My life in foreign lands

I'm feeling all nostaligic 'n shit today, sat around staring through my balcony doors. I feel this way several times a day, so I just sit back and let it wash over me. It can be quite enjoyable actually. Earlier this morning, and even up to a couple days ago, I was thinking about my time in Munich.

Mr Bunny worked in Munich for eighteen months, and about halfway through that time, we got married. So a while after the wedding, I took some unpaid leave from work and went over there for a couple months. And I must say I bloody loved it. Munich is the way Trinidad could be, if we were a lawful society and people saw the bigger picture and didn't have their heads up their own asses so much. The culture itself is very West Indian, which struck me as odd, as we really have had no German influence in our history. I mean, Spanish culture is basically West Indian culture (and it's ace there too) but the Spanish had a huge presence back in the day. So to see such similarities in Germany was a bit strange.

I mean, the Germans have a reputation for being dull and humourless, but in Munich they love a good party. They're very big on socialising and spending time with friends and family. But the difference is, they know when it's time to work and when it's time to play. There are laws, and they follow them to the letter. Take something as simple as crossing the street- I'm guilty of gross impatience and not always waiting for the little green man to light up. If the red man is showing and there're no cars coming, I'll dart across the road, because I mean, why wait? The road's clear, so I'm not going to get hit. So I take the chance. Pas les Allemagnes! They will wait until that green man lights up and then, and ONLY then, will they cross the road. It doesn't matter what time of the day it is, whether it's raining or snowing, or even if a car stops to wave them across (it won't but let's say it did for argument's sake); they will not cross against a red light. And it's admirable. It's the little things like that, that make a big difference. Because if they have no problem obeying such a tiny law, they have no problem following the big ones.

Life in Munich was almost idyllic. It was actually slightly insane how much I loved it. There was a bar about ten minutes from where we lived, called Egger in der Au, and it was one of our favourite places. They served wicked cocktails and awesome food. So one of our little routines was to go there at least once a week for a Munchner Schnitzel and some drinkies. On a Sunday, we'd go down to a biergarten for lunch and just to spend the afternoon. And this is where I really think the Germans (and to an extent other Europeans) have got it sussed. The beer garden is run by or linked to a brewery, so it serves that brewery's beer, much like the pub system over here. But the layout and rules are so much better. For example, you're allowed to bring your own food into the biergarten, but you have to buy their drinks. There aren't any individual tables, but long picnic benches, where you end up sitting next to people you may not know. If you don't fancy bringing your own food, you can obviously buy food there- pommes (chips), currywurst (sausage in curry sauce. The Germans love their currywurst. It is disgusting.), plain bratwurst, schweinhaxle mit kartofflen (pork joint with potato dumplings, which was actually pretty nice) or you could go inside and have access to the full menu.

What was so amazing to me, was that they actually used real cutlery there. Like actual, genuine steaknives. I mean, you try cutting a schweinhaxle with a butter or plastic knife! So this knife is porper dangerous. And it's being used by people who have been sitting around drinking for the better part of the day. And drinking ein masse of bier at a time. A masse is about a litre, by the way. AND NO ONE GETS HURT. There are no fights, no stabbings, no 'incidents'. Families come to the biergarten after church on a Sunday. Munich is very Catholic. So much so, Catholics pay an extra tax, on top of normal taxes, and this goes to the church and helps with maintenance and what not. The only way this tax is collected, is if you inform the state that you're Catholic (which you're not under any obligation to do), but it speaks to German character, that I think it's something like 52% of the population there pay this tax. But to get back on track, families come down with a basket of food (the German equivalent of a pot of pelau), sit in the biergarten all day, and just have a good time. They meet up with friends, have some drinks, have a laugh, watch their children play in the play area, and when it's time to go, they hop on their bicycles and wait for the little green man to show, before they cross the street. I would sit there with Mr Bunny (he with his iPod and a book, me with a magazine of some sort and maybe my iPod) and just watch in amazement. You'd see teens happy to be with their parents, laughing and joking, grandparents playing with young children, or just couples sitting together. I'd have to make up in my head what they were saying, because my German is atrocious. But it was all just brilliant, and it made me wish SOOO hard that Trinis would get their act together, because this is how it could be. No one was afraid that someone was going to come by and rob them, or that their car would get nicked while it was parked outside or that a fight was going to break out. It was as if everyone was on the same page and they just knew that one stupid action, would ruin the day for everyone else around. Sigh!

We'd walk home from the biergarten, maybe have an ice cream on the way back, and go home to watch a DVD or Ein Shot at Love mit Teila Tequila or other assorted non-dubbed garbage on MTV. And Mr Bunny would sort his stuff out for work that week.

Sometimes on Saturdays, we'd go up to Riem, which is a shopping centre that was built on the site of the old airport. It wasn't a great shopping centre, but the food court was excellent and there was a Mango. For some reason continental Zara and Mango stores have MUCH better lines than the ones here. Hmmmm. Plus it was about a half an hour away on the U-bahn, so it gave us something to do. I used to go myself, during the day, just to get some pizza from this place, whose name escapes me now. But I remember they did the most deelishis four cheese pizza I've ever had in my life. And I'd be all nervous in the queue waiting to be served, practising my numbers and pronunciations, so I wouldn't be the one douchebag holding up the line while the servers struggled to understand me.

Ah, sweet memories. Tune in next week for the tale of the time I went for a wax and the masseusse ended up massaging my boobs.