Munich: The Struggle Is Real


Another drive through the German countryside led us over beautiful rolling hills and views of the Alps we were once again leaving.  Our drive ended at the tiny Memmingen Airport, where we returned our car.  Unfortunately, we weren’t flying out, and there was no way, other than a taxi, to get to the train station to take us to Munich.  We asked the car rental clerk.  “This is an airport,” she responded.  “Taxis come here all the time.  Just go outside.”  We did, where we waited and waited and waited.  Bill thought of a brilliant solution:  “As soon as a flight comes in, this place will be swarming with taxis.  Let’s check the schedule.”  There wasn’t a flight coming in for over an hour.  Great.  We went back in and told the clerk.  “Then you have to call,” she said, and pointed to a phone on the wall with one button:  Taxi.  It didn’t work.  We tried a cell phone.  “We need a taxi at the Memmingen airport, please.”  The response:  “Just stand there and wait.  It’s an airport.  Taxis go there all the time.”  No Uber.  My phone recommended the MyTaxi app, which I downloaded, but it wouldn’t open for some reason.  We stood there, backpacks loaded, in the hot sun with nothing to do about it.  We waited. Finally, a woman was delivered by a taxi.  While she was unloading her luggage, Bill bolted from the pick-up section to the drop-off section and caught the driver before she took off.  She was willing to load us up and take us to the train station.  Bonus for her:  She could earn our fare and still make it back for the plane that was going to land with more business.  Whew.

Once in Munich, a long, hot walk to the hotel brought us to a treat we hadn’t had since the states.  Our room was air conditioned.  Not with a fan or a little one-room unit, but central air.  We set the temperature to 20 degrees Celsius and reveled in the idea so much we almost forgot we had laundry to do.  What a waste.  While we walked in the hot sun almost as far as we had walked already, our room was cooling.  While we fought with the laundromat payment system, losing money because we didn’t know which buttons to push, our room was cooling.  While we switched our laundry to different machines and paid again because we realized they were broken, our room was cooling.  While we sat and waited for our laundry to wash and then dry in a hot laundromat in downtown Munich, our room was cooling.  While we folded and repacked, our room was cooling.  While we walked back towards our cool room… You get the idea.  

We finally dropped off the clean clothes, reveled in the cool a few more minutes, and then headed out to find dinner. We ended up right next door, since we didn’t want to miss too many minutes of cool.  Haxnbauer was a popular restaurant, mostly famous for its roasted pork knuckles.  While we roasted waiting for our pork knuckles to do the same, our room cooled.  Our meal was delicious, but what was even more delicious was going to our air conditioned “home,” cooled down to a perfect 20 degrees Celsius, and allowing ourselves to completely relax for the rest of the night.  Well, the real truth is this:  After just a few minutes, Bill said, “I’m freezing,” and after thoroughly enjoying one more shiver, we forced ourselves to turn the temperature up just a little bit.

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