I must say it has taken me awhile to get the hang of this winter thing. I chalk my first winter season experience up to happy-go-lucky ignorance. You could have locked me with a beach towel in a freezer full of Fischstäbchen and told me this was a typical German ritual.

I would’ve gone with it. And in some respects, I did and it was difficult to find any joy in it.

That’s probably why I haven’t been to a Starkbierfest in the time I’ve lived in Munich. The grey and cold keep me indoors.

In subsequent years, I grew more the wisers. Life in the winter months has taught me to stay active or end up busting a knee ligament and more recently, to also get over being shy about public naked-time on Sauna Saturdays. My cold loathing has been reduced for those few days when the sky is so depressing it feels like the dark crystal is hovering above Munich draining the life essence from all who dare to gaze outside the window.

Alright. It’s not that bad. Especially now.. because it’s Starkbierzeit.

The former monastery at Nockherberg, now the Paulaner brewery and gastronomy wonder park, offers a mini version of what it’s like to be in a beer tent during Oktoberfest. See all the Lebkuchen Herzchen, ribbons, and balloons? The one advantage: there’s no smoking. The disadvantage: there is a cover charge to get on the grounds.

So this Keferloher or Steinkrug I’m holding contains the Starkbier called, Salvator. Also known as “liquid bread”, it was invented by hunger-driven monks because fasting it old-school was just too hard to bare. They also supported their habit by selling the stuff to outsiders.

It needs to be served ice cold because it contains 7.5% alcohol (normal beer has 4.7 to 5.1%) otherwise it tastes bitter and flat. I thought the Salvator was just a tad sweeter than wheat beer and palatable, which was to my delight because I had a liter of it to kill.

After awhile the picture above sums it up: Life in a Mass surrounded by a bunch of empty mini-masses.. and a chicken with a knife in it.

At the end of the evening, the long, cold winter is merely a faint memory along with the uncomfortable tightness the dSo a schoener Tag – Fliegerlied by Die Jungen Zillertalerirndl of two seasons ago is putting on your rib cage. Eventually you find yourself happy and holding a bouquet of radishes! (or perhaps I’m speaking from my unique perspective) All in all, good times.

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Those who can capture the essence of Bavarian Christmas Markets far better than I:

• Redenii in Deutschland,
• This non-American Life,
• Munich Daily Photo

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birthday flowers and candle

So on my birthday. I’ve painted my toes red, put on mascara because at this age, I’ll admit, I need the extra help *wink*.

Then I’ve set my sights to send out more job applications even though getting a letter or email with the word leider has gotten old rather quickly, still the ever-thinking Alex is urging me on. He’s a hero to me.

In the worst case I’ve applied to new schools since distance learning is proving to be a leap too great for me to bound. Although, I’ve been deemed too old to be a student, so there’s a need to update my health insurance. I suppose this is the age when you are required by society to squeeze a bun out of the oven so better to tax now than at the time it happens.

And it is still a waiting game for the future of my European driver’s license, we’re holding bedtime lessons on the physics of a manual transmission car.

My knee aches less and less after 3 months since my ACL repair, but still lets me know when I do too much. The scar is healing nicely as is the bone beneath, which is now tender to a strong touch.

I’ve been pulled in so many directions, that it feels like I only give 20 percent to anything I attempt and it’s no wonder the goal(s) lie(s) on the horizon. A birthday comes around again and you think, “Gee, where has the time gone?” It is easy to get discouraged. Disappointed.

So things haven’t turned out as planned. Still there is always time for optimism no matter where it comes from. I got a phone call from a friend and she wished me a happy birthday. The next thing I know after explaining that the priorities of the world are all a muck, that good friend sets up a little, last-minute, evening get-together at a café for cake and wine. Now the world is just perfect. It can’t get any hard than it already is. I just won’t allow it.

Here’s looking forward to my first year in my thirties.

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