First and second impressions

Everything up to this was written back in September! I have put it up anyway, even though I will skip a long period of time now, or at least skim over it, and write more about recent events.

But first, the skimming.

Germany is a great country. It is very strong economically and politically (for now). People pay about as much tax as in Quebec, and as soon as you start making 52 000 Euros/year, you pay up 45% of it in income tax. (Fortunately?) I make a lot less and only have to pay 10% income tax. Add to that around 5 % solidarity tax (to help reunify the country), 1-2 % Church tax (if you are Christian). Then, regardless of your income, 20% pension, 6% unemployment insurance and about 15% mandatory medical insurance.

Munich in itself is one of the most expensive cities to live in Germany, but the average income is correspondingly high. It is a beautiful city, with an "old part" like many big cities in Europe. I live pretty much in the old part, and pay dearly for it, in a neighborhood called Altstadt (literally meaning "old city"); it also happens to be very close to the Isar - the city's river. The region in which I make my temporary home also happens to be the gay town, although you don't notice it much unless you walk into a local bar. Actually, the bars around here are quite nice and known throughout the city, and often frequented by a mixed gay and straight clientele. Personally I like going out close by because then I can just walk home!

While you can walk into a (gay) bar and be invited to have a drink by a (gay) couple, as has happened to me recently, most of the locals are not always so friendly. In fact, I find Bavarians (Munich is in Bavaria) quite cold compared to most germans. At least in Munich. It takes a while for them to warm up to you, and I mean longer than I'm used to back in Canada. There is a reason why I biked to work for the two months I worked between the beginning of my contract and the winter holidays, aside from doing some physical activity, impressing the locals with my winter biking and saving some money on public transit. I didn't like the way people looked at me when I walked into the subway. Heck, I didn't like that they looked at me, period. I usually sat down and took out my book before deigning to notice whether they turned their disapproving looks on all the other passengers as well. I'd like to think they did.

I'd like to make a note about my price comparison "style". If something costs 1.75 Euros in Munich and CA $2.00 back home, I will consider that it is cheaper here even though when converting 1.50 Euros you get CA $2.40. This is because people here make, on average, approximately the same number of Euros (25 000 Euros/year) as the number of CA $ made on average in Quebec (~ CA $24 000/year ). These numbers are from 2005, and represent income after taxes; in fact the number for Munich is after taxes AND pension/social benefits AND insurance, whereas the number for Montreal is only after taxes. So in fact it should be lower. Thus relative to the income, 1.75 Euros is cheaper than CA $2.00.

That said, food here is generally cheaper (if you shop at the lower-price grocery stores, which by my Canadian standards still have much better food than back home). I can eat well for one month for 150 Euros at most. When I lived in Ontario, it cost me about CA $200/month.

On the other hand, rent in Munich is exorbitant. I pay a pretty 320 Euros/month for a cute 12 m2 room. It includes the flat rate for heat, electricity and water, but my german roomate still occasionally chides me for leaving the heat/light on. No big fuss about water in our apartment, but people are generally more careful than in Quebec, and 30-minute showers are not very common at all. Since every single room and every slot that has a volume also has a door here, an apartment of roomates usually doesn't have a living room, since each room can be used as a bedroom. There might not be much space on the streets and throughout the country in general (Europe is so crowded, and whatever you think I mean by this, it's actually worse; it's difficult to imagine if you haven't been, but I will get back to this later), but the Germans make up for it with big rooms. My room is considered a closet, an 18 m2 room is starting to be decent, normally what a student can afford. Ideally a bedroom, when living with roomates (flatmates here), would be 20 m2 or more. You'll only live in it for a year, and you barely have enough furniture to cozily furnish a room the size of mine? No problem, it's still got to be big. Just spread the furniture out, whatever. Well, I am more than happy with my room, I can reach a decent number of things from my bed. If I want to go jogging, I do it outside. I can't have more than one guest at a time - I was provided with an extra mattress by the landlady! - although one time I did have two...guests... But do I really want 3 people snoring in my room?

Initial excitement

What happens when you put a Canadian in Munich for the first time? She somehow learns how to say “Do you speak English?” in German. Then said Canadian says “Max Planck Institute (für Physik)” to everyone around until someone can help her understand which way to she needs to go.

Thus begins my stay in Munich. Well, not quite, let’s rewind a bit.

The flight was good although leg room was budgeted to the cubic centimeter. An elderly lady from Nova Scotia – but originally a Cehoslovakian refugee -, deaf in her right ear, and I had a bit of conversation, and she seemed quite interested in my CD case (thanks Jer!), wanting to know the brand and where she could get one. She also asked me what kind of film I used in my digital camera (although of course she did not know it was a digital camera until I told her). Then, a quick transition in Zurich, and a short flight to Munich, where Sophie’s father picked me up.

