Hither and Yon

I woke up feeling well rested and energetic, despite having drunk half a keg of dark beer the night before. Through the small window, I could see morning light just breaking, which I figured was about 5 o'clock. I made a mental note to buy a watch while I was out.

It was Sunday and I had the entire day to explore Munich. I wanted to check in at the theatre, but other than that, I had no agenda. I showered and dressed, noticing that my foot felt quite a bit better. I made my way down the stairs and to the dining room. Tomas greeted me cheerily and brought out a plate stacked with cold cuts and cheese, a basket of fresh rolls that filled my head with warm yeasty odors, and a small carafe of coffee with milk and sugar. He came back with small bowls of mustard and butter, and I set to building a massive sandwich on an onion roll

Somewhere in the house, I heard a clock chime 7, so I hadn't been too far wrong. I ate slowly, savoring every bite, and washing it down with stout coffee, while I thought about the things I wanted to do today.

When I had finished, I asked Tomas where the matron was, so I could pay for another night. He told me she had gone off to church, so instead I headed out after getting instructions on how to get to the theatre.

I was a lovely cloudless morning with a light breeze. I turned to the left and walked a block down to the S-bahn. I checked the small sign on the pole with times and fares. It said the next car I wanted would along in 5 minutes, and true to legendary German punctuality, I could see it a ways up the street.

I had been told many times about German mass transit. If you thought the transit was early or late, it was because your watch is wrong. I hadn't put much thought to it, but with my first experience, I certainly couldn't deny it.

The street car stopped in front of me and I climbed the three steps and tood a seat in the relatively empty car. The conductor came round and I told him where I was going. He punched some keys on the ticketing machine that hung around his neck, turned a crank and it spit out a ticket. I paid the two and a half marks fare and settled back to watch the city go by.

After 30 minutes or so, the conductor came over again and said that I should get off at the next stop, then walk about three blocks north to the theatre. I thanked him for his diligence and helpfulness, and got down at the next stop.

I suddenly realized that I had forgotten to note which stop I had boarded at. I panicked for a moment, then noticed it was clearly printed on the ticket. German efficiency. I tucked the ticket in my pocket, checked the sun position and started walking north.

After a few minutes, I came into a large courtyard surrounded with several buildings in Romanesque style. I felt like I had stepped back a couple of centuries. At the far end was a magnificent building that looked more like a temple or bank than a theatre. It had a large columnated entrance across the front with an intricately carved frieze in the pediment above.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I had heard about this theatre, but nothing had prepared me for this. The building alone made everything inside seem of deep cultural importance. I had never dreamed of working in such a place. I wandered around for a few minutes, pausing here and there to gaze with my mouth hanging open at the incredible architecture. I wanted to find the stage door, but I kept getting distracted by grandeur of the façade. At last I met a groundskeeper diligently sweeping the portico.

and asked directions.

He led me to a small alleyway and pointed toward the rear and a lone set of steps. I walked back and found the standard black door with the light over it - a light which told people a show was on so no one would bang on the door. It was off now.

I knocked and waited. After a moment, there was the sound of keys and the lock turning over. The door pushed out and an elderly man in overalls and a flannel shirt stood there. I introduced myself and explained that I started work tomorrow, and just wanted to check in. He laughed softly and waved me in.

"There's no one here just now," he said in a quiet voice, as if he were standing in a cathedral or library. "I am Karl, the theatre manager. You are lucky to catch me. I was preparing to leave again when you knocked."

"Sorry to bother you," I apologized. "It's not important. I just wanted to let the Technical Director know that I had arrived and will be here in the morning."

"Just so, just so," Karl said. "No bother, come I'll give you a look around."

I followed him through a door on out onto the biggest stage I had ever seen in my life. What's more, the acoustics were so perfect I could nearly hear my heart beating. The air itself seemed to gobble up the sound of our footsteps as we stepped out into the center. The ghost lights were on and I could just make out the house. Once again, I was stunned. I had only seen theatres like this in theatre history textbooks.

The stalls were rows of plush seats in the standard auditorium style, but the rear wall went straight up three levels, with a series of openings that wrapped around the entire house. They were framed with luxurious red drapes, but the center box on the first level, which had two massive caryatids on either side and a blue and white checkered bunting that I would learn were the colors of the Bavarian flag.

"It's incredible," I muttered.

Karl laughed softly again, "Yes, everyone says that the first time."

