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September 17, 2003

{Communication problems have prevented more frequent postings. Schnapps and typing don't mix. But leaving the modem cable in the last country you visited means you can keep up with the schnapps and not worry about it.1}

In Bavaria what do you do when local elections are just a few days away? Visit a biergarten of course. A glorious summer day is perfect for just such a thing. Beer, schnitzel, sun. What else is there?

Oh, I suppose you could squeeze in a leisurely stroll through a forest with a few friends, stop to pick mushrooms the size of yarmulkes, which you later prepare and eat. Never picked wild mushrooms and fried them up? Neither had I. As my friend Ingo says, it tastes like chicken.

In the late afternoon I took the S-Bahn to München and fell asleep instantly. Fortunately I didn't sleep all the way to Hamburg or wherever the hell it goes, but woke with a start at Rosenheimer Platz. I was meeting Monica The Relocated German. Having lived in San Francisco for a decade, she returned to Germany in 2000 on business, ostensibly for a month. Three years later she's still there, and loving it. I could see why. The Munich I saw was cosmopolitan enough to enjoy a beer and pretzel at a traditional biergarten (as I was later told, the one at which Hitler began his campaign), followed by sushi and wine at a "secret restaurant"2, and topped with a visit to a French cafe for a selection of fresh cheeses and bread, a serving of gateau au chocolat, and...what else...more wine. Shit. It's good I don't live in Europe. I'd die too soon. With a smile. But too soon.

It was great to see Monica. She's fallen for a Brit named Paul. Through the night all she could do was send text messages on her cell phone to him at some pub in London. It was good to see her in love. Not only because it looked like the real thing. But also because she's got that radiance again.

By 2:00 in the AM I was back in Fürstenfeldbruck, "the bridge at the Earl's field", so named for the local bridge that many moons ago played an important role in the salt trade.

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1Express post from FFB to Budapest, courtesy of Ingo. Thanks, man. I owe you.

2An interesting thing, this restaurant-bar. It was in an apartment building, at street level. Black drapes were hung inside the windows. The door was nondescript, like the entrance to someone's home, which it most likely was at one time. I'm not sure what it was all about, but who cares. The sushi was good.

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