"MUNICH - DON'T GO IN OKTOBER" a Munich Travel Page by JohnnySpangles

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SOME OLD PIANO FACTORY. WHY INDEED?

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I wasn’t there for very long, and the short time I was there was occupied by a nosebleed that wouldn’t stop. I can remember a very nice square with gothic architecture and a big clock that seemed to serve the purpose of pulling in the tourists. However when the big moment came for it to strike at midday, and for the cavalcade of animated figures to go through their paces, most of the tourists were too busy watching me standing in a pool of my own blood desperately trying to staunch the flow with bits of rolled-up newspapers. It did finally stop bleeding at around teatime, after my legs and arms had gone all floppy and there wasn’t any blood left in them.

I spent most of the evening in one of the beer halls, probably the Hofbrauhaus. These are cavernous aircraft-hangers with an oompapah band at one end and trestle tables from wall to wall. It’s quite a simple concept; you drink gallons of fizzy booze, link arms with the drinkers at the table and then sway from side to side until you vomit. I’d almost forgotten about something to eat in all the excitement. I’d been looking forward to a large plate of Teutonic sausages. Unfortunately by the time I’d left the beer hall all the sausage vendors had shut up shop and gone home. So there wasn’t a sausage to be had in Munich, not even for ready cash.

Sauasageless, but in need of food to convert into blood lest I collapse, I committed the most heinous of crimes that you can do in a foreign country. I know there is no excuse but there was nowhere else open. I tried to find something a little more Bavarian. I hunted high and low for even the smallest smackerel of sauerkraut or the stingiest smidgeon of schnitzel. There was nothing to be found and I had no choice, so I grudgingly ordered ein Gross Mac und Pommes. So heed my wise advice. If you wish to gorge yourself on spicy Bavarian sausages, washed down with fine German wines, then eat early in Munich. Otherwise you’ll end up eating the same old globalised crap that you can get down your local high street. If you want some further advice, although this time it’s second-hand, avoid Munich like the plague in October. This is the time of the Munich Beer Festival, and an excuse for every English football hooligan to exchange breaking heads on the terraces for a weekend of breaking heads on trestle tables instead. Makes you proud to be British, doesn’t it?