"What is that box," I said pointing to the opulently decorated center opening.

"That is the royal box," Karl said. I looked confused and Kart obviously saw it. "There's no king now, of course," but the design was recreated from the first theatre in 1818."

I felt the antiquity close in around me. I stood in a stupor for some minutes, then remembered Karl was on his way out.

"I sorry, I was just trying to take it all in," I said. "I know you were leaving and thank you for your time."

"Oh, my pleasure," Karl responded. "You will get a full tour tomorrow as part of your orientation."

"Where are the shops?" I asked.

"They are in the long building to the side of the courtyard. But come here first tomorrow," he instructed. We will gather on the stage before going over to the shops."

I thanked Karl again and we walked back to the stage door. I looked back once again to try to wrap my mind around the size of everything, but it didn't help. Karl let me out and locked the door behind me. I wandered rather absentmindedly down the alley, trying to get a peak inside the shop area, but there were no windows. I eventually came back out onto the courtyard and stood for a time, taking it all in. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a church bell ring 9 o'clock, and I snapped out of my reverie. Now what do I do?

I meandered around aimlessly, half noting my orientation. At one point I cam upon a long pedestrian avenue lined with shops of all kinds. The smells of smoking meats and baking bread fill me head, and the avenue was populated by families dressed for church, housewives with large canvas bags doing their shopping, and vague strains of oompah music drifting around on the breeze.

I strolled down the avenue watching shop owners opening their doors for the day. I came across a watch dealers' shop and looked in the window, but the items for sale was chronometers and timepieces. All I wanted was a cheap watch.

I walked some more until I found something like a modern mall. It was still too early for the stores to open, but the small cafe outside smelled of strong coffee, so I stopped for a cup while I waited.

By the time I had finished, the mall doors were open and I went in, nearly blasted backward by the air conditioning. I wanted around the mall until I found what I wanted - a store that sold sport watches, including the new digital marvels.

When I emerged, I had a new Timex with time, date and a simple daily alarm. It set me back a bit because of the ultra-new digital technology, but the features were what i needed to be on time for work and generally keep track of "when" I was.

I looked at the time. Just after 11. I suddenly remembered one of the touristy things I wanted to do - the Glockenspiel. I asked a security guard where it was, and it turned out I was very close. I went out the door and walked up the street until a came to another large plaza with the famed mechanical wonder on one side, and a line of cafes on the other. I chose a cafe directly across from the Glockenspiel and sat down. The plaza was starting to fill up with tourists as I gave my order to the waitress.

It was one of those early summer days where you could have smelled gladiolas while standing hip deep in raw sewage. Nothing could sour such a day.

It was a little before noon and I had just been served a gloriously smoked bratwurst, a pile of saurkraut, a jumble of roasted new potatoes, and a fist-sized helping of crusty bread with spicy brown mustard on the side. I will confess right up front that I love Bavaria. The only thing better than what was in front of me, was what was sauntering up the walkway towards me – a middle-aged woman with enormous breasts and a one-liter glass of B&E beer sweating like an overweight jogger.

The woman set the glass in front of me without spilling a drop of the precious contents, as if laying a chalice on the altar. I smiled broadly and thanked her, and she wandered off humming a bright and vaguely familiar tune.

I paused a moment to take it all in. I was sitting on the edge of the Stadtplatz in central Munich. I had in front of me the quintessential German lunch and in a few minutes the world-famous Glockenspiel would put on its noon performance. The entire scene around me was something out of a travel brochure or a social studies textbook. My mind was having trouble choking it all down in such indelicate lumps.

As I stared at my meal a shadow fell across my table. I almost let out a curse at the sudden encroachment of clouds on my revelry. I tilted my head back to give God a good talking to when I beheld the occultation.

In front of me was a tall, slender German woman, whose features were, not what one might just call beautiful, but handsome of the most mouth-watering variety. The sun was behind her, giving her an aura of shimmering gold. She had long strawberry blonde hair, a square face, shockingly grey-blue eyes, and full pink lips that looked as if they might ooze nectar at any moment.

She was wearing a modest summer dress, was using little or no make-up (which was even more appealing) and was curiously carrying an umbrella for such fine weather. When she spoke, her voice had the velvety smooth Schwaebisch accent of the Bavarian dialect that could have melted a miser's heart at a hundred paces.

"Do you speak English?" she asked with a demur smile.

I shielded my eyes from her radiance and managed, "I think that's my line."

