Munich. In Which We Meet Marat

So we arrived in Munchen at noon, 6 am our time. We slept in a raggedy fashion on the plane and were fairly ready to start our day. Language barrier: big problem. Note to Self: all agents hereafter must be skilled in the native tongue to which they are assigned.
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We fumbled our way to a train, which took us to Central Station. I practiced my German on the train conductor who spoke no English and it was a dismal failure. He didn’t respond the way my audio CD trained me he would respond, so I lost what he was sayin’. I shrugged, “I was just sayin’” and walked away.
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At Central Station, we zigged and zagged and backtracked our way pass, around and finally to the luggage lockers, got some Euros, paid the lockers and stored our luggage. We then toured Munich hands-free. Yeowsie. Everybody looks like us! Sandy haired, blue or green eyed, fair skin and prominent features. (I’m just sayin’) It was almost spiritual how I could feel our German heritage uprising and bubbling forth. Alles war gut.
---Watching the little people.
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We didn’t have much time, so we just walked through Karlsplatz. It is my understanding, when the walls surrounding the cities around here were destroyed hundreds of years ago, a 4-land road was usually constructed in the empty space, creating a nice ring around the city on which to drive. Some cities left a few of the old gates up which are now historical and beautiful. We walked through the Karlstor gate into the inner city area. Grabbed a bite at Spatenhof on the sidewalk café. I had Kasespatzle – homemade noodles with melted Bavarian Mountain cheese and cream, topped with fried onions. Tasted like pierogi’s, a taste of my childhood. Again: Heaven. T had wiener schnitzel mit fries. B.o.r.i.n.g. We people-watched and admired all the people who look like us. Our waiter was amused with our “Germlish.”
With a hearty Bavarian meal under our belt, we continued on the Neuhauserstrasse, admiring the Glockenspiel and climbing the 306 steps up St. Peter’s Cathedral for an unbeatable vciew of the city. While up there, we had a bird’s eye view of the Glockenspiel performance. (when the clock strikes 11, noon and 5, the ((fake)) Bavarian dancers come out and dance in circles, much like a grandfather clock.)
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At 5, we ran down the 306 winding, curving, narrow steps to meet Marat, our couch-surfing host, at the Rischart Bakery at 5:05. He was, at that point, a complete stranger, with whom we were to spend the night. And with that exciting cliff-hanger, I’ll bid you goodnight.
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-PS. Bottom photo was taken as we strolled through the English Garden. What a beautiful time of year to be here!