German Interlude.

[MANICHAEAN]

Cafe Schiller.

He sat in a bar in Munich's Schillerstrasse. It was one of those sports themed establishments that had seen better days. In contrast to the nearby Marienplatz; with it's monuments, tourists & expensive department stores, Cafe Schiller was flanked on one side by a strip club & opposite by a succession of cheap hotels convenient for the main Bahnhof nearby. He reflected on the location being a more interesting part of the city. It was where people lived, bred, ate and died. Turkish food shops whose colourful produce expanded out onto the pavement, intermingled with doner kebab outlets and downmarket barbers; the latter with little or no pretension to attaining the status of "coiffeurs."

It being his kind of neighbourhood, he was at ease there. Inside the Cafe he had ordered "eine
bier bitte," in what he trusted was passable German. The Ethopian proprietress had brought it
without a word, the dark brown face devoid of expression. Around the walls hung numerous
exhibits of boxing memorabilia from Max Schmeling to Muhammed Ali. Framed & signed photos,
gloves, even dressing gowns adorned the walls. Many featured the inclusion of what he
presumed to be the owner of the establishment.

In contrast to pictures of "The Greatest," lithe, substantial and fleet of foot; the bar contained a couple of middle aged, silent customers who interspersed their beers with trips outside to
smoke on the pavement. A chalk board in the centre of the bar advertised Hungarian goulash
or "bratwurst" as the menu choices of the day, but he was naturally cautious of the quality of
such fare in a place with so few clientele.

The Bavarian Weiss beer was good, clear and fresh in the mouth. He observed, enter what he
presumed to be two youngish strippers destined for next door, who seated themselves way
down in the back of the bar away from the prospect of any unwelcome approaches. Enough of
that was to be endured once they started work.

Outside, yellow taxis lined up in a designated lane awaiting business, whilst itinerant
backpackers and bescarfed Muslim women passed by on the pavement. It was hard, not to say
ironic, to reconcile this scene, this city, as the birthplace of the Nazi party, of a
ranting, emerging crysilas that begat Hitler, of beer hall speeches and putsches, the spiritual
nexus of so much that was historically significant and evil.

[MANICHAEAN]

The Confusing Playmate:

Glancing through a German newspaper yesterday morning, my eye was caught by a striking nude photo of one Anji Nejarri, who I was informed had been the German playmate of 2006, and who was due to feature that evening in a TV film entitled "Die Trixxer." Underneath was another picture of the same young lady, this time suitably dressed in a business suit, her hands in the air, surrounded by Special Forces in balaclavas, carrying semi-automatics. The caption read "Hande Hoch" which I believe is the equivalent of "Stick em up!" Although my knowledge of the German language is somewhat limited, I felt that in this case at least, I had some prior knowledge of what to expect for an evenings entertainment & thus might be able to follow the plot.

Retiring to bed I commenced to watch. The film basically was about a confidence trickster gang of which Miss Nejarri was a member. But, whereas with her pedigree one might be led to expect a striking blonde getting up to all sorts of romantic escapades, she seemed to be the
only one devoid of any such experience. For a start, her addition of clothes resulted in an
impression of what the Americans term "heavy on the hoof." She bulged out adequately in all
the right places all right, but in this case the business suits gave more the impression of a
matron with potential. It was not helped by the fact, that like so many German women I have
recently observed, they are so businesslike! "U vant frustuck ya? Ak so. Sitzen. Ich komm."

In this particular case, poor Anji had no sex life, but had a father who was tall, grey, dressed
in black and had a goatee beard. Everyone else seemed to be hitting it off in caravans that rocked on their undercarriages up in mountain meadows or in Tyrolean barns to cry's of "Ya,
Ya, das ist wunderbar!"

I think actually I am being too unkind, for in the history of literature, there has been so much written about feminine aspects, ranging from "a touch of the vapours" to "smouldering looks beneath hooded eyes." I'm still not sure though on how that that fits into the German model? Perhaps as I have already noted; there is the potential. I just need to get past the glacier and attain the broad, sunlit uplands.

[MANICHAEAN]

The Greatest Loser.

It was inevitable that there would be a Teutonic twist to weight watcher TV in Germany. I must confess to a somewhat morbid interest in this aspect of life. Maybe a touch of, "There but for the Grace of God, I will be going if I don't get this weight under control." But consuming vast quantities of beer & sausage on this short holiday, I'm the one that is becoming the real loser.

