Gluhwein is a warm, spiced wine, usually red. At the Christmas Markets in Germany and Austria, you would buy a steaming mug of it, paying a deposit on the mug itself. If you return the mug, you get back your deposit. If you don't, you take it as a souvenir. J., RM and I cradled our warm mugs between our gloved hands and talked about our strategy. By the time we had arrived at the Marienplatz, it was late in the afternoon. We had all day tomorrow to explore the market so for now, we'd scout it out to get our bearings; like a reconnaissance mission before an attack.
The Christmas Markets in Europe aren't filled with the commerciality of American shopping malls. Their lack of that is precisely their charm. "Christkindlmarkt," in German, literally translates to "Christ child market." They're held outside, despite frigid temperatures, wind, rain or snow. Rows and rows of little huts -- carnival booth-like structures but more rustic -- fill plazas and streets. From them, vendors display and sell their wares. Instead of inflatable santas, Barbie dolls and this year's hottest video game, people sell nativity figurines, blown-glass ornaments and small, original paintings of winter scenes. Sure, you occasionally see a Santa cap for sale, or maybe something Hello Kitty, but wooden toys, handmade pottery and hand-knitted hats and scarves are much more common. And everywhere you smell food -- bratwurst, ginger cookies, fresh bread and, of course, gluhwein.
The Marienplatz was filled with the sound of traditional Christmas carols, sometimes recordings blown through loudspeakers, but more often performed by a steady stream of local choirs and bands. Their melodies mingled with the sounds of countless languages and abundant laughter. The result was much more magic than a mall. While the whole idea of the market was still retail, the spirit of it all seemed so much more pure, with far more emphasis on the religious -- the "true" meaning of Christmas.
Since we had RM with us, J. and I had a crash course in German so we would know how to ask how much something cost, numbers we could barter with and, of course, how to say "please," "thank you," and "I'm just looking," even though most of the vendors could speak at least a little English And when the gray day grew dark and twinkling white lights, strung across the plaza illuminated the sky, the Marienplatz was absolute magic.
We took a few hours and a few mugs of gluhwein to get the lay of the land. Then, we headed back on the bus those few blocks to our apartment to get ready for dinner. Our plan was to find a neighborhood restaurant. So after a brief stop to freshen up, we headed down the street on foot, going in the opposite direction of the Marienplatz. After about three blocks, we found a little Italian place with a decent wine selection and a moderately priced menu. The three of us and one person sitting at the small bar were the only customers. Not surprising since we were far off the beaten path of the capacity-filled hotels in the city center. After a brief exchange in German with the proprietor, RM said we could all speak English. Good news after two long, tiring days of travel for J. and me. Even better news for RM who could relax and not spend his evening translating.
Bellies full, we headed back, stopping at a little neighborhood store to buy a bottle of wine and a plate of fresh-baked cookies. At the apartment, we sipped glasses of wine and sampled some of the cookie assortment, talking as close friends do. I had gone back to the bedroom to put on a pair of sweatpants when I heard another voice in the kitchen. I walked in to find Mrs. Chukulumochakulum (Mrs. C.) talking to RM and J. who both looked a bit stunned and not at all pleased. Mrs. C. was smiling and kept asking if everything was okay as she started walking back down the stairs that ran from the hallway into the lingerie laundry below. Her tone changed as RM said something to her in German, rather sternly, following her down the stairs and shutting the door behind her.
"I told her she should not just walk in here like that," RM said, shaking his head.
"I can't believe she did," J. said. "We could have been in the middle of doing who knows what here which would be none of her business!"
"She just walked up here?" I asked.
"Yes!" RM and J. said together, emphatically.
I'd assumed that she'd knocked on the door and my roommates had invited her in. Apparently, that wasn't the case. She'd just walked in and up the stairs like she owned the place. Well, perhaps she did, but when you're renting it out to make a few bucks, you relinquish that privilege. We all agreed that her intrusive appearance was strange and rather disconcerting.
