Sitting amongst the Germans in the Haufbrau Keller, the English Garden's beer garden, I was thinking to myself, "I never want to leave this place." Munich was a dream, and my comfort there can only be described as having my roots take hold in the place that called to my soul. Yes, it really was that deep. Beer, brats, and the fall; what more could I need in life?
My journey to this beautiful place was not as enjoyable. In fact, it was a nightmare. Eight long hours sitting upright on a train filled to the brim, so much so, it was bursting its seams. My car was full with six people to a room, none of whom I knew. Next to me sat an older gentleman in his early 50s. Country of origin unknown, but what was evident to the other five of us in the room was he had not bathed in two weeks -- just my luck. The following hours drug on like waiting for molasses to pour, all the while sitting completely upright with no leg room. Obviously, there was no sleep for me on this overnight train to Munich. I was ecstatic when it was finally over.
And was it all worth it? Was it worth going through that torture to be sitting in the crisp, fresh, autumn air in Munich, Germany, eating bratwurst, blaukraut, and pretzels larger than my head, drinking beer in a glass so heavy I need two hands to hold it? The answer is simple: Yes. And I cannot wait to go back. I have officially left my heart in Munich.