I had previously been drawn by the American version of "The Greatest Loser" & all the breast beating of how increased weight had affected the contestent's lives, marriages and general mobility. The frightening thing was, that I was beginning to relate to it. Small things at first: difficulty in tying my shoe laces, trousers that no longer fitted, or were no longer seemed available to buy and making heavy going climbing a few stairs.

Then the realisation that there was no quick fix. Spurts of determination coupled with exercise & diets ensued. But reality came that it was a battle for life, with no time off for good behaviour. God only knows how jockeys and models maintain that tenacity of self discipline required to attain the correct body weight and then keep it. Research into the subject was depressing. You get into all that stuff about "body mass index" and how you are recommended
to lose unbelievable amounts to get that magic number on the scales. Paranoia
sets in, weighing yourself like a boxer, normally daily, early morning after a purge.

Then there were the diets themselves, from the normal to what one might term the paranormal. One such of the latter, was an Indian one contributed by a friend of mine whereby you could eat as much as you liked of particular foods, but only on specific days. It was termed a 7 day detox diet guaranteed to lose so much weight by the target date. Braced by the short time span, I gave it my all. It did work, but my God, I would never have been able to keep it up. Day one was nothing but bananas & water. As much as you liked. Believe you me, after the fourth banana, it puts you off that particular fruit for life. Day two was worse with nothing but tomatoes. Day three was hell : bananas & tomatoes!

My doctor did not help. At the annual checkup he gave me the usual lecture. Said he could recommend a good health farm where they guaranteed to charge you an arm and a leg to reduce you to skeletal proportions. Most probably run by Im Jon Il !!!

But back to the German saga. Two obese 33 year old men & one obese dog endeavouring to jointly lose weight. Throw in a wife who had her own problems in the kilo department and who delighted in placing before them daily, huge amounts of cream cakes, apfelstrudel and sauerkraut. The two men had a personal trainer and so did the dog. I'm still not sure if it was intended to be funny, but it certainly put a twist on it!

[MANICHAEAN]

2011.

He had lost three friends last year, one very close. Thus it was, he had needed an interlude to get away from everyone and all that was familiar, for healing like grief comes in many forms. Munich had been that backwater, that quiet spot, the pool where the ripples of interrupted existence could effectively settle.

The words of the mass seemed so relevant and required.

" I give you peace. My peace I give you."

Memories of the dead he reflected, had depended on where one had been on that remorseless
timeline and 2011 had been no exception; defining the dead, as it were, from countless eyes.

His close friend had been one of those rare men who had been rigid to himself and indulgent to others, and his assets of hopefulness had incorporated a sort of georgeous superfluity about them. There had been an almost necessary lightness in the days after, an affirmation of achievement rather than pain.

But then he realised looking back on 2011, that his loss had not been unique. Every death, whether an author admired, an athlete cheered or a celebrity viewed from afar had their moments of loss and redemption.

Liz Taylor aged 79. All those marriages and divorces that begat ostentatious jewels, years of lavish spending and fighting and drinking and lovemaking.

He remembered also from childhood, James Arness, that 6 foot 7 inch actor who played Marshal Matt Dillon in "Gunsmoke" and who seemed then to define a symbol of what an American hero should be: strong, compassionate, resolute and resilient, slow to anger but
extremely dangerous to cross.

There had even been instances of a negative virtue in the death of the bad guys. Osama bin Laden was dead, but lower Manhatten was more alive than ever.

He knew that tomorrow the holiday would be complete. All sombre thoughts of death would be left as so much dross where it had germinated in southern Bavaria. Perhaps it had not been the most opportune location to brood. An Anglo-Saxon perspective would have been an almost superficially lighter alternative. As Winston Churchill had once responded on the subject, "I am quite prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared to meet me is another matter."

[Hawkman]

Interesting observational pieces, Man, nice little snapshots, but I'm afraid you've mis-spelled Schmeling's name, although I suspect this was the result of an over-zealous spell checker.