At around 4 a.m., I was awakened by shouting and a muffled noise that sounded like someone hitting something. It took me a few seconds in my groggy state to remember where I was and to recall the fact that I don't understand German. The man upstairs (and I'm not referring to God) was yelling, pleading and hitting and scraping something across the floor. He'd awakened all three of us.
"Is he hitting someone?" I asked RM. "Should we call the police?"
Even as that question left my lips, I started thinking about the bureaucratic mess that would make this first night of our Christmas Market tour. Still, I wasn't going to let some guy assault someone else.
RM lifted an ear toward the ceiling above, straining to hear what the man was saying. After a few seconds, he drew back and shook his head.
"No need," RM said. "He's yelling at a dog or cat or something that has shat upon the floor."
We were all relieved but a little distressed nonetheless. J. and I are both big pet lovers, and we heard nothing more from the man or the pet -- whatever it was. Our first night in Munich had gone from strange to stranger.
Despite our jet lag and the disturbance in the wee hours of the morning, we were up early, taking our turns in the shower and girding up to spend an entire day at the Marienplatz. J. and I had some serious shopping to do. We discussed Mrs. C.'s Turkish invasion over our coffee, tea and leftover cookies and decided our money might be safer with us than left here in our luggage. We headed out the door to a crisp day, caught our bus and took the short ride to the plaza, already bustling with people. At first, we stuck fairly close together, usually maintaining sight of each other while straying from booth to booth on our own. J. and I had seen a few interesting things the night before. But J., the experienced international consumer, had warned me that we should wait until today to decide what we wanted to buy. After all, this was only our first Christmas Market out of at least five.
At noon, the Rathaus glockenspiel started to peal. Everyone stopped and turned to watch the spectacle. High above the plaza, atop the Munich Town Hall, figures depicting Duke Wilhelm and his bride, Lorraine, emerged from the tower to hold court above knights jousting on their rearing steeds, rotating slowly beneath them. One level below the knights, the coopers appeared. It's said that the coopers danced in the streets of Munich to raise the spirits of the people during the plague. The coopers whirled and twirled and spun around and around in various states of "jig". For at least 10 minutes, the people on the Marienplatz were quiet, entranced by the sight, until three tiny gold birds at the very top of the glockenspiel chirped to signal the end, rendering the mechanical wonder silent again. Just another element of Bavarian magic.
We grabbed bratwurst and beer for lunch at one of the booths before setting a time and place to meet, then going our separate ways to shop. By now, we had sampled most of the gluhwein vendors and all agreed on our favorite, which became a convenient meeting spot. After all, if you arrived early, you sipped on the warm beverage, waiting for your compatriots to gather. We stayed into the evening, ending the day with a mug of gluhwein, treasures in hand, listening to a local band play while a children's choir sang. We took our commemorative Christkindlmarkt mugs with us and headed back to the bus stop.
Back at the apartment, we dropped off our purchases and did a quick sweep of our luggage to see whether or not it had been tampered with. We didn't think so, but figured Mrs. C., could be just really crafty. We set off again for dinner, this time passing the Italian restaurant to the next block, then right a couple of blocks where we found a Vietnamese place. Funny how we were in Germany but other than our brat for lunch, weren't eating German fare. Vietnamese was certainly an interesting choice, but the food was excellent and our server, a young Vietnamese woman who was attending college here, was full of questions about the United States. She was extremely pleased with her tip. As Americans, J. and I are big tippers and RM always chides us for that. In Europe, servers are actually paid at least minimum wage, unlike in the States where they are typically required to make tips to make at least minimum wage. But having guided Americans for years, RM at least understands our mentality, even if he doesn't really agree with it.
We planned to stop at the same little grocery on the way back, but it was closed. RM asked a local for directions to another store and we walked a few more blocks out of our way to find it. Although small, it was much larger than the other one, and J. and I both love to wander up and down the aisles of grocery stores in faraway lands to see what the natives buy.
