Yoga and the homeboy

I saw my first German home boy today and I can't help but think that TISM got it right.  All home boys are dick heads. I was walking back from getting the mornings brotchen (or semmel as we say in Munchen) when I spied this fellow walking towards me.  He had his base ball cap on, his hoodie, a mouthful of gum and tunes plugged into his ears.  As we passed I couldn't help but turn around and take another look.  Sure enough he had his strides hanging so low they were below his arse, proudly displaying his underwear.  I couldn't help but laugh. I mean I am all for individual freedom of expression but walking around in -5° with your arse hanging out of your jeans, thinking you look cool, is just being a dick head.  I wish I had my camera with me.

Today was spent applying for jobs, repairing my snow board boots,  (As an aside I would like to say that I am disappointed to find that most of my ski gear is worn out and falling apart.  I have it all packed in my snow board bag and it only comes out when the snow is calling.  I guess I can't complain too much because when I recount how many adventures we have shared it hasn't done too badly.  I sat and worked it out the other day.  3 trips to New Zealand, 1 to Hotham, 1 to Lake Louise Alberta, 1 to Fernie BC, 2 to Niseko Japan, 1 to Flims Switerland, 2 to La Plagne France and 4 trips to Kaprun, Hinterglem, Piztal, HochZillertal in Austria.  What is even better is that on all those trips bar one I was accompanied by good mates.  In fact the list of mates that I haven't skiied with but would like too is pretty small and consists of; James and Lucy, Gav and Jan, Simon and Gill) and opening a bank account.  We also went to Yoga tonight, which I really enjoyed but not because of the following observation.  A curious thing about Germans is that they are very pragmatic about certain things.  Change rooms for instance.  The yoga centre that we went to didn't have a change room but neither has any other yoga centre that I have been too.  It did have a small reception however and whilst we were paying for our class various women came in and changed, stripping down to their Reg Grundies in the process.  I kept leering at them and smirking but they took no notice.

Kein Whinging

It was -9° this morning when I went to get the brotchen.  It is Sunday and we are going to do a little cleaning up followed by a walk through the Englisch Garten.

I have decided that whilst living in Germany I am not going to complain about various German idiosyncrasies or compare Germany to Australia.  I have seen some of my friends and many of Annika's friends (even Annika herself, dare I say it) do this and I have decided that I am not going to fall into this trap.  I have sat at too many BBQs surrounded by well meaning, newly arrived Germans, being regaled by all the deficiencies of my country.  The bread is horrible, the wurst is worse, the beer expensive, the houses inefficient, recycling almost non existent, the drivers atrocious (lets be honest here they are right in this respect), the cars are crap, etc.  I would sit and listen, occasionally catching the eye of Graham, the only other Australian in this otherwise German sub culture, a knowing smile would pass between us.  The obvious statement hanging out there but not being spoken aloud.

Nope, everything that I write or say is going to be positive.  I don't need to reassure  myself how good Australia is by looking for the downsides in the country I am lucky to have the chance to live in.  I am not even going to say anything about German coffee.  I love German coffee.  Every time I have a cup it reminds me beyond any shadow of a doubt that I am in Germany. 

Getting on the piste

There is something quite wonderful about putting on all your snowboarding gear, boots, helmet, gloves, the whole lot, grabbing your board and walking out your front door to go snowboarding.  I mean this is the same place that you leave to go to work or do the shopping not a bed and breakfast or apartment in the Alps, but your home.  We did that this morning.  Got up early, got kitted up and jumped on the U Bahn.  12 minutes later we are at the bus terminal handing over our snow boards to a kind fellow, proffering our tickets and asking which bus we should get on.  A few minutes later we are tucked up in our seats and the bus is rolling out of Munich.  We couldn't believe the stuff they kept handing out to the passengers.  Successively we each received.

A small back pack and a towel.

Fresh coffee and croissant (we were a bit disappointed as the brochure said we would get bretzel)

Lip Balm

Sun screen

Packet of tissues

Snow board wax

A bottle of Juice

A bottle of water

Vitamin C sweets

News paper

Can of RedBull

About an hour later when we were laden down with our newly acquired possessions the bloke came around to check the tickets.  It was then that we found that we were on the wrong bus with the wrong ski company heading to the wrong ski field.  At moments like these it pays to keep your perspective on things.  After all it was an innocent mistake and the man now telling us we were on the wrong bus was that same man that directed us to get on the bus in the first place.  Kein problem.  A few calls are made and we are told that we will be dropped off at the correct ski field which is 10 minutes from the wrong ski field where the correct ski company will be waiting for us with our ski passes and bretzels.  They didn't even insist that we regurgitate our croissants and coffee and hand all the free stuff back.