In this first tale the closing statement (as worded) lacks clear resolution, as by including, "in endeavouring" within the rather lengthy and convoluted sentence, you give an impression that there is more to follow, when you actually put the payoff of, "this city," in the middle. try this:

"It was hard, not to say ironic, to reconcile this scene, this city, with the birthplace of the Nazi party and the emergance of the ranting crysilas that was Hitler, the spiritual nexus of so much that was historically significant and evil."

Much pithier and more coherent, I think.

Live and be well - H

[MANICHAEAN]

Thanks Hawkman

The bit you referred to did get a touch too verbose. Most probably the result of all those steins!

A Happy and Creative New Year to you.

Best regards
M.

[Hawkman]

You're welcome, and thanks for your New Year's felicitations. Same to you :D

Live long and propser - H

[MANICHAEAN]

Today I fell in love at Munich's Franz Joseph Airport. No, it was not the striking Fraulein with the plaited blonde hair and Nordic features at the buffet/ bar, though I must confess I was tempted.

I came across an alternate beauty, crafted with love, inspired by passion, sleek, sensual, the potential ride of a lifetime. I refer to a show model Audie A7 Sportback 3.0 TDI quattro 245PS 7-speed S tronic, twin carb, leather seated, state of the art "Vorsprung durch Technik" automobile.

For men still in possesion of even the most limited reservoir of testosterone, good cars are like good women. Love at first sight does exist, and I had been bitten.

I examined her lines, her rear, the cut of her carriage and the controls, where any man handpicked by the gods could control this magnificent machine.

The price tag said €48,000, and for most mortals this was an extravagance to be ignored in today's depressed circumstances. But what the hell, perchance to dream.

I always remembered an interview with Michael Caine I had once seen, who when asked, "How do you maintain the motivation to make new films, now that you have already made more than enough money?" responded " Oh, every time I do a film, I treat myself. A Rolls Royce, a penthouse in Canary Wharf, whatever. That gives me something to aim for." I suppose there is
a form of logic in this way of thinking. It brought to mind that other saying by one American lady whose name escapes me, of "The only difference between the men and the boys is the size of their toys!"

If that's the case, then fine. Let's put back the clock and go back to childhood.

[Steven Hunley]

This made me wanna go visit Germany and see what was what. The bit about late actors was touching, and the bit about the car was something that women should never read, it's much too revealing!

[WolfLarsen]

A good piece. A very good piece. I can remember when I was traveling through Europe as a long-haired backpacker with a eurorail pass and eating in so many places like that, from Germany and Italy to Spain. And in Latin America from Mexico to Brazil. And in Asia nearly everywhere. It's modest places in the modest neighborhoods that give you the best material, it's right there in front of your eyes.

On the fringes of society is where the interesting is.

In the fancier places where everybody has "good taste" is so dull. There's nothing there. Nothing much to write about. Nothing much interesting anyway.

[Emil Miller]

2011.

He remembered also from childhood, James Arness, that 6 foot 7 inch actor who played Marshal Matt Dillon in "Gunsmoke"


It brought to mind that other saying by one American lady whose name escapes me, of "The only difference between the men and the boys is the size of their toys!"

Which brings to mind that other saying by Mae West who, after asking a young actor how tall he was, said: "Never mind the six feet, let's talk about the seven inches."

[MANICHAEAN]

Thanks Emil for the humour. I'd never heard that one from Mae West before. Her repartee, in line with her public image was always a delight.

Wolf. It is obvious, that being a fellow traveller, it is of no use me recommending places on this planet where you can say "Manichaean sent me," whether it be tin roofed shabeens in Cape Town, dodgy dives in Mountain View,*Kingston, Jamaica or parts of Kampala or Lagos where you invariably are obliged to fight your way in, and with the aid of Divine Providence and perchance more conflict, emerge unharmed.

Thank you for your encouragement, but more importantly you would appear from an alternate rather vocal thread to be in need of another Grand Tour yourself. A new country, like a new woman, is there to be explored and may give you the breakthrough you seem to be striving for. *If you require a suitable itinerary, I would be only to happy to make suggestions.

Best regards to you both.
** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * M.

[AuntShecky]

These are, as a previous commentator pointed out, "snapshots" rather than a unified story. That's okay, but I'd prefer some kind of theme linking them all together, rather than the obvious geographical one.

Try to catch errors, such as the one in a very early sentence:
"its monuments" not "it's monuments."

Nevertheless, your postings are always enjoyable to read where it's very rare not to find something new.

