Is Alp
March 24-29, 2017
Even though they're in the same country, it's not particularly easy to get to Munich from Berlin. The train takes about 8 hours and it's expensive, so the only practical way to get there is to fly. They are drastically different cities, from the culture, to the architecture, to the surrounding landscape. Berlin is impossibly flat and not particularly nice to look at, while Munich is a stone's throw away from stunning mountain peaks. Mazz has some collaborators in the town of Augsburg, a 30 minute train ride from Munich, and she was asked to come give a talk there while learning about some of the experiments they do for her, so we figured it was as good of a time as any to Alp.
The flight only takes around an hour from Berlin, and if you plan ahead you can find fairly inexpensive airfare. We learned quickly upon arriving in Bavaria however that the prices of nearly everything are steeper than they are in the dirty metropolis we call home. The train into town for example cost €12 instead of €2.70. And unlike most big European cities, the cheapest comfortable lodging option was actually a hotel instead of an Airbnb.
Whatever. You gotta pay the cost to...be the...Alp...guy. We had intended to immediately catch a train from Munich out into the mountains for an afternoon hike, but the timing was just wrong getting into town to catch the Alp train we needed. We'd already made plans to meet friends for dinner, and with the hour wait for the next train it no longer made sense to spend several hours commuting to and from the mountains for the short amount of time we would have to hike. Slightly dejected, we decided this was as good of a day as any to explore the city, so we dropped off our bags at the hotel and headed into the downtown area, posing with statues and living people dressed as statues along the way. Before long we came across the rathaus (town hall) building, which is a very imposing structure for a public square, and is in stark contrast to most of buildings surrounding it. It's massive and dark and pointy, causing Kirb to stop dead in his tracks upon seeing it and let out an audible, "Woah." Stopping into gift shops full of intricately carved coo-coo clocks and beer steins quickly reminded us that there is a stereotypical German culture at play in Bavaria that Berliners simply won't play along with.
One thing Bavarian culture is particularly proud of is its food and beer. Bavaria makes the best beer in Germany (they think it's the best in the world), and even in Berlin that isn't really up for discussion. Everyone in Berlin drinks Bavarian beer, but it's surprisingly hard there to find traditional Bavarian fare. Large beer halls are the place to be in Munich, complete with beer fraus in their frilly dirndls and huge portions of meaty comfort foods. We made our way to the Tegernseer Tal Brauhaus for some liters of dark beer, käsespätzle (essentially German macaroni and cheese with fried onions on top), and schweinshaxe, a fried ham hock severed with brown gravy and dumplings. Rich, delicious, and most likely terrible for you, it was exactly the sort of initiation into Bavarian cuisine we were looking for.
Stuffed, we waddled our way across town towards the modern art museum, stopping along the way to admire the monuments and peek into shops. We noticed that everyone who walked by these particular lion statues stopped to rub their noses. As a result, the Lion's face was polished a completely different shade than the rest of the statue. While admiring the statue, we saw an old woman aggressively elbow aside another woman who was standing between her and rubbing the lion. We spent the majority of the afternoon wandering through the Pinakothek der Moderne, looking at weird cars, a bunch of chairs, robots growing chairs, and pictures of things, some of which were tangible things and others that were different colors and shapes. Our favorite exhibit was a called "Himalaya Goldstein's Living Room" by Pipilotti Rist, which was an entire, ominously lit room, decorated with vintage furniture and covered in books and magazines, with a haunting ambient soundtrack and strange videos projected on surfaces all across the room. It felt like walking into a David Lynch dream sequence.
Our friend Lucian and his girlfriend Martina had made dinner reservations for all of us at a popular restaurant called Zum Straubinger. They had asked what kind of food we were interested in eating, and we let them know decisively that we had no intention of eating anything other than traditional Bavarian food while we were in Bavaria. Our friends each ordered the schweinshaxe, but we set our minds set on some schnitzel. The fried cutlets were perfectly crispy and tender, served with traditional Bavarian potato salad. Mazz thought it was the best thing she ate the entire trip.
