We're on the move again. Our original plans did not include München, but when we stumbled upon a Red Hot Chili Pepper concert there, we decided to take the detour. I don't really consider myself a huge fan, but the children are huge fans, and I do think that the bassist is exceptional, and as I enjoy watching live performances, I figured this would be a treat.
Sweden impressions:
Frances:
Highs: Polar Bears, Smörgåsbord, Snow
Lows: leaving
Nicole:
Highs: Orsa bear park, Swedish countryside
Lows: No restaurants open in Mora at night.
Tertius:
Highs: Polar bears (fondly referred to as icelantic bears), thick snow
Lows: microwave dinner
Planes, trains, stairs. That is pretty much the drill every time we travel from one place to the next. But when you want to experience the good in life, best you be prepared to experience some discomfort as well. Besides, we are now becoming rather good at dragging increasingly heavy luggage around.
We had a fair amount of time to kill before the concert, so took a walk to Karlplatz, and on to Marienplatz. Karlplatz puts up an ice rink in winter, with stalls that sells glühwein and pretzels. The glühwein is served in ceramic mugs, for which you pay a deposit. And so you are free to set off down the shopping street, glühwein and all.
Christmas time is often a good time to visit any country. It's during the festive season when you see the best of their traditions. The shopping street from Karlplatz to Marienplatz was no exception. The street was lined with stalls selling minature furniture and decorations, waffels and pretzels. People stood clustered around glühwein stalls, chatting excitedly. A true happy season.
Marienplatz has the huge Neues Rathaus overlooking Christmas shoppers. It's impressive clock was built in 1908 and consists of 32 lifesized figures that do their dance every day at 11am.
The Altes Rathaus is an equally beautiful building.
From Marienplatz we went past the Müller bäckerei, into Orlandostraße, and of course into the famous Hofbräuhaus. The Hofbräuhaus is quite an impressive bierhalle, despite the fact that it has clearly become extremely commercial. Many German families have permanently reserved tables, with their personal beer mugs locked away in special shelves. When Nicole asked a regular (that closely resembled Einstein), why his mug has a lid on it, his response was "So you don't spit in it!"
We did the obvious. A liter of beer each, and German sausages and roast pork. (but under intense interrogation, I will confess that I only had half a liter). Frances' boss happened to be in town, and joined us for a while. It was good to have someone who could understand the waitresses, and his German friend was able to answer (some of) our inquisitive questions.
Our intentions were to leave in good time to be sure that we had sufficient time to negotiate queues at the concert. We did, but still ended up standing in line for about an hour and a half. The cute Finnish girls in front of us were equally frustrated at all the people that seemed to disregard the queue, and when Tertius went off to investigate,they were quick to follow up on 'Cool Hair's progress. This has been an object of either amusement or adoration in just about every country we have been now. Especially in Scandinavia, where people would stare blatantly at Tertius' hair.
The concert was exceptional. Unlike many bands who use props, pyrotechnics, or other aids to make their concerts spectacular, the Peppers give a spectacular concert simply by the way they deliver the music they clearly love playing. Flea, the bassist, is a true virtuoso. He gets his nickname because of the way he jumps. A bass guitar is not the lightest of instruments, yet he manages to jump, pulling his feet up, repeatedly. Frequently. And when they re-entered the stage for their encore, he walked the width of the stage on his hands. I guess it is only fitting that the band should revolve largely around this bassist. You certainly hear more bass riffs than lead guitar riffs.
The train ride back to our hotel was fascinating. Imagine hundreds of RHCP fans, still high on the music left in their heads, all trying to get the first train back home. Or to the local pub, perhaps. We tried to hold onto each other, to be sure we all got onto the same train. We didn't. You really should just stand still, and let the crowd carry you onto the train. You get squeezed as they try and enter through the doors, and if you are lucky, you get popped out on the inside of the train. Frances wasn't, and got popped out back onto the platform. But by now we are all seasoned travellers, and so all we did was to wait for her on the other end.
It's official. My children are not city children. They loved the things we did in München, but they hated München. Actually, we all wanted to go back to Tromso.
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