Hochzillertal has 171 km of piste and today there was about 17,100 people skiing them.  It was cold, about -5°, not gimp mask cold but getting close.  The pistes were hard packed and crowded.  Neither Annika or I could find our snow boarding groove that morning and we kept heading further up the mountain hoping to get away from the crowds.  To give an example of how crowed it was, getting onto a gondola was like Tokyo subway, the attendants were literally pushing people in to ensure that each cabin had it's maximum capacity.  We managed to find a run that we both liked and spent the morning messing around there.  However it wasn't until after lunch that I really started to relax into it and renew my confidence. We started doing this nice long red run down to a gondola and back. I would spend my time messing around like a goose until a skier or snowboarder would race past me, pushing it to go fast. I would then straighten the board and chase them down, preferably to pass them with my body stance exuding nonchalance, bordering on boredom, and not the abject terror and exhilaration which was really coursing through my being.

All good things come to an end, so did our first day on the snow. The trip back was on the correct bus with the correct ski company and was headed to the correct city. We slept on the bus and before we knew it we were back in Munich. A quick walk across the bridge to the S Bahn where we had to wait a few seconds for the train, one stop later we get to the U Bahn where we had to wait a few seconds for the train, then we are home.

We checked up on our mistake with the bus companies and it turned out we had the benefits of a 63 euro ticket in lieu of our 53 euro ticket. I think we shall wait a while before we pull this one again, just in case they become suspicious.

Ich habe ein Hangover

Today I am nursing a hang over.  Hangovers that aren't in your native tongue are worse than ones that are.  We had a small dinner party last night with our neighbours from the 3rd floor.  It went well.  I had decided to cook a meal from a French cook book that Annika had given me for a Christmas present some years ago. The book was by Julia Childs.  Julia is famous for introducing French cooking to the American public back in the 50s.  Having followed the recipes dutifully to the completion of the meal I am now convinced that one of the greatest and more subtle conspiracies ever visited by one country on another was when the French taught Julia Childs how to cook French food.  I can't help but imagine some Pythonesque French chefs with outrageous French accents surrounding Julia, only one speaks English and the others keep suggesting things and giggling.  "Tell er she as to discard ze vegetables and keep ze water."  "Tell her ze jambon must be boiled.  Mon dieu she is doing it."  " Stop with ze giggling or you will give it away."  The recipes are quite complex and involves steps like; cook the vegetables, throw out the vegetables, place the contents of the casserole dish into another casserole dish, wash the first one then place the contents of the second back into the first.  Despite this, in only 6 hours and by using only 2 frying pans, 3 sauce pans and two casserole dishes I managed to make what was essentially beef and red wine stew with an entrée of mushroom soup.  Despite my lack of grace towards Julia the meals were delicious.

This morning however was a different story.  As I mentioned earlier we were expecting my bike to arrive yesterday and sure enough it did.  So my task this morning was to go out to the airport to collect it.  Armed with a thumping head and a slight feeling of nausea I caught the train out to the airport.  About half way there I started to get a nagging doubt that perhaps I was not as prepared as I should be.  My only form of id was my WA drivers licence and that might not cut it at a Deutsche freight forwarding company.  It turns out I was worrying unnecessarily as there was no way in the world that I would have been able to guess at the level of documentation I would have to provide to get my bike released from customs.  A good form of id was only a minor piece of the bureaucratic paper trail.

So I find the freight forwarder B in the industrial park at the airport and he asks for 18.75 Euro for the onerous task of filling in a form.  I pay and he directs me to customs D.  Customs would like to help but before they can release the bike they need to see - my passport, Annikas passport, my registration in Munich, Annikas registration in Munich, Annika's contract with Bertrandt and our rental contract.  They give me a form to fill in.  (All of this didn't happen as quickly as I make out.  It did in fact involve me and three customs officials gathered around my iPhone translating things for each other)  I go back to the freight forwarder B and he suggests I see a customs clearance agent G.  I find the clearance agent and he says that I need all the aforementioned paperwork but he will help me fill in the form for a paltry 30 euro.  I look at the two page form and it doesn't look like 30euro worth of help.  I graciously decline and head home, my hangover gently throbbing in the back of my head.

