AIR RAID
It is not often you get picked up at the station by a local
female but this particular person was no nubile lady of the night. Every day
she trawled Munich's main station ('Hauptbahnhof')
where she hoped to 'pick up' prospective customers for her bed and breakfast in
a nearby suburb.
Her apartment, she maintained, was neat and tidy, had a
shower / bath and toilet (shared) and was reasonably priced. Times like this
enforce a young traveller to choose ... do I head for the relative safety of a
youth hostel ('Jugendherberge'), the
camping ground or take my chances on a little old lady clearly in her 70s
simply trying to make ends meet? I followed her.
Travelling can often be a test of nerves especially when you don't
know the local language but that is surely part of the fun of it all. In recalling
this, I am often reminded of a couple of interesting experiences. The first
happened in a Spanish camping ground in the capital Madrid. A friend who was
travelling with me at the time in his motor home was about to leave the camping
site when he reversed into an aluminium light pole. In doing so he damaged the
pole beyond repair and the light cover as well. Despite a rather tense
situation, I was nonetheless amused to discover that the light cover was called
a 'sombrero' in Spanish.
The manager and several assistants quickly appeared on the
scene and started remonstrating in Spanish with my friend and his wife. No, the
manager did not speak English! I tried it in French with him hoping to sort out
the problem. The manager did speak some French, nodded when I explained the
incident but point blank refused to reply in French. My Spanish was restricted
to basic everyday phrases but they did not help one iota. The magic words
'guardia civil' were mentioned which raised my friend's blood pressure about 50
points. The prospect of a subsequent court appearance and spending a night or
three in a Spanish gaol did little for his general health. I should add here
that at the time the guardia civil
were feared police officers and had a reputation for severe treatment of any
suspect tourist. Somehow however, in
French, I managed to convince the manager that my friend was willing to pay
whatever it cost to repair the light. A figure was determined - no doubt way
higher than the cost of repair - but my mate stumped up for the cash and made
good his escape from the campsite.
A far more amusing incident, also in Spain, again involved
the same friend who went into a camping ground shop and found once more that
the attendant did not speak English. My friend's Spanish was limited and so he
resorted to mime. His practice in playing 'charades' should stand him in good
stead (or so he thought!) and he set about ordering a dozen eggs through
gestures and sounds. He flapped his arms and hands, clucked like a chicken,
plucked an imaginary egg from behind his legs and held up 12 fingers. The
attendant looked at him, held up a finger to indicate his understanding with an
'ah, si señor', reached down behind
the counter and produced a toilet roll!
But back to my German lady ... Czech and German beers are
world famous for their quality, the latter certainly because they are basically
produced with natural products only. Festival beer, a darker variety, is a
particularly famous brew in Munich and very popular at Oktoberfest time. It can be insidious, however, as German Festbier is often quite a bit stronger
in alcoholic content than normal beer. In a downtown Munich beer hall, a couple
of Mass Bier (big glasses!) along with some Wurst und Sauerkraut had been enough to upset my digestion somewhat
on the night of my Munich Station encounter. At about 10 p.m. I stumbled back
down the hallway towards my bedroom after a trip to the bathroom and an anxious
Frau Biedermeier (let's call her that - alas the memory fades and her real name
escapes me) - came out to enquire if I was feeling alright or needed some assistance.
"No, everything is fine," I lied as my tummy
grumbled.
"Would you like to come and sit by the fire?" she
asked. "It's nice and comfortable in the living room." In saying
this, Frau Biedermeier played the 'gemütlich'
card on me. 'Gemütlich' is one of
the Germans' favourite words -- how
could I refuse?
So by the fire we sat and we chatted politely for some time
about Munich and travelling and I learnt in time that she was a widow who had
lost her husband in the war. It was then that the conversation kicked up a
gear. I had to be careful here because I didn't want to offend in any way but I
was certain her story would be an interesting one. Knowing that places like
Hamburg and Munich had undergone horrific damage from the allied bombing raids,
I wondered how she had even managed to survive.
"You know, things
were pretty tough in the war for us Germans," she continued.
"Yes, I imagine it
must have been really hard. Losing a husband and other relatives perhaps."
"Yes, but also, food
was very scarce, transport, everyday items in the shop, simple things like
chocolate that we take for granted today were just not to be found anywhere.
And fuel for the fire to keep warm. You know how cold it can get in Munich in
the winter."
"Yes, you must
have really been affected by the cold."
"You have heard
about the air raids of course?"
"That must have
been really awful!"
"Well, there was
lots of damage to the buildings in the city but I was lucky. My house remained
untouched in the bombing. But, it wasn't totally bad, you know?"
"No, why was
that?" I volunteered, a little staggered by her comment.
"Because during
the air raids when others were seeking the safety of the air raid shelters, I
saw this as a chance to go out and collect the timber from the destroyed buildings
so I had enough fuel to see me through the winter."
Unbelievable!