She laughed like a thousand angels singing the Hallelujah Chorus.

"May I join you? I don't want to disturb your meal," she said in a way that nearly caused me to throw myself at her feet, as I leapt up to pull out a chair.

"You don't look like a tourist," I observed.

"I think that's my line," she said, giggling in a way that nearly knocked my unconscious. "I'm a tour guide," she continued. "In a moment there will be several hundred pensioners on busses filling this area, and when the Glockenspiel has finished, they will all board the busses again and leave."

She sounded a bit melancholy at the prospect, perhaps resigned to her assignment, or maybe that mixed emotion unique to all tour guides of hating your job but unable to resist the income.

"Do you do this every day?" I asked.

"Tuesday through Saturday, noon and six in the evening," she sighed. "It's only two hours of work per day, but it's an insane amount of money," she looked almost embarrassed for soaking silver tourists of their retirement checks.

"We're both in the same business, then," I tossed out as I sliced a juicy piece off the sausage. "Do you mind if I eat?"

"Oh, please! I didn't mean to interrupt you. What business are you in?" she asked.

"I'm in theater, but the entertainment industry has many tentacles," I responded, as I launched into my wurst. The flavor exploded in my mouth and for a moment, I shut my eyes to focus completely on the gloriously smoky essence.

"It's good, yes?" she asked.

"Yuth, really goth," I sputtered through my gastronomic ecstasy.

"This is one of my favorite cafes. You should try the schnitzel, too."

Just then, five busses with American Express blazoned down the sides pulled to the curb in a choreographed ballet punctuated by hissing and groaning air-brakes.

"I have to go. Will you wait for me?"

"Only until the beer runs out, then I have to leave," I said smiling. "May I know your name?"

"Uta," she said standing, "And yours?"

"Rex," I said.

"King Rex, my favorite name. Don't go away!" She flashed a seductive smile that could have made Greenland habitable and trotted off to meet the leading bus with her umbrella thrust high in the air.

I sat slack-jawed watching her well-formed figure bounce playfully toward the tourists, her dress swirling around her knees like a house cat at dinner time. After a moment or two, I came around and took a long pull off my beer.

I watched as she met her charges and began her well-rehearsed introductory speech in a voice that was surprisingly loud compared to what I had heard moments before. I couldn't make out what she said, but I chuckled as the group let out synchronous chants of approval. After a couple of minutes, Uta turned and once again thrust her umbrella in the air and marched her troops in the direction of the Glockenspiel. The scene looked like a Terry Gilliam animation as the knot of plaid shorts and head scarves moved in unison across the square and merged into the other identical groups arrayed in front of the Rathaus.

Unable to resist any longer, I turned back to my lunch and finished just as the chimes began. At the same moment, a cacophony of cameras, oohs and ahhs rose from the tangled mass of bucket-listers in the square.

The mechanical figures did their century-old routine, with jousting knights and dancing coopers, and 15 minutes later a golden cock popped out of the top of the clock tower, signaling the end of the show.

Suddenly, half a dozen umbrellas shot up in the air and the crows began to congeal back into their original order. Moving in reverse, they all shuffled back to the busses, paused at the door for the parting speeches, then climbed back into the coaches and vanished into the traffic.

Back in the square, a small army of street sweepers appeared out of nowhere and took to wrangling the substantial amount of trash left by the tourists. By the time Uta returned to my table, it was if nothing had ever happened.

Uta plunked down in the chair and let out a long and wistful sigh. Then she sat up, flashed another glacier-destroying smile and waved a substantial handful of Deutschmark and dollars in victory.

"Do you have any plans?" she asked conspiratorially.

"Nothing firm for the next year or so," I replied.

"Good, let's go!"

We walked briskly to where her late-model Opel was parked. She tossed some tourist paraphernalia in the back and motioned for me to get in. I folded myself into the passenger seat and she fired up the engine and pulled methodically and very German-like into traffic.

We sailed across town while Uta interviewed me about what I had seen and done in Bavaria. I admitted that I had just arrived the day before and my first order of tourist business was to see the Glockenspiel.

Within minutes, we glided into another parking spot and got out. I waited for her to come around the car, then she took my hand and pulled me with barely concealed glee towards a rather large and somewhat plain looking building. As we drew closer, I saw the sign above the door:

HOFBRAUHAUS AM PLATZL Seite 1589

My excitement grew. Anyone with any amount of appreciation for beer knew about the Hofbrauhaus in Munich. It was at the top of my list of things to do, and Uta had saved me the effort of finding it alone.