On the way home I came up with a plan.  I will take a photo of the form and email it to Annika, she could fill it in then send it back to me and I would transcribe the contents back on to the original.  So all this happens and I head back out to airport.  The customs guys are helpful and once again I have a small following of groupies eager to help the suave  Australian.  The required paper work is produced.  The right form stamped and hey presto I have my bike cleared.  Back to the freight forwarder B and after parting with yet more geld, whare housing fee, I have the box containing my bike and Annikas snowboarding gear.  To get it home I had to use my head, literally.  I balanced the bike box on my head and walked the 1km back to the train station.

Hooray, the bike and everything else has arrived intact and I waste no time putting the fixie back together.  Once rolling I push it across the road to 1 of 3 bike shops with in spitting distance and convince them to pump up the tyres and tighten anything that is loose. They produce a number of torque wrenches and set upon the fixie.  I watch as they tighten the pedals with the pedal spanner from hell and know deep in my heart that I will never get the pedals off my bike again.  I didn't go straight home choosing instead to go ride throw the snow in the park.  It is great to have a set of wheels again.

Lunch

Lunch of Champions

I have just returned from the supermarket and am having lunch, using the moment to jot down some thoughts.  Annika has me working hard today.  This morning has been spent answering emails, applying for jobs and cleaning the house.  We have complete strangers coming over dinner tonight.  We met the couple who live 2 floors above us and I invited them over for dinner.  There are ulterior motives for doing so but I will leave that for another blog.  Anni and I have decided to do French for them.  (snigger snigger).  So I have successfully managed to buy all the necessary ingredients for tonight's dinner, once again with out speaking English.  That may sound simple but you try and find bay leaves and beef stock in a German supermarket.  Which leads me to an astute observation.  Today's traveller has it so much easier than any from previous generations.  For instance I have downloaded a free English/German dictionary for my iPhone.  It has been written by English soccer hooligans and basically anyone can add any translation they like.  This may sound highly dubious but if I ever want to pick up a slapper and give the dog a bone then I am well sorted.  It also has bay leaves and beef stock in the data base.

Last night was an example of ineffective communication (or blatant stupidity on my part).  Annika, recognising that I might be feeling homesick, had asked me to look up if there was anywhere in town that was celebrating Australia Day.  Me, being very obtuse and not home sick at all, thought I wonder why Annika wants to go somewhere to celebrate Australia Day.  So I dutifully found an Irish Pub within walking distance that was celebrating Australia Day.  When I passed this on, Annika asked whether I wanted to go.  Now, looking back on this I can see that I was a bit of a moron when I thought to myself once more.  I wonder why Annika wants to go somewhere to celebrate Australia Day.  I mean when I was in Florence for work and one of my colleagues suggested we go to an Irish Pub I think I may have responded rather forcefully that I had the whole of Florence at my feet with all of it's restaurants, cafes, bars and trattorias, why on earth would I want to go to an Irish Pub.  I may have even added that I would rather drink a pint of my own diarrhoea than go to an Irish Pub.  I have nothing against Irish Pubs when I am back home or when in Ireland but when I am somewhere else I want to be where the locals are drinking what the locals drink not trying to reclaim my comfort zone by surrounding myself with fellow English speakers.

To cut a long story short we went to Irish Pub where it soon became apparent that neither of us really wanted to be there.  Both of us agreed to be more open and honest with each other in future (basically I agreed to be more open and honest with Annika).

The snow man

I was so impressed with the size of snow man that the kids in the school have built that I decided to take a photo of it.  Unfortunately one of the drawbacks with taking pictures on snow is the ultimate loss of definition and contrast.  None the less please see attached photo of the largest and most anatomically correct snow man I have ever seen.   It is just behind the polar bear.

How many bikes is too many?

Bad news the bike shop across the road has full suspension MTBs on special.  Full XT Group, Maguara hydraulics, DT Swiss wheels, Fox Shox front and rear with lock out,  Easton bars and stem.  All for less than $2300AUD.  How do I convince Annika that even on a reduced single income this represents a deal too good to pass up.

Does anyone want to buy my Colnago?

How cool is this? Still....