[Emil Miller]

Thanks Emil for the humour. I'd never heard that one from Mae West before. Her repartee, in line with her public image was always a delight.

Wolf. It is obvious, that being a fellow traveller, it is of no use me recommending places on this planet where you can say "Manichaean sent me," whether it be tin roofed shabeens in Cape Town, dodgy dives in Mountain View,*Kingston, Jamaica or parts of Kampala or Lagos where you invariably are obliged to fight your way in, and with the aid of Divine Providence and perchance more conflict, emerge unharmed.

Thank you for your encouragement, but more importantly you would appear from an alternate rather vocal thread to be in need of another Grand Tour yourself. A new country, like a new woman, is there to be explored and may give you the breakthrough you seem to be striving for. *If you require a suitable itinerary, I would be only to happy to make suggestions.

Best regards to you both.
** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * M.

Thanks Manichaean, Christmas is perhaps not the best time to visit Munich, which is one of the cities of my misspent youth, but here's a reminder of what I hope was, nevertheless, an interesting visit.

http://img808.imageshack.us/img808/3553/cafeschiller1.jpg


And here's a reminder of the misspent youth.


http://img209.imageshack.us/img209/2594/ausisdirndl.jpg

[MANICHAEAN]

Emil

Cafe Schiller has not changed much from your top photo & I trust my first story did not deter the memories of your youthful evenings spent in constructive dissipation at this establishment. Muhammad Ali's image left hand corner is still there and to put it into some sort of time frame, he is 70 years of age on the 17th January.

I have tried, but have not been able to recognise the identity of the subsequent image.

My very best wishes.
M.

[Emil Miller]

Emil

Cafe Schiller has not changed much from the your top photo & I trust my first story did not deter the memories of your youthful evenings spent in constructive dissipation at this establishment. Muhammad Ali's image left hand corner is still there and to put it into some sort of time frame, he is 70 years of age on the 17th January.

I have tried, but have not been able to recognise the identity of the subsequent image.

My very best wishes.
M.

Well I didn't take the photo, I got it off of the net, but not having an interest in sport it is the kind of place I would have avoided anyway.
Here are some of the places I used to drink in when I used to visit Munich from Nuremberg where I was living as an impecunious factory worker. Luckily I was able to stay with friends who knew the city well so I soon found myself drinking in some interesting places.

http://img829.imageshack.us/img829/4048/p1020406s.jpg

This is a very famous place where high-ranking Nazis used to meet before the war.

http://img848.imageshack.us/img848/113/muenchenp1070523.jpg

This is possibly the oldest wine house in Munich.

http://img710.imageshack.us/img710/4237/ingressomarienplatz.jpg

The Ratskeller beneath the Town Hall on Marienplatz.

http://img823.imageshack.us/img823/8936/cafetambosi.png

This was called the Cafe Anast when I knew it.

[MANICHAEAN]

The Ratskeller I visited but it was too tourist orientated for me. The others you show look like they have potential and will add to my list next time I go to Munich, preferably when it's warmer.

Couple of interesting ones with the Hitler connection were:

Schelling Salon at Schellingstrasse 56 where he stopped going once they refused to extend his tab. So he migrated to the Osteria Bavaria, ( now called the Osteria Italiana ) at the corner of Schellingstrasse & Schraudolfstrasse.

[Emil Miller]

The Ratskeller I visited but it was too tourist orientated for me. The others you show look like they have potential and will add to my list next time I go to Munich, preferably when it's warmer.

Couple of interesting ones with the Hitler connection were:

Schelling Salon at Schellingstrasse 56 where he stopped going once they refused to extend his tab. So he migrated to the Osteria Bavaria, ( now called the Osteria Italiana ) at the corner of Schellingstrasse & Schraudolfstrasse.

Thanks for mentioning the Schelling Salon it's quite an amazing place with former customers like Rilke, Brecht and Lenin. It has remained in the same family since it was built and it's interesting to read its history on their website without a mention of Hitler anywhere. I bet they wouldn't have refused to extend his tab after 1933.
The Osteria Bavaria was also host to Unity Mitford when she was Hitler's girlfriend.
Here is a picture of Adolf leaving the osteria after he became Fuhrer:

http://img208.imageshack.us/img208/8453/1hitler.jpg