We woke early the next day to ensure we got the train we needed out to the town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen. From this charming hamlet there are a number of hikes into the mountains, as well as gondola rides that take you quickly to and from the peaks. We had bought the Cicerone guide Walking in the Bavarian Alps and found a trail that looked good for early spring, avoiding areas that went too high where the snow may not have melted yet. Getting to Garmisch takes about an hour and a half from Munich on the train. Deutsche Bahn offers a convenient day pass that covers unlimited train trips in a large section of the Bavarian countryside, letting us use a single ticket for the entire region.
The markers were sparse, but our book did a good job of describing how to find the trail tucked away on the edge of town. The hike started steep, with a steady incline for the first several kilometers, getting us sweaty in the cool morning. The trail then led through small villages with only a handful of homes, and past lush green pastures with the mountaintops peeking up in the background. As we continued to climb uphill the mountains became more pronounced, until we were eventually met with a full panorama of snowy peaks. We stopped for a snack in a picturesque field with nothing but Alp in our field of view.
Not long after, we came across a gondola station that was depositing folks on the top of the mountain who hadn't cared to walk up it like we had. The weather was brisk, and clouds were moving in quickly. The Eckbauerbahn Bergstation offered a restaurant with a stunning view of the mountains, and we stopped briefly to enjoy the view with a beer, but the mountains were thoroughly covered by rolling clouds in a matter of minutes. Suddenly the view had vanished, and the day was gray and drab. Had you not seen the stunning landscape a few moments before, you would have had no idea what you were missing behind the veil of clouds. The entire day before had been overcast, and we were suddenly glad we hadn't come to do the hike when we originally planned.
We started our way down the far side of the mountain along some switchbacks, almost getting trampled by a Russian family who were barreling directly down the hillside with reckless abandon, toppling over plants, and doing their best to avoid the trail entirely. We lingered on the switchbacks, pretending like we needed a good long drink of water until they were gone. Eventually we made our way to the quaint village of Graseck, where we stopped for a lunch of leberkäse with fried egg and potato salad (which was surprisingly good) and leberknödel soup (which was not), coupled with more tasty dark beers.
Graseck was the last stop before the main destination of our hike, the Partnachklamm. This popular trail takes you through a rocky gorge along a river, and is supposed to be quite beautiful. It would have been really nice if there would have been any indication earlier in the trail, like say, at the beginning, that let hikers know that the Partnachklamm was closed indefinitely for repairs. We saw a sign in German before descending down the canyon, and though we were pretty sure we knew what it said, we held out hope that maybe our German was worse than we thought it was. Surprisingly, we had read the sign correctly, and the gorge path was blocked by a thick metal gate and surrounded by building materials. We sullenly hiked our way back out of the gorge and back into Graseck.
Mazz wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea of figuring out how to use the do-it-your-self gondola to get back down the mountain, so we started our way down the exceedingly steep road on foot, eventually arriving at the ski jump area at the base of the mountain originally built for the events of the 1936 Olympic Games that were held in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. By this point the clouds had completely cleared and the sky was a brilliant blue, now perfect weather to enjoy the mountain peaks we were leaving behind on the train back to Munich.
Feeling good but sore from a productive day of walking up and down things, we made our way to the most iconic beer hall in Munich, the Hofbrau Haus. The scale of this place is ludicrous, taking up what seems like an entire city block in a three-story building. It was packed on Saturday night with hundreds, maybe thousands of people throughout, many of who were unironically dressed in lederhosen and Tyrolean hats with feathers. We ordered giant beers, flagged down the pretzel guy who for some reason operated independently from the rest of the wait staff, and ordered some white sausages on the recommendation of our German friend Liz. The weißwurst came in a porcelain vase, served in hot water. The texture was incredibly - almost offputtingly - soft, but the flavor was rich. After finishing our food we ordered another round of liters and wandered around the enormous grounds, taking in oompa bands and soaking in the festive beer hall atmosphere.
We woke up the next morning sore, and decided that whatever hike we did that day was going to have to be flat. The book suggested a hike around the Eibsee, a lake at the base of Germany's tallest mountain, the Zugspitze. This time we took all our bags with us on the train to Garmisch-Partenkirchen and stored them in some lockers at the station, then hopped a local bus that took us out to the lake.
