to obtain at those events. Maybe people grow accustomed to it, that way.
3. Hell is the easiest to pour. Weiss requires extra time to pour it, since the head is so thick. I think that’s why some bars don’t even serve it at night.

For now, this case stays open.

This is part 4 of the story of how Roxana and I found our new apartment in Munich. As you read, you may notice a Usain-Bolt-worthy coat of arrogance over the story’s substance. I imagine you’ll want a barf bag handy in case the eye rolling makes you dizzy.

Ryan’s Wednesday Afternoon, part 2 – Meeting the Agent

I’m 20 minutes early to our appointment. Nobody else is here. Looking good so far, Ryan.

Examining the area, I’m becoming a believer in this place (reminder: it’s maybe 3 blocks from where Roxana and I currently live in central-ish Munich). Right downstairs is an Austrian bar called Eins. Through the window, it looks larger than most Munich bars (so it’s a bit larger than most dorm rooms)–tables that sit 4+ people and a section in the back that I can’t quite see. The floors are wooden and the room is full of shades of black and brown–a new bar with a fondness for old-school ambience. Outside are the street-side tables–easily the best way to drink at a bar in Munich. I’m reminded of McClaren’s Pub, so I smile and move on.

Slightly farther down the street are a large German bar–Schwabinger Wasserman–a sushi restaurant, a Greek restaurant, and a Mexican restaurant/bar (the name, “Tacos y Tequila,” roughly translates into “Hey Ryan, give us your money”). Looking really good so far, Ryan.

Mentally, I venture back to where my body is standing, right outside the apartment building’s front door. Now, I’m aware of a man’s voice and a woman’s voice in the flower shop next door. I’m curious, so I peek inside. The woman is facing me, opposite the man. She looks up at me, inspiring the man to turn around and do the same. “Oh!” he says, surprised that I’m there. “Are you here for the appointment?”

“I am!” I say, trying to muster all the enthusiasm I can. Truthfully, I’m not thrilled about this appointment. I expect that we won’t get the apartment and that we’ll have to visit 50 or 100 like everyone else before things work out. I guess what I’m feeling is pessimism.

“Ah, great!” he exclaims. Then, he turns back to the woman and says some things which I can’t hear. She says some things, but the only part I hear is “Ahhhh, Amerikaner!” Looking really good so far, Ryan?

He returns to me.

“I’m Ryan! Nice to meet you.”

We shake hands and smile at one another. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Wolfgang,” in an accent that’s very politely German. In fact, everything about this man is extremely polite. He’s wearing slightly faded blue jeans, a grey-ish blazer, some kind of scarf and a dress shirt (I wish I could remember more detail so I could do this guy’s politeness justice). He’s combed his short grey hair immaculately. He’s maybe in his late forties, and he genuinely smiles while he speaks.

Wow, that’s the most German name I’ve heard since I arrived in Germany, and my teacher’s name is Reinhardt. “I’m here to view, but Roxana’s name is probably what you have on your list.”

He checks his list. I see about 7 other names on it. Wow, this is a small group, if everything I’ve heard about apartment viewings is accurate. “Ah, yes, perfect!” and then “When should we expect her to arrive?”

“She has to be at the office during this viewing, so she can’t make it,” I apologize.

“Oh, okay sehr gut. We’ll just wait a little longer, then.”

I assume we’re waiting on the rest of our viewing group, so I just start making tiny statements. You know–small talk and whatever.

“This area is pretty cool.”

“Ah, yes. You can see there’s a flower shop next door. It’s called ‘PurPur,’ so you can imagine they’re friendly people.”

I pause, wondering what that means. “What does that mean?”

He pauses, probably wondering what I mean. “The name?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s purpur. You know–purpur. Like rot, gelb, orange, blah blah.”

“Oh, purple!” I exclaim, ecstatic that I get it, now.

“Ah, yes, sorry. In English you would say ‘purple.'”

I laugh “Yeah. Sometimes I’m amazed how different English and German look, even though they sound so similar.” I’m pretty stupid when I’m small talking.

Now we’re silent, so I blurt out “I see this block has a lot of bars and restaurants on it. Eins, for example,” pointing at Eins. “Pretty cool!”

A friendly chuckle, and then “Yes, Eins is pretty new, actually. Owned by an Austrian guy, I think. I haven’t been.” Then, “So you are the boyfriend, and you are looking for a room for the two of you?”

“Yep! Now, we’re in a temporary place a few blocks over. We’re looking for our first real place. This is pretty strange, though–viewing apartments and competing for them.”

That polite laughter again, “Yes, Munich is very competitive. Where in the US are you from?”

“Texas.”

