Beer.
Danny had a plan.
Our first evening in the beautiful city of Munich was to be spent paying homage to the locals, because, not only is Munich the capital of Bavaria, but also the capital of beer.
Having contributed nothing more to the planning than ‘what’re you wearing?’ Ellie and I were not about to argue, so, glad of the comfy footwear and guided by Google, we follow Danny and his phone for the twenty-minute walk from our hotel, across the River Isar, into the heart of the city.
We are heading for the world famous Hofbrauhaus, a beer hall serving Hofbrau beer from 9.00 am to midnight, 365 days a year to, depending on which website you’re looking at, between three and five thousand revellers.
Well it would be rude not to go in wouldn’t it?
We enter the vast hall and are assaulted by the resounding uproar only a few thousand determined boozers can produce. Beneath the racket we detect the melodious strains of Bavarian folk music as the band, resplendent in full traditional garb, valiantly play on, in a bid to add a little harmony to the chaotic yet joyful hullabaloo.
Waiters clad in lederhosen and collarless jackets and waitresses wearing the pretty Bavarian costume known as dirndl weave amongst the rows of beer-laden tables with characteristic German efficiency as they deliver, without the aid of a tray, not two or three beers at a time to their thirsty patrons, but at least eight.
Eight!
There is only one size of beer in the Hofbrauhaus. You cannot have a small or a large beer. You have a stein. That’s it.
Neither can you visit the Hofbrauhaus without having at least one.
We watch, mesmerised as these glistening barrels, clasped to the waiters and - even more incredibly – the waitress’ chests are held as securely and safely as cherished children.
It’s impossible, we declare, unable to believe our eyes. What if one of them were to trip, we wonder, wickedly hoping one would.
Having witnessed such masterful strength and balance, I am ashamed to admit I struggle to lift my single stein even with two hands!
We find the bottom of our glasses eventually and stagger off in search of a sausage and to sample more of this city’s hospitality. Which I would tell you about, but alas, I can’t remember!
More beer
We are determined to walk, to see the sights, to tour the city on an open top bus.
If we are to believe our iPhones, we certainly walked - twelve kilometres one day and fifteen kilometres the next.
You might imagine that a leisurely stroll around Munich would not present a problem but there is a network of abundant cycle paths traversing the entire city, not easily noticed by the hapless and often witless tourist.
Add to that a peloton of cyclists seemingly training for the Tour de France, or more likely on their way for a beer and you find yourself leaping for your life if: you are foolish enough to chat with your companions; daft enough to stick headphones in your ears and listen to music; walk and simultaneously read your guidebook or follow the map on your phone.
These cyclists charge up behind you, vigorously tinkle their little bells and adamantly refuse to slow down.
For the sake of our lives, we try very hard to obey the rules and not stray onto those perilous paths.
We do however struggle with the crossing the road rule that demands that nobody, absolutely nobody crosses the road until the little green man says so.
Even when there is not a car in sight. In any direction. Anywhere.
I’m not talking navigating the equivalent of spaghetti junction here, but a simple street no wider than ten yards.
For the most part, we are obedient, but once or twice we risk getting shot by the green men police and do the English thing and make a run for it.
The pedestrianized city centre offers us safety from little green men but unfortunately not cyclists. Despite the danger, we make it to the central square unscathed and join a huge crowd of people waiting for the town hall’s famed chimes and glockenspiel show of moving figures telling tales from the 16thcentury.
Sadly underwhelming.
We arrive at the open top tour bus stop twenty-five minutes early.
Beer?
The bus fills up as we drink our beer, so we’re obliged to wait for the next.
Another beer?
At least the hour on the bus keeps us off it.
But this is a city that thrives on beer. Apart from the multitude of bars and restaurants – all of which are enormous and bursting with people, it has 180 beer gardens providing for 180,000 drinkers. Almost all the main attractions in the city boast beer gardens. The beautiful English Garden, one of our hop off points, enables a mere 7000 to make merry – and this is not even the largest.
We head to the outdoor market and rather than stalls bustling with shoppers we find, in its centre, row upon row of tables packed with sausage munching beer drinkers.