Half an hour later, I was falling in love with Dietersheim, the 1500-people village where the Diener’s live, on the outskirts of Munich. I met Charlie, the family dog, and Nemo and Luke, the two cats. I was shown to my room (of which I will attach a picture), which was set up very nicely with a vase and a bowl of snacks. Mr. Diener had to return to work, so I took a quick nap and then set off for Munich. This is where the first paragraph comes in. I found the MPI and met some members of the group I will be working in.

When I got back to Dietersheim, I had dinner with Sophie’s parents and younger sister, and went straight to bed.

The next morning (Thursday), Sophie’s friends prepared brunch and then went to pick her up at the airport. Upon their return, we fiested on a typically german breakfast, and enjoyed everything from spanish pie to buns, jam, cheese, cold cuts, cake, tea, coffee, etc.

You get the idea. All set up prettily on the large kitchen table.

Sophie was bent on getting over her jetlag by not sleeping until nightfall, so we drove again to the MPI, where I was served some paperwork to do at home (they even gave me a helpful list of all the paperwork I would have to do), and then we walked with Charlie (who’d happily ridden in the car with us) through the northern end of the English Garden, a park the size of, well, I haven’t been everywhere in it yet, but comparable to the Mont-Royal park.

On the way back, I discovered first hand Munich traffic. As the city is fairly central in Europe, and hence several national and international highways pass through it, taking it to the coveted title of European city with worst traffic. Basically, what should be a 15-minute drive becomes a hour-long drive, and this at any time in the day. The locals know other routes, off the highway, through small towns, but even those do not completely eliminate the time spent in traffic. The trains (both underground and above) are therefore often the fastest means of travel.

In the evening, we went out again. We headed to a student bar – cheaper – where several of Sophie’s friends joined in for an evening of casual drinking and reunion. It’s incredible how fast one who never spoke German outside of the classroom is able to produce (albeit broken) sentences in this complicated language when one must. So I spent the evening throwing around words and conversed with some of Sophie’s friends who were more fluent in English, and mostly tried to pick up bits of conversation here and there. I think at this rate, I will be able to order 5 beers – instead of 3 as I can now – within two months!

The next morning we woke bright and early (well, 9h45 for me) to get ready to be picked up and head to the Oktoberfest (Wiesn in German) – the world’s biggest beer festival and party – by noon. The place opens at 9h00am, we arrived in one of the tents at noon, and we barely managed to find a few squeezed seats at one table amongst a multitude of drunken men.

Little aside about the Wiesn:

On the site, there are about 15 big tents, each housing over 4000 people (I’d say over 5000 even), squeezed 10 at a table, often more. There are also numerous smaller tents, and rides (roller-coasters and Orbit-like rides too) set up throughout the festival, not to mention all the stalls selling souvenirs and food. Many visitors and all the waiters and waitresses are dressed in traditional Bavarian garb.

Each tent serves one kind of beer specific to it, and the ones known internationally usually attract the Americans and Asians, leaving the other tents, like the one we drank in, for some genuine german partying. Beer is served in one-liter mugs (current price per mug is around 7-8 Euros), and we brought our own food, illegitimately, as we didn’t want to spend a fortune on two meals. Because, as you shall read further down, we spent about 12 hours around this tent.

End of aside.

Six hours in a tent surrounded by 5000 drunk people, listening to Bavarian music, shouts and other vociferations, might drive some nuts, but I liked it. The nice drunk men at our table would spiced up the atmosphere by occasionally poke us in the ribs and pretending it wasn’t them, or by asking for the 9^th time if the Canadian girl spoke french.

At 6pm, some tables – including the one we were sitting at - were reserved for folk who’d booked them a year ahead, and we had to move outside to the beer garden, where we witnessed physical assaults involving impatient tourists who were forcefully trying to get inside the tent, which was now closed to the general public. In fact, even those with reservations were not allowed to return inside the tent if they decided to leave during the evening. Outside, we met a few italians and germans sitting at the same table as us.

We drank and ate some more, while inside the party was warming up. Eventually, one of our tablemates let us know that what could be seen within the tent was absolutely incredible. I wanted to see, so he took me to a window and indeed, everyone was standing on the benches (it is forbidden to stand on the tables and people somehow respect that), drinking and dancing. It’s difficult to imagine, but seeing is absolutely breathtaking. All these women and men having such a blast, looking so happy, and so many of them! Mario, my “guide”, managed to sneak in with the help of a waitress who just happened to open a back door when we walked by. I was so shocked by the scene inside, that I followed him all the way to his friends’ table, where the celebration swept me off my feet, and I found myself standing on the benches with other merry people, and dancing to hits like “Summer of ‘69”! Eventually I had to go back to Sophie, who was probably worried since she thought we’d just gone to have a look inside.

Before leaving, we managed to get VIP passes and after talking to Sophie, we went back inside the tent. Mario took good care of me, making sure I didn’t get lost in the crowd and that I always had a spot on a bench. Oh, and, erm, that I didn’t fall over.