The lesser demonic squirrel of the two

The kids in the school next door have started making snow men and they clearly have high aspirations for the snow balls they have rolled are almost as big as themselves.  I walked through the park again this morning and I know that this is only day number 6 but the law of diminishing returns has shown no sign of taking effect.  I spent ages wandering around marvelling at how white everything was, how slippery the paths were and how the runners managed to stay up right when I was having so much trouble myself.  On the wild life front I saw loads of my little feathered friends and two demonic squirrels.

My bike will arrive on Thursday, which is good news all round as Annika's snowboarding gear is also packed in the box and we are snowboarding on Saturday.  I am really looking forward to riding the fixie through the snow and will be acquainting myself with the employees of the bike shop across the road very shortly.  I wonder how my high pressure road slicks are going to cut it on the snow and icy cycle paths.  I foresee some bruises and a possible fracture coming my way.

I start intensive German classes next week.  The school is a short ride away from the apartment and close to the English Garden.  They are friendly and really looking forward to receiving my money, bless them.

How Cool is This?

Followed the routine this morning.  Walk through snow to get Brotchen.  Fruhstuck with meine schone Frau.  Walk Annika to the train followed by a walk through Luitpold Park.

Having grown up in Western Australia I am overwhelmed by how beautiful snow can make things.  Walking through the park this morning was wonderful.  Still and silent, the snow muffling so much of the city noise.  People were out walking their dogs, running, cycling and there was even an old boy skiing on our local piste.  I spent ages walking through the park enjoying the winter wonderland.  The photo on the right is of one of our local restaurants situated in the park.  We will try it soon and if acceptable it will be a mainstay for any visitors.

As an aside;  There is nothing funnier than a small dog in abject misery.  The other day we saw a lady walking her Chihuahuas through the snow.  The poor little mongrel couldn't decide which of it's paws was coldest and it kept doing this little Chihuahua jig as it was dragged along.  Which makes you wonder about the thought process of some dog owners.  It probably goes along the lines of.  

"I think I will buy a dog for companionship.  I wonder what breed I should get.  I live in an apartment in Munich where it very cold for half of the year.  I know.  I'll buy a chihauhau." or

"I think I will buy a dog because a dog could make me look cool.  I wonder what breed I should get.  I live in an apartment in Darwin where it very hot for half of the year and hot and humid for the other half.  I know.  I'll buy a Sled dog." or

 "I think I will buy a dog for companionship.  I wonder what breed I should get.  I live in a single room apartment in the city.  I know.  I'll buy a cattle dog."

More Routine

So now that I am no longer the bread winner in the household I am relegated to the world of house keeping and food preparation.  How do I feel about this?  Not too bad I guess although I reckon it is a pretty big incentive to find work.

Today was spent, blogging, applying for jobs, notifying the Dept of Foreign Affairs of our residence in Munich and planning our next trip somewhere in Europe.  I briefly ventured outside into the snow and the non English speaking world to buy ingredients for tonight's dinner.  It was all non eventful with the minor exception of my sparring with the bretzel rack at the local supermarket.  (I confess that I decided to have a beer and bretzel for lunch today.  After all 82 million Germans can't be wrong.)  Anyway the supermarket had a special rack for all the small bread products, inclusive of bretzel.  You know the sort.  Flip up polycarbonate lids and tongs on a chain. The problem with this one is that it had an extra wire flip down barrier to stop the bretzels from sliding over each other and ultimately landing on the floor.  Unlike so many things that I have seen in Germany this set up was not particularly well designed, unless the designer wanted to get as many bretzels on to floor as possible in the shortest amount of time.  I spent a few minutes wrestling with cascading bretzels armed only with a pair of tongs and a sound understanding of good engineering practices.

I digress.  I actually wanted to record what we had for dinner tonight.  I am recording this for nothing more than future reference.  I bought a nice piece of pork fillet, sliced it into medallions.  Marinated them in a dry mix of salt, ground black pepper, a little bit of chopped chilli and some dried apricots I found under the bed.  I left this for a few hours, mixing it all occasionally.  When it was game time I quartered some mushrooms and fried them in butter, lots of butter.  When they were browned I removed them and added the pork mix.  Once the pork was almost cooked I returned the mushrooms to the pan.  At the same time I boiled some julienne d carrots and green beans until they were just cooked.  Drained the liquid and tossed them in melted butter and fresh basil.  Washed  down with a French Merlot and it was a good, almost healthy meal.