It wouldn’t surprise me to see ‘I’m only here for the beer’ emblazoned on everybody’s T. Shirt.
Well, if you can’t beat ‘em …
But there is a limit. And quite frankly my trips to the loo are becoming tiresome.
Despite the beer jacket it’s cold in Munich in November and all this walking and drinking makes you hungry.
And therein lies the problem. Food.
Sausage, cabbage and a fried egg
Of course we’ve already sampled sausages from street vendors, but Bavaria is particularly famous for its weisswurst (white sausage) and they are everywhere. They may very well be delicious, but the problem is – they’re white.
Bavarian cuisine is clearly loved by Bavarians as every bar and restaurant is teeming with diners tucking into enormous helpings of something or other, accompanied by giant pretzels on the side. Presentation doesn’t seem to be an issue. Vast quantities of everything chucked on the plate will do.
There is a smell of cabbage in every establishment, not surprising, given that it features heavily on most menus. As do dumplings, liver dumpling soup, liver meatloaf, anything containing lard, cuts of meat we fail to recognise drowning in pools of gravy and topped with, weirdly, a fried egg. Yes, a fried egg.
We see someone eating a salad, also with gravy, from a dish the size of a washing up bowl.
The words Bavarian cuisine and fine dining do appear in the same sentence at the restaurant in BMW World, but our heady excitement is quashed when we realise it’s closed tonight.
All in all, I suspect MasterChef has yet to make it to Bavaria.
Our advice? When in Munich, eat Thai.
But why are we here? Is it only for the beer? Of course not.
Hans Zimmer
Not the man himself unfortunately, but his orchestra in a show entitled ‘The World of Hans Zimmer – a symphonic celebration.’
For those who are unaware, Hans Zimmer is the genius composer responsible for film scores such as Lion King, Gladiator, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Dark Knight, Inception, Madagascar, The Holiday, The Last Samurai and countless more.
The concert is staged in the Olympic Hall in Munich’s colossal Olympic Park where earlier in the day Ellie and I encourage Danny to indulge in engineer heaven at BMW World and Museum. We accompany him until we’ve seen enough models of BMW, Mini and Rolls Royce at which point we kindly let him wander around alone while we find something else to do.
Beer?
On arrival at the hall we behave in an outrageously un-English fashion by barging our way through a mob masquerading as a queue and successfully knock about twenty minutes off our waiting time.
Time enough to grab a beer…
As the musicians take their places, an anticipatory hush descends as fifteen thousand excited people fall silent. Well, except for the German couple next to Danny, who politely asks them to ‘sshhh!’ They do so, but not without a withering glare.
Nothing stirs the soul quite like the drama of orchestral music. The sound fills every part of you. It vibrates deep within you and makes your heart pound against your chest.
I defy anyone not to be moved to tears as the spiritual and mournful music from the Gladiator reverberates in every corner of this vast arena.
The stunning film sequences projected on the screens behind the orchestra transport us to the very centre of ancient Rome.
Lured from the darkness of Rome to the kaleidoscopic vibrancy of Madagascar, we delight in the jaunty melody as Gloria the Hippo struts her stuff. Disney can make a hippo sexy, but only Zimmer can make her dance.
We share in the spectacular and stirring victory of The Dark Knight and are gently soothed by the tuneful harmonies from The Holiday.
The music launches you through time, across galaxies, to the summits of mountains and the fathomless depths of oceans.
Your pummelled emotions bounce from fear to joy to triumph and despair.
We are held spellbound as The Pirates of the Caribbean surge through raging seas and the swell of the music intensifies so acutely you feel your heart is about to burst through your chest. When you reach the point where you know you can’t hold your breath for another second the orchestra clutches you ever tighter and carries you with it as it hurtles towards its magnificent crescendo.
Phew!
Uplifted and exhausted, fifteen thousand people exhale as one, and the arena erupts in thunderous and rapturous applause.
What a wonderful, emotional and unforgettable experience. Well worth the trip.
Homeward bound the following day, we arrive at the airport with two hours to spare.
Beer?