Once again the weather was overcast, obstructing any views of the mountain towering over the lake. As we made our way along the pleasant waterfront the clouds began to slowly clear though, and soon we could see the Zugspitze starting to protrude form the cloud cover. By the time we had made it all the way around the sizable lake, the sky had mostly cleared, and we were treated to some excellent vistas. We made our way to the waterfront hotel for a lunch of burgers and beers (there's really nothing more satisfying after a hike), where we were able to sneak a few good glances of the mountain before the clouds rolled back in. We hopped back on the bus to Garmisch, grabbed our bags, and made our way to Augsburg, our home for the next several days.
Because Mazz was in town to learn how to use some complicated machinery, her work footed the bill for the Aibnb, which was operated by a nice gentleman who split his time living in both Augsburg and Berlin. His apartment was comfortable and perfectly set up with amenities, with a nice balcony overlooking the neighborhood. Mazz spent her days working at the local University being a science lady, while Kirb spent his in the apartment writing about garbage cans on his laptop. Once the cans were properly described (spoiler alert: they hold trash), Kirb ended up at an Irish bar, knocking back pints and making friends with the Irish bartenders. Mazz eventually joined, finishing up the talk she was supposed to give the following day at the bar with a beer (this has been her preferred method of writing about her work since the beginning of time). We stuck around for trivia night and were within a point of the lead going into the final round before crashing and burning spectacularly in a sports round about rugby, cricket, and golf.
Augsburg is one of the oldest cities in Germany, and has a classic old-Europe allure to it. During the time we had to explore the city we found it to be quite charming, with great outdoor produce markets and sunny bar patios for an afternoon Aperol Spritz.
On the recommendation of our Airbnb host, we made our way to a traditional Bavarian restaurant called Bauerntanz, which has been in operation since 1572. Unable to pare down choices from the huge menu, we ordered far too much food to make sure we wouldn't miss out on anything good. Obazda, a traditional cheese spread with bread and vegetables, didn't quite live up to our hopes, but we found a new favorite dish that is remarkably close to an American classic that's impossible to find in Germany. Though it's made with pork instead of cube steak, Jägerschnitzel is virtually the same thing as chicken fried steak, one of Kirb's all-time favorite comfort foods. Covered in mushroom gravy and served with buttery spätzle, the Jägerschnitzel was a delicious, fried gut bomb that obliterated any aspirations we had for existing in the outside world for the rest of the evening, relegating us to the couch in the Airbnb to watch a movie until we fell asleep.
When we checked out of our place in Augsburg, we asked our host if he had any recommendations for a place to get lunch in Munich, since his dinner recommendation the night before had been such a slam dunk. He asked if we were familiar with Augustiner, and we told him that it was our favorite* German beer. He instructed us to go to their brewery, which was in a part of town we hadn't visited before. Our flight back to Berlin wasn't until the early evening, so we had plenty of time for a leisurely lunch and some more sightseeing before we had to hit the road.
*Favorite German beer is subjective here, as there are craft beers from Berlin we technically like better, but they're harder to find. Augustiner is our favorite "späti" beer, meaning you can find it at any corner store, so it's our go-to the majority of the time we're buying beers out in Berlin.
Once we got inside the Augustiner brewery it became clear that we weren't going anywhere else until it was time to go to the airport. There are only two types of Augustiner you can find in Berlin, so we started with new-to-us dark beers that we can't get back home. There were baskets of fresh pretzels on each table, which Kirb ate with reckless, joyful abandon, thinking they were free (they weren't). Mazz had been searching at all of the restaurants we went to over the course of the trip for a "pancake soup" she'd eaten in Austria, and it was on the menu here, so she ordered it, while Kirb ordered the "every kind of meat on one plate, with gravy."
We spent the rest of the afternoon leisurely drinking delicious beers and munching on pretzels, soaking in the beer hall atmosphere and knowing there was nothing else we'd rather be doing. Augustiner Edelstoff, which you can buy in bottles in Berlin, turned out to be a perfectly light and crisp day-drinking beer on tap. Several hours and pints later, we paid our tab (though they probably didn't count the actual number of pretzels we demolished), and bought an Augustiner beer stein to enjoy our pints in back home (which Kirb said he would share, but Mazz still has never used).
Beautiful mountains, oompa bands, lederhosen, and beer halls – this is what foreigners think of when they imagine a stereotypical "Germany." Berlin is happy to leave all that stuff in Bavaria, and we're happy to be in Berlin. But after a week of amazing hiking and delicious food, we definitely wish it were a little easier to spend more time in Alp.