The Routine

It snowed last night.  A phenomenon that is not unusual as it has snowed almost every day since we have arrived but last night is worthy of note because it snowed with enough volume to cover everything with 5 cm of fluffy white powder.  The world out side our windows is stark white and looks beautiful.

The Piste

Our U Bahn stop

Today was the first day of what will probably become a routine.  It is Annika's first day of work at her new job.  We woke together.  I walked through the snow to the Backerei to get fresh Brotchen whilst Annika got ready for work.  Once home I made coffee and set the table for Fruhstuck.  I walked Annika to the UBahn and waited for the train with her.  I went home via Luitpold Park.  Our park.  25 ha of trees and open spaces with a toboggan run and a ski piste.  I marvelled at the bird life.  Loads of SBJs and SFHTs all zipping around.  Probably too scared to stop still for any moment just in case they freeze solid.

Before retiring last night I noticed a little digital alarm clock left on my beside table.  Where it came from and why my lovely wife thought I needed an alarm clock is beyond me.  However at 3am last night we were both thrown into a panic trying to find the source of this annoying high pitched beeping.  It soon dawned on me what the cause of our interrupted sleep was so I grabbed the offending object and handed it to Annika, as it was clearly her problem.  In an attempt to get the thing to shut up she removed the batteries.  A sound idea one would think, however this time piece was a fine example of German engineering coming equipped with a back up battery which would cause the clock to emit slightly different a high pitched beeping to tell you that the batteries were flat.  Eventually she managed to turn it off and we went back to sleep.  In the morning I casually asked her what her reasoning was for placing the alarm clock beside me and why it had gone  off at 3 am last night and not on any previous night.  She replied to first by saying that she thought I would like a clock and to the second said that she had set the alarm for "3pm" to wake her from a snooze the previous afternoon.  Mmm.  I wonder what would have happened if the situation had been reversed? I would probably have forfeited a testicle.

Woke up early this morning, the last remnants of jet lag still clinging to my circadian rhythm.  It was -7° C as I walked to the backerei to get this mornings brotchen.  Whilst waiting for backerei to open I was suckered into parting with 1 euro by the most well dressed, well spoken beggar I have ever met .  She was chatting with another women whilst I was counting my geld.  She rattled something in German to me and I went into my routine of explaining that I am an ignorant Australian that can't speak Deutsche.  In near perfect English she asked me for a euro.  I thought she wanted some change for parking and before I could say "Give that back you thieving bitch" she had my hard earned cash.  I will be on the look out for her next time.

Today's discovery is that the closest ski field is only 5 minutes walk from our apartment.  Amazing.  It is not particularly big and I don't think it will be hosting the Winter Olympics any time soon but there is a sign saying skiing announcing to the world in general that it is in fact a piste.  The first time we get a big dump of powder I will heading up there to give it a go.

Dinner

The ceiling of the UBahn station at Munchner Freiheit

We went out for dinner with Annika's parents to a traditional German restaurant in Munchner Freiheit.

Dinner was typical Deutsche affair i.e. lashings of meat and potatoes washed down with a litre of beer.

Fat Bastard

It is Saturday afternoon and we are waiting for Annika's parents to join us in the flat.  I am watching the snow from the lounge room window.  Big fat flakes swirling around on their inevitable journey to the ground.  Yesterday we went into town to register ourselves with the Einwohnermeldeamt.  (In Germany you have to register your change of address with the local bureaucracy.)   From there we had a general wander around and ended up at the markets in the altstadt.  These markets have been around for hundreds of years and were the city residents primary means of buying food.  They are fantastic.  The quality and variety of foods is wonderful to behold but is cause for concern.  I can foresee that one of the problems we will face living in Munich will be avoiding the potential gain in body mass.  There is a popular misconception that the German diet is mainly made up of pork, potatoes, bread, sauerkraut and beer.  This is not exactly true because cake also features quite heavily in there as well.

So here lies the dilemma. The food and drink in Munich is good and inexpensive but not necessarily what a dietician would recommend.  Take the simple bread roll (brotchen) for instance.  Back home they are fairly innocuous, not unappetising but certainly nothing to walk two miles through snow for.  In Germany the simple brotchen comes in many shapes, sizes and varieties, all of them delicious.  Your basic white brotchen costs 15 cents, is baked fresh with a crisp light crust and is soft white and fluffy inside.  Add a slice of paper thin schinken and some emental cheese and it is almost impossible to only eat one in a sitting.  Don't even get me started on bretzels.