We approached the ancient wooden door with heavy iron hinges. Uta reached out and grabbed the handle before I could and swung it open with practiced aplomb.

A tidal wave of sensory input hit me slap upside the head – the smell of stale beer and hops, the ubiquitous Bavarian oompah music, the din of a hundred revelers, the mouth-watering scent of smoked meat.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw a great hall with ranks of long tables crammed with liter glasses of beer and piled with heaps of smoked pork knuckles. Beer maids in blue and white costumes with enormous breasts carried impossible armloads of beer glasses to and from the tables. The ceiling was a full two stories up and a massive circular chandelier hung in the center. At one end of the room was a ridiculously ornate stage, and at the opposite end, a large staircase going up to some unknown region above.

I stood there letting my senses adjust to this remarkable experience. After a moment, Uta grabbed my hand again and led me to a pair of chairs near the stage. A five-piece band decked out in liederhosen did their utmost best to create a racket of bass and accordion and wooden spoons and a zither. I imagined this same scene playing out for over 400 years.

We sat and Uta waved some mysterious hand-signs to a passing beer maid. Within an amazingly short time, considering how many people were in the place, we had two enormous mugs of beer and a plate of assorted grilled sausages, with a hunk of crusty bread hanging precariously off the edge.

Uta was trying to say something, but all I heard was, "Oompah oompah!" She smiled and gave up and chose instead to lift her beer in salute. I grabbed mine and returned the cheer, and we drank like a pair of parched desert dwellers.

After a moment, the music paused and Uta yelled, "What do you think?"

"Exactly how I imagined Germany," I grinned. I motioned to the stairs and asked, "What's upstairs?"

Uta laughed, "That's reserved for Australians."

"Huh?"

"They are all crazy and get in fights all the time, so they have their own floor," she grinned. "Do you want to go up there?"

I thought for a moment, then decided my current location was just fine.

Just then, the band struck up a tune, which is probably Bavaria's most famous export. Uta grabbed my hand again, this time nearly ripping my arm from its socket and spun me out on the dance floor.

We were instantly mobbed by several dozen revelers who lined up across the ancient oak plank floor and I proceeded to learn the ritual of the 'chicken dance'. I was on the verge of collapse when the tune finally stopped.

The afternoon slid into evening, which eventually gave up and let night take over. The bright cheerful windows that lined the hall fell dark, but I hardly noticed. We drank beer, ate sausages and danced like it was the night before the Apocalypse.

After what must have been gallons of beer, an entire pig's worth of sausage and enough dancing to wear the soles off my shoes, Uta asked if I was ready to go. I surrendered out of sheer exhaustion. Amazingly, I felt more exhilarated than drunk. The copious amounts of food and dancing had kept me rather sober through it all.

We dragged our weary carcasses outside. Uta was holding my hand again and giggling like a school girl. We got to the car and she turned and leaned back against the passenger door, then pulled me to her. I instinctively wrapped my arms around her and was amazed at how firm, yet soft she was. Our lips met and I was immediately transported to a place without time or distraction. After an eternity, she pulled back slightly and asked, "Are you free tomorrow?"

"I'm scheduled to meet the Chancellor, " I grinned, "But I can cancel for you. Actually, work ends at 17:30."

:Where are you working," she asked for the first time since we met.

"The opera house. I'm on set crew for Die Fledermaus."

Her eyes widened. "Well, you must be quite good. There are people who spend their whole lives trying to work there."

"That's what I hear," I admitted. "it's an incredible place."

Uta smiled a broad and magical smile, full of teeth glowing with moonlight and mischief. "I'll pick you up at 19:00. Be ready."

"Do I need to bring anything?" Again, that grin that was at once innocent and wicked at the same time. "Yourself," she whispered.

Uta dropped me at my zimmerfrei and sped off into the dark. I stood there watching the lights fade until she turned and vanished.

I went up to the door, but before I could knock, Tomas opened the door.

"Good evening, sir," he said pleasantly. I looked at my watch - 22:30.

"Sorry to keep you up again, Tomas," I said.

"It is my honor, sir. I am glad that you are enjoying Munich," he said with a slight bow.

I thanked him and went up to my room. I undressed and sat on the edge of the bed with my eyes closed, thinking about Ute.

I laid back and sank into the soft folds of the bed, and ran wildly through the dreamland.