Munich, Germany

We took the overnight train from Paris to visit Ruthie who was studying in Stuttgart. Our final destination was Munich. I have now learned from this trip - traveling in groups of three seldom works. Denise was ready to push Tara off the train, and I was exhausted. Never before (or since) have I traveled with such malice surrounding me. I am going to chalk it up to stereotypes. I am from New England, Tara is from North Dakota, and Denise is from Washington State. Translation: I am a NE liberal, Denise is a PNW adventurer, and Tara is from the bread basket of America - the land of leisure suits, bad perms and a very America centric world view (which is why we were forced to have pizza for our Thanksgiving dinner in Paris - sigh - Tara didn't like the foreign food).

The only sane thing to do was go to sleep as soon as the train pulled out of Gard du Nord. When we crossed the border we were woken and asked to hand over our passports for inspection, then we went to sleep again. I woke up a bit disoriented to see that the clientele on the train seemed to have become more up market, business like, and I asked a new passenger - are you going to Stuttgart? He looked at me - "I came from Stuttgart, I am en route to Munich." oops - we had slept through our stop, which was fortuitous. If we kept our mouths shut, and were lucky, we would get a free ride to our final destination Munich. It worked.

We finally met Ruthie, and settled in at Ingo's apartment. (Ingo was the friend of a friend we had met while he was taking a year off and traveling the world. When Ingo landed in Boston on the final leg of his journey, Mark had picked him up at Logan Airport, Ingo had a backpack, cowboy boots and was playing his guitar - his assimilated seamlessly into our circle of friends).

Denise departed for Czechoslovakia. Ruthie, Tara, Ingo and I headed back to Ingo's apartment. The train station had an amazing bakery at its exit, and Ingo picked up some pastry for our breakfast the next morning. We took a bus for a short trip to Ingo's tidy modern apartment, decorated with pictures of his round the world odyssey. Then, he collected our passports to register us with the police (it was then that I was reminded that we were in Germany).

After we unpacked and unwound from our journey, we had that night to wander the Christmas Market at Marienplatz, the central square in Munich. It was a perfect night, fueled by mulled wine (you pay a glass deposit and go back for refill after refill). German Christmas traditions are ornate and beautiful. We walked around for a little over an hour, watched the glockenspiel strike, and then went to a candlelit dinner at the Rathskeller, where people were in their best clothing, some in formal lederhosen, and the diners could bring their well behaved canine members of the family to dinner. It was quite a sight to see a beautifully dressed couple dining by candlelight with their German Shepherd sleeping under the table. I was impressed with Germany, the evening was perfect.

The next night, we went to a friend's house for dinner. It was a lovely evening, until we went to take the train back to Ingo's apt. Ingo had been in a bad bicycle accident earlier that week, and besides dinner, our purpose of the journey was to pick up his bike. It was while we were taking the escalator down into the pristine station, that a stranger started yelling at Ingo. I was in shock, and since I don't speak German, I could not understand what her issue was. Ruthie translated. She trying to make a citizens arrest for Ingo having his bike on the subway. She felt that he needed a ticket for the bike. WWII quickly came to the forefront of my mind, and to this day clouds my memories of that trip to Germany.

It was unfortunate that the next day we took the train to visit Dachau. After passing people eating a breakfast that included tall drafts of beer, and walking a short way to the former concentration camp, now museum - I realized that this camp was in the center of town. We ate lunch around the corner at a Greek restaurant. You can't help but feel haunted as you walk silently through the town and camp. You can't help but silently cry as you walk the grounds that for so many was the last earth that they would ever walk on. You can't help but imagine the misery of lives interrupted and ended. This journey through the heart of evil sobered me, and taints my world view even now, years later.

This was the end of my vacation. I had a very troubled sleep that night, and decided to leave early the next morning on the first flight out of there. I left a note for Ingo, Ruthie and Tara, grabbed my backpack, took the bus to the train station and grabbed a taxi to the airport. That taxi ride through Munich's dawn mist was beautiful. The monuments were softened, the trees framed the view from my window like a natural picture frame. The streetlights added a glow the the breaking dawn, and in this Mercedes taxi, the driver was silent and a Mahler violin concerto played from the radio.

At the airport, I was able to get on a flight to Boston, I had a few deutschmarks to use up, so I stopped in the gift shop outside of security and bought some Wustoff steak knives. At security, there was a scene, as I was trying to bring knives in my carry on. I had just bought them 10 feet away at the gift shop. I was soooo over Germany. I was being berated, and I lost it. In one of my more regrettable moments, I called the female security screener a Nazi, and asked why the hell do you sell them in security. I was very close to getting arrested for abusing a security officer. Finally, I surrendered my backpack for the airline to check in, and I was allowed to board the plane.

I have never before or since been so happy to return home after a trip.