Bucolic Bavaria: Not Exactly a Travelogue

The flurry of news coming from Schloss Elmau, where the G7 Summit is being held today and tomorrow, reminded me that I had not yet posted anything about my trip to Germany with my son last month.While we went to Germany to attend a wedding, we were very close to where the Summit action/inaction is happening. The hordes of government officials, journalists and protesters that accompany modern summitry are no doubt trampling the bucolic landscape as I type. For that reason alone, I'm grateful that our trip didn't coincide with the Summit. I'm sure it would have been more difficult to get around. 

Still, it would have been interesting to be there at the same time as the Summit. I'm curious about what the leaders of the world's biggest economies might accomplish, or not, at their latest gathering in Bavaria. And what the thousands demonstrating in the streets of nearby Garmisch-Partenkirchen might draw attention to, as well. Canadian readers may wish to note that the Germans weren't building any godawful gazebos in the Summit run-up period, as was done in Muskoka; apparently wasteful schlock is not a requirement of the host country.

Regardless of timing, my teenaged son got a political booster shot on his first trip to Europe. With our German friends we discussed the state of surveillance and the surveillance state; the Greek-EU financial crisis (an argument ensued--and for politicos, an argument is a welcome event, as happy as a wedding); Canada's genocidal treatment of First Nations people (also much in the news this week); and more. On our own, we visited historic sights in Munich, Nuremberg, and Dachau and considered them through the prism of current events. We even had a chance encounter in a cafe, where a stranger seated near us, an older man, opined at length, unprompted, about American foreign policy. He said that Germans are truly shocked by US actions (Iraq, the spying episodes, drones) and concerned about rising fascism. I was polite but noncommittal, which I thought best as a visiting foreigner, not knowing anything about this guy. His demeanor remained solemn and measured throughout. But after a bit, he backpedaled. One should be careful, he said, when speaking of such things. Too late, I wanted to say. A strange politically-charged moment.
 
So besides the many churches we entered--and my kid reached his saturation point on gilded rococo cathedrals early on--politics emerged as our traveling theme. In case you're feeling sorry for him just about now, know that we also viewed beautiful art and very cool technology exhibitions, took the high-speed train, drove on the Autobahn at 220 km/hour (or rather, were driven; I certainly couldn't drive that fast), ate rich food and even hiked in the Alps one afternoon, but I'm afraid the chatter among our multinational group of hikers was mostly about...you know.

I guess we'll see what happens at Schloss Elmau, but the Reuters photo of Barack Obama and Angela Merkel embracing as they begin bilateral talks in advance of the Summit could not be more entertaining, given two countries very much at odds at the moment. I can't help imagining Merkel whispering in his ear, "Tell me you've destroyed my mobile phone records, Barack" or sweetly challenging him to find the edible nano-recording device hidden in the lunch they will soon have. At the press conference he makes a lederhosen joke (check out the video link (scroll down)--the lederhosen-clad fellow standing behind him is not amused). At some point they repair to a welcome-to-Germany luncheon, which the BBC faithfully reports on, even using the subheading "Sausages", for Ludwig's sake. Breaking: the Chancellor and POTUS enjoyed sausages and beer in the Bavarian sunshine.

What a coincidence. We, too, enjoyed sausages and beer in the Bavarian sunshine. In addition to the weisswurst and rostbratwurst typical of the region, we were served a local dish called sausage salad, which I had never had before. It consisted of shredded sausage, a mayonnaise-based dressing and, I was told but could not discern in the mix, cucumbers. Nano-particle vegetables stealthily dropped into the salad.

Following are a few more highlights.

Transit: the S-bahn suburban transit system connecting Munich to outlying villages is genius. Cheap, easy, and reliable, with seamless connections to the city subway. The honor system prevails--no one checks tickets, although there were warning signs about fines for those caught without one. And, of course, every station has parking for hundreds of bikes. The bike lots are full.

Nuremberg subway station entrance--go into the tower

On the train to Munich

We stayed in a village called Wolfratshausen, which is 1000 years old. Munich, in contrast, is *only* 800 years old.

The whole trip I had been waiting to see this image--on a t-shirt, was what I expected--and here it was stuck to the back of a traffic sign in Wolfratshausen. Perhaps our cafe friend was responsible for this bit of political speech calling for "Asyl" for Snowden.

"Arbeit mach frei" (work makes you free)--on the entrance gate to Dachau and other concentration camps.There must be millions of variations on this picture floating around the world--I had to wait as people lined up for this shot the day we were there. It's a horrific and chilling place, but also a place of learning and remembrance.

International memorial at Dachau

In Nuremberg, we happened upon this  monument, which is the Way of Human Rights. Inscribed on each pillar is an article of the UN Human Rights Declaration, in German and another language. The effect is quite moving, given Nuremberg's history as the site of the biggest Nazi rallies, and then mostly destroyed by bombing during World War II.  

A key to the languages used for each article of the Human Rights Declaration.

Our friend took us to this chapel, which overlooks lush rolling hills and in the distance, the Alps. It also has a war story, which has to do with downed British bomber pilots who were given proper burials contrary to Nazi orders, and the village was subsequently spared from devastation by Allied troops.

 

The site at Lake Starnberg where King Ludwig II, having been declared insane, deposed and imprisoned, either committed suicide by drowning or was murdered in 1886

Heiliggeistkirche (Holy Ghost Church) in Munich.I don't know the details about this cloud of paper doves hanging from the ceiling, but it's probably at least partly about peace, no?

Beet Chips: Don't Do It

Have you ever reached for a bag of those multi-hued veggie chips and consumed the contents guilt-free--possibly even with a dash of self-righteousness--simply because they are not greasy potato chips? I have.

Porter Airlines hands out single-serving bags of Terra Exotic Vegetable Chips on their flights. Exotic as in taro and yuca, along with the more humdrum beet, parsnip and sweet potato. According to the website, they are 100% natural and each ounce contains a full serving of vegetables. Vegetables way more appealing than their traditional dinner guises. They're not only exotic but beautiful--red, orange and yellow crispy disks, and just like regular potato chips, basically a vehicle to get fat and salt into your mouth.

So why not try making them at home, I say? Said. And regretted.

Don't do it. Forget culinary DIY unprocessed maker hooptedoodle. Some things are better purchased. That's what I learned when I tried to make beet chips tonight based (okay, loosely based) on a googled recipe. Here's why you shouldn't. 

1. It's a mess. Anyone know an easier way of doing this?

2. A bloody disaster. The recipe called for cutting the beets into 1/16th inch slices with a mandoline, which I don't have, and guess what? That thing that kind of looks like a mandoline on a cheese grater won't do the job. The processer sliced, but only made small pieces.
 

3. False promises: reminiscent of the paper-thin shavings of ginger that come with sushi, only tasteless.

4. They looked okay at this point, although the people who loathe beets (everyone but me) weren't happy about the smell.

5. Voilà! Unevenly cooked beet chips--some wet and repulsive, a very few perfectly done, some burned. And I don't have time to stand there plucking each cherished crisp from the oven as it reaches peak done-ness. As the recipe-writer does, apparently.
   

 I say buy them.