The train usually takes you to the mountains but we had to take the bus. The reason for this is due to a train accident just outside the town where we stayed. It was a very bad accident with five dead and scores injured, so the bus gets very crowded. I’m sure it’s run privately and I think the owners used to pack sardines. The bus was 30 minutes late and there was an unusual grab for seats by some, I don’t think it’s a German thing. It’s a way to stand for older folk and they were mostly last on, but generally the younger stand up.

The train to Munich then spilt over again, but it’s only discomfort. The person managing our new home looked like his football team didn’t turn up for the match today so little help from him. It was really a blokey day and we worked out that we had issues because often men can’t do more than one thing at a time. 

It started with the opera where we booked tickets through a man. As he was writing the receipt I asked him in four different ways what the name of the opera house was but didn’t get it. Corrie said I was possibly interrupting his focus on the tickets. But I got them for tomorrow and at the right price. Corrie and I love to experience the atmosphere at an opera house, especially those that have frescos and other architectural delights. 

Then there was the man at the concert hall where Mozart held his first concert. I asked the man if I could have a ticket and he said yes, so as I stood there waiting for my ticket, he didn’t move a muscle, just looked at me. I waited for the tickets but he wanted the money first. I could only think of past trauma when he gave them the tickets and they ran off with them. By the way it was a gorgeous theatre and I could imagine the audience in raptures at his lively performance.

Then there was the pasta, pide, pizza man, who said he didn’t do pasta even though he had a photo of it at the front of his shop. So I said it in my best Italian, pointed to the photo, then played charades with myself until I realised he wasn’t playing anymore because he had moved on to serving someone who didn’t care about photos. We finally moved on to the nicest man ever. We got our pasta, our extra cheese and then when I said his pasta was great, he smiled widely as he clasped his hand in front of his face.

Another meeting with a man who destroyed my man argument was Stephan in the tourist office who was able to tell us where our accommodation was, work out that we were Australian, joked and spoke to us in English and Spanish nearly all at the same time. He also told us about two art galleries, and his favourite artist from Spain, Esteban Zuberan.

There is a very posh hotel in Munich where a friend of ours worked 50 years ago and he wanted some memories. We got the video, the photos, and other wishes but we’re yet to interview the CEO. He didn’t ask for this meeting but who knows. By the way the hotel was 5 star and was called: The Bayerischer Hof.