This cheery little chap is going to be my nemesis

Then there is the beer. Beer is abundant, easily accessible, of exceptional quality and really cheap.  The other day I lashed out and went upmarket, buying a six pack of 500mL  Paulaner for less than it would cost me for one bottle back home.  How I am going to resist the temptation to drink beer and eat breztel every day?

Forraging for food

The hunter gather looks out from his dwelling, it is first light and his mate lies sleeping inside.  There has been a light falling of snow over night and the world is draped in white.  He steps out and sniffs the air.  There is a slight breeze stirring from the south and he turns into it instinctively knowing that it is better to hunt into the wind.  Moving cautiously he passes his previous foraging area, pickings had been good there last night.  Working together with his mate they had managed to bag bread, sausage, cheese, six beers and a bottle of red. Working alone now, he chooses to go further afield.  Moments later he is met with disappointment.  The area he had seen yesterday, which looked so promising was closed and would not open for another half an hour.  Conscious of his mate’s hunger and knowing that waiting half an hour in minus 2 degree temperatures would push him perilously close to hypothermia he decides to risk going further afield.  He turns into the wind once more and surveys the land ahead.  Snow has started to fall but he can make out what could be a Backerei in the distance.  His gamble has paid off and he is rewarded with Brotchen and good Kaffee, all of which are acquired without a word of English spoken.

With coffee and bread in hand he knows his mate will be content but his success has boosted his confidence and the route back to the dwelling will pass last night’s foraging ground.  Perhaps he will push his good fortune further and try for some eggs, milk and bananas.  Disaster.  Domestic blindness has struck and no matter how hard he looks he cannot find the eggs.  Summoning up his last reserves of courage he manages to ask a shop assistant where the eggs are and is rewarded by being told they are near the potatoes.  Once again not a word of English is spoken. 

The hunter gather returns to his dwelling laden with his spoils and regales his mate with tales of his exploits.  Today they will not go hungry.

The beginning

It is the evening and I feel like I haven’t slept for a week.  We are in our new flat celebrating our successful immigration to Germany by drinking a glass of Californian Zinfandel, 3 euro at the local supermarket.  Zinfandel is uncommon in WA but not impossible to find.  I like it because of the way it sneaks up on you, lulling you into a false sense of security until you try to stand up.  Munich greeted us with a light shower of snow as a welcome to our new home.  Our route here was not particularly direct and looking back on it I am amazed that we managed to pull it off without too many hitches.

Our first hurdle was checking in at Perth with a little bit of excess baggage.  I was travelling with 32kg of check-in and 26kg of carry on whilst Annika had 28kg of check-in and about 15 kg of carry on.  We had successfully upgraded to business so our allowances had been increased but by my calculations we were still 13 kg over on our carry on and I was preparing myself for a little bit of last minute chaos.  However the lovely lady behind the counter was more concerned with the fact that my passport was due to expire in 2 months time and didn’t notice the size and quantity of the carry on bags sitting at our feet.  I dispelled her passport consternations by revealing my brand new EU passport and that was that we were through.

The next hurdle was Heathrow, London.  Unfortunately Qantas has two options for flying to Munich neither of which are great .  One involves landing in Frankfurt and catching a train to Munich and the other is via Heathrow.   As the thought of loading our belongings on  to the ICE didn't thrill me too much we opted to travel via Heathrow.  We would still have to catch a train from the Flughafen to our flat but this was always going to be the case.

Heathrow, London, setting the bench mark in customer service and efficiency.  There is nothing better than clearing security at Heathrow to make one appreciate the simplistic elegance of a  large calibre belt fed automatic weapon.  We were scheduled to go back to cattle class for the last leg of  our journey and thus relinquish any claim on multiple carry on items.  Once again a certain amount of brazen swagger allowed us onto the aircraft with the crew thinking we were business passengers.  I even handed over my 12kg suit bag to steward and asked him hang it up for me, disappearing down the aisle before he knew what was happening.

The last stop.  Annika with our 100kg of luggage

The final part of our odyssey involved catching the S Bahn and the U Bahn from the airport to our flat. We were met at the station by the brother of our landlord who led us back to the flat.  I became quite emotional when I discovered that the flat was only 1 minute away and almost broke into tears when I found out it had a lift.