“Texas! You don’t have an accent.”

I return the polite laughter. “Yeah, sometimes I hear that, and other times I hear I have a strong accent. I have no idea why.”

“And Roxana is Spanish?”

“No, she’s Mexican.”

“Mexican! And the two of you are here in Germany! I’m sure that’s an interesting story.”

“It definitely is,” I smile. But I don’t get into it. I just met Wolfgang.

“Are you here for work?”

“Eventually, yes. Aber jetz ich lerne Deutsch im Tandem.” I beam a cheesy, prideful grin, hoping “im” was the right word in that sentence. I’m three and Mom just heard me count to one hundred.

“Ah, sehr gut!” Wolfgang exclaims, sort of like Mom did when I was three.

Then “Hmmm, it’s very close to 3pm. Should Roxana be arriving soon?”

“We’re waiting for Roxana? I thought we were waiting for the rest of the group? No, Roxana can’t make it–she has to be at work, now.” I’m hoping he remembers my telling him that earlier so that things don’t get awkward.

“Oh, no! We’re viewing this privately. I like to do this individually. Much more personal. I get to know you better, the tenant doesn’t have to let 20 people into their apartment at once, you can ask all of the questions you want without fighting the other applicants to do so…”

“Wooow, Wolfgang. I’m extremely grateful for that. That’s an awesome approach.”

“Ah yes, thank you,” he offers a humble smile and turns a little red.

“How long have you been a broker?”

“25 years! I’ve been doing this for a long time,” he laughs.

“Whoah man, that is  a long time. You must like this then, huh?”

“Oh yes I do, very much. Shall we go in and have a look?”

“Absolutely.” And then, he shows me through the door.

Ryan’s Wednesday Afternoon, part 1 – Prep for the Appointment

It’s a sunny day amid a cluster of rainy ones, but that’s not even a little important. I have two hours to eat lunch, figure out how to make copies of documents, make those copies, put together a packet of the documents I copy, and then make my way to the apartment I’m viewing at 3pm.

The part that has me the most nervous is the part about finding out how to make copies. I haven’t seen a Kinko’s in two weeks. What on Earth does a German copy center look like? Do they exist? I’ll start by asking the front desk of our apartment complex. The lady there speaks perfect English, so that conversation will be easy.

“Hallo!” I say to her when I walk in. “Can I make copies in here?

“No, I’m sorry, we don’t have a copy machine.”

“Oh, okay. Where can I go to do that?”

“Ummm, I’m not really sure. The Internet Cafe across the plaza might have one.”

“Okay, danke shoen!”

“Bitte shoen!”

Now, I’m sprinting across the plaza. The Internet Cafe is a closet with three desktop PCs and a guy behind a desk.

“Hallo!” I say. “Haben sie ein…uh…copygerät?” I really hope that “copygerät” is a word.

Desk guy looks puzzled. He says some German stuff that I haven’t learned, yet. Crap, it’s probably not a word. “Danke!” I say and run out the door. Hopefully, he wasn’t offering me some free copies.

I spin around, examining the signs above the shops in the plaza. Kartoffelhaus–no. Discount Store–no. Thai Food–no. Papier–maybe? I run to Papier.

Papier is a larger closet than the Internet Cafe is. The doorway features some stationary, so I’m optimistic. I enter. The clerk is behind the counter helping a woman with some envelopes. The old woman isn’t a copy machine, so I don’t focus on her for too long. I scan the place until my eyes pass in front of the counter. There it is!

Once the clerk finishes helping the woman, I approach him.

“Hallo!” Learning a bit from my last encounter, I open this conversation differently. “Jetzt, ich spreche nicht so gut Deutsch.”

“Ah, ist okay,” he reassures me, but not exactly in a friendly way. Then, he says some B2¹ German things with an inquisitive face, so I get the message that he wants to know what I need.

“Ich suerche ein,” then I try it again “copygerät.”

“Ja, wir haben,” he says (or something like that). Maybe copygerät is a word? Or maybe he knows English.

Then I have to abandon German–I really can’t wait until we get to the “asking store clerks to help you” part of the class–and I ask “Can I make copies of these documents?”

“Ja, wie viele?” (Or something close to that).

“Drei, und drei, und drei…” I say as I show him my documents. I’m trying to say I need three of each.

“Okay.” And then he makes my copies before telling me how much and collecting his payment.

I’m done! I have my copies. Now, it’s bratwurst time. I’ll need all the energy I can get–it’s only about 20 minutes until I need to put those copies I just made to good use.

¹German courses progress from A1, A2, B1…C2, where C2 is Twain-like command of the German language. I’m a quarter of the way through A1 right now.