Pictures tell a thousand words. Sure, what a way to start off my next blog post about Germany with a cliché. But in this case, a cliché, and the pictures of course, are the only way to describe both Dachau and Munich. It’s been three months since I was miles over the Atlantic, and on any trip with a significant amount of time passed, it’s easy to forget in details. Until you look at pictures.
We started our first full day with the family off in “the family truckster.” You will hear me refer to the family truckster on more account than one. .. more like every post, but it was a big part of our trip because we spent a lot of time in there. Dad driving, mom in the passender side, and me in the back-middle with a husband on one side and a brother on the other, driving across the great country of Germany. Believe me, if there’s a city or town in south Germany you are wondering if we saw, WE SAW IT. No doubt.
A little over an hour of the first day, and the family truckster had us from Garmisch to Dachau. The experience of walking through and collecting images of a true concentration camp is more than words can say. And that’s where the pictures come in. Shock, sorrow, fury, disbelief are only a few of what one feels when visiting such wretched grounds, but history is history and we got to see it up close and personal.
It’s impossible for me to ever visit a piece of history and not daydream about what happened right where I am standing. I nearly get in a trance trying to imagine actual people – not characters – that experienced the “stories” I have grown up hearing my entire life in history class, through books, and in movies. Visiting Dachau may have been as real as it could get.
After such despair, we needed a little pep in our step, and Munich was just the right stop. A big city with beer and good food, and Tres and I were in our element. The old buildings, beauty, and traditional German food of the city were added bonuses. We walked around, drank beer on the streets, and ate brats and sauerkraut like we belonged there. The wake up call was in the first restaurant we showed up at where English was very limited. Thank goodness for dad and brother. Did I mention they speak German? Yes, pop is pretty fluent, as he lived there for several years and brother is not so bad himself, as he’s taken classes and the time to learn. I will tell you, nothing feels more uncomfortable than not knowing a language in a huge city.
Later that afternoon with several beers thrown back, there was only one place we hadn’t been: Hofbrauhaus. No crazy people or tents lining the streets needed… for fun gal like me, I may as well had been at Octoberfest! And when the music started playing, the people got a little louder, and the waiter brought me a beer in a glass almost big enough to wear as a hat, my October party pants were on… right in the middle of June!
Dare you ask my favorite city in Germany? I think you know the answer. And if we ever go back to Germany, the arrival letters will go from FRA to MUC!