Munich is the Sex Bomb
Well, it feels like it anyway. I think I've heard the song more in my 30 hours here than I have in my entire life to this point. Started with the taxi driver singing along on my ride from the airport. He's no Tom Jones. Since then, it's been frequently emanating from the many "Adult Entertainment Centers" or "Men Only" or simply "Sexy Sexy Sexy" joints that flank my hotel. Hint: doesn't matter how nice the hotel looks on the web, or even how nice it is inside - when in Munich, don't stay on the south side of the train station (Hauptbanhof in case the opportunity arises). Of course, if you're here for a bachelor party, this is definitely the place.
Other than the sex bombs exploding everywhere, Munich has been rather interesting ... lovely weather - sunny and 70 - and lots to explore. Got in at about 2 pm yesterday and promptly took a 10 minute stroll down to the Oktoberfest. Damn - what a huge to do! Reminded me very much of the Garden State Fair, only bigger and with huge ass beer hall tents set up (must be 1,000-2,000 people in each, maybe?). That's where the drinking took place, and damn me for not bringing my camera. There was a stage set up at the far end kind of on the 2nd or 3rd level hanging out a bit over the crowd with cheesy ass music playing. Not one, but two of the bands that I saw in different tents included someone playing the guitar/keyboard device not seen since Kids Incorporated - in red, no less. The halls themselves were PACKED - mostly with frat boy types and their ilk singing those football (soccer) chants that sound like out of tune NKOTB (oh, oh, ooooooh, oh!) and dancing on tables. But there were grandparent types there, too.
Suprisingly, not just on the grounds but throughout the streets of Munich, there are plenty of folks, young and old, wearing traditional German garb utterly without irony. I'm guessing this is the Oktoberfest clothing - just what you wear. But still...the britches, men in leatherish shorts and quasi-elfin shoes...like little drunk Hummels walking around everywhere. Some types had punked them up, and I saw several slutty-looking St. Pauli girl gone bad (picture Heidi with surgically enhanged bosoms bursting round her apron strings and fishnets). Pierced guys with ruffled shirts...
Anyway, I mostly walked around the carnival portion - you know, the music express, ferris wheel, high swings, knock cans down with a ball for a cheesy and uncomfortably hard stuffed animal) and did finally have a beer (albeit a half liter - not the huge-ass ones) just to have done so, but I was entirely too sober and alone to really feel I've done the thing.
Then I had a good nap back in the room and headed out for dinner. Walked through the old town (the residual parts of the wall that used to surround it from mideval times is still up!) and through the pedestrian zone to the glockenspeil where I had a sausage and sauerkraut dinner complete with another beer. I sat facing the glockenspeil in anticipation of an 8 pm performance that did not occur, but at least I was not alone, as about three dozen other people in the square were standing there staring and waiting as the bells rang the hour - some with camcorders ready. At least I had my food in front of me and thus did not feel silly waiting for nothing. Instead, the accordion player nearby really started going at it, playing, what I believe to be "I Need a Hero". After I finished, I walked past on my way home and he was fervently stomping and hemming to a sizable audience to what I couldn't quite figure out, but finally identified as "Pop Goes the World", although the artist claims it to be his own composition (no, I did not by the CD).
Today was the Expo Real convention (god, I hate conventions - this one's kind of like the ICSC thing I go to in Vegas each year, but without the easy sleazy that is vegas's due' rather, they try to force the gaity here by piping Kool & the Gang's Celebration in an almost constant loop). The conference facilities are a bit nicer than vegas, though - with more places to sit and escape for a bit, including nice outside spots. Welcome to Las Vegas - land of no chairs. ('xept in front of the slot machines which are a 20 minute walk). The food offerings sucked though, with Leberkase sandwiches as the preferred menu item. Leberkase was the poopy joke of my study abroad in Bavaria nearly 9 years ago (gag). Literally translated, it means "Liver Cheese". It is a mysterious gray meet speckled with chunks of ... ???? I shall never let it cross my palate again.
Alright, time to go to my so-soft-it's-actually-uncomfortable bed. Tomorrow is final day of convention (this is not that bad, this is not that bad, this is not that bad) and then Wednesday, bright and ugly, I begin the long journey back to Boston.
In the meantime, take this lesson: the collective pooping on the national German legacy of Bach, Beethoven, and Wagner may begin and end with David Hasslehoff, but there's a lot of scary stuff in between as well!
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