Back in the apartment, we wanted to drink our wine and show each other the treasures we'd bought that day. What we didn't want was Mrs. C. just walking in on us again. So we moved some random items at the bottom of the stairs to barricade the door. It opened into the apartment so we could stick enough things there to keep someone from barging right in. They'd have to push their way in.
The second Turkish invasion didn't occur that night. She waited until morning.
I was just finishing my turn in the shower when I heard the shouting begin. It was Mrs. C., and it didn't take a translator to understand that she was yelling about the barrier behind the door. Her anger did nothing but incite the ire of her three tenants. We'd had enough. RM's attempt to be instructive about our privacy hadn't made a dent in her attitude.
I opened the door, partially dressed and with wet hair, as RM walked out of the bedroom, yelling back at Mrs. C., in German, as J., emerged from the kitchen, raised voice asking Mrs. C. what she thought she was doing, just walking in here. As Mrs. C. was struggling with the obstruction, the three of us stood at the top of the stairs like soldiers defending the entrance to the fort.
RM walked down the stairs and moved the obstacles just enough for Mrs. C. to shoot through the door. She continued to shout in German, some English with what I'm guessing was a little Turkish thrown in for good measure. I'm also guessing that expletives were involved.
"What you mean, keeping me out?" Mrs. C. yelled. "You no right!"
The three of us responded at the same time, words tumbling over words, creating a chorus of comments, like, "You have no right to just walk in here when you want," and "What did you expect when you just walk in on us," and "You're the one who's invading our privacy," and "We have a right to keep you out!" "Who do you think you are!"
"You leave!" Mrs. C. shouted, moving up the stairs.
"We are!" we shouted back in unison, each of us walking back to where we'd been and what we'd been doing before she started her break-in.
"You leave now!" she volleyed. I came back out of the bathroom.
"You get out of here now so we can!" I shouted. I might have even stomped by bare foot on the floor for emphasis.
As Mrs. C. turned to walk back down the stairs, the three of us has assembled again on the landing above. She was still stomping and shouting a mixture of languages, but I'm sure said something about not blocking the door again.
As the door slammed behind her, RM, J. and I talked over one other about our amazement and disbelief. We were really angry now that we'd relented and paid Mrs. C. on that first night. It would have been so much nicer to pack up and leave without paying; however, we were thankful we'd paid in cash and hadn't given her a credit or debit card number, that's for certain.
The three of us went back to work. We couldn't get our bags packed, car loaded and out of there fast enough. And that's exactly what we did. We drove out of Munich on a cold, sunny December morning, headed away from the crazy Turkish woman and toward the next stop on our Christmas Marketing tour, Traunstein.
Sometimes, RM uses English a bit differently than J. and I do. Maybe it's because he learned it from the British. Or maybe something just gets lost in translation. But she and I have both corrected him many times for what we perceive as an overuse/misuse of the word, "bizarre." J. and I think that word should be reserved for something or someone truly odd or out of the ordinary. RM tends to use it all the time, like when the car doesn't start the first time and he says, "That's bizarre." Or when he meets someone who says something a bit unusual and says that person, "is bizarre." As we continued toward our next destination, Emily was warming up with a new set of directions and we talked about the events of the past couple of days -- particularly Mrs. C. and neighbor with an errant beast, still shaking our heads in disbelief.
"Do you know how J. and I are always telling you you aren't using the word, "bizarre," in the right situations?" I asked RM, who was at the helm of our fleeing ship. "Well, now is a wholly appropriate time to use it -- for the situation and that crazy woman," I said as we all three burst into laughter. "Bizarre" was perfect.
What we knew was that we wouldn't let a strange and crazy Turkish woman or the man upstairs ruin our stop in Munich. Instead, we decided they'd just made our experience far more memorable. But most of all, we wondered how the gluhwein would be in Traunstein.
Thanks Michelle1 I missed your posts!
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