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([personal profile] sanura Aug. 1st, 2009 01:57 pm)

The boys stayed out late last night, so I got to sleep in till 11. It was a good restore from the train trip. Parker opted to go on the Dachau tour that our guide from yesterday was leading today, so Andrew and I walked east and got some cheap Döner kebap. For some reason, I was very serene, hardly paying any attention to Andrew. He seemed to want to walk behind me most of the way, too, so it was almost like he wasn't there, and I was serenely pacing my hood in Munich. It reminded me of the unhurried trips I'd bike to the theater in Houston; on the way to the (very far) movies, I'd get all shifty and stop at the Hobbit for my daily meal. This time, I was practically alone, and stopped for the daily meal on the way to the (very far) Englischer Garten, basically the Munich city park. It's huge.


And gorgeous. It's called the English Garden because it's modeled on English landscape paintings. There were trees, the glorious trees, arranged seemingly haphazardly. And bits of river everywhere. People were surfing, seriously, on the stationary wave made by the bridge over the beginning of the directed river. Tiny children played frisbee or one-on-one netless badminton. Nudes sunbathed. There was a drum circle doing some awesome Guayaboso-style polyrhythms and crazy Caribbean stuff. The guy who was leading it (or at least making the most noise and drawing the most people) was speaking Rasta-deutsch.

We sat there watching the drum circle for ages but then he noticed us and yelled what we thought was a direction to go away, but turns out we were sitting next to the tree people use as a toilet. So he dragged us closer, very friendly. One of the old women in the drum circle offered Andrew a beer, and he went with her to get it. Rasta-deutsch dude was off somewhere and this sketchy-looking Espandeustch speaker started dancing inch by inch toward me. In order to avoid being danced on top of, and since the beat was reasonably Cuban, I got up and started pseudo-salsa-ing. Rasta-deutsch speaker made a beeline and accosted Espandeutsch speaker, yelling "That's my woman!" in Rasta-deutsch and starting an argument, accusing the Espandeutsch dude of calling him a Scheißeniger and other such epithets. Andrew arrived back in the middle of the fight, with no idea what it was about. I thought it was going to come to blows.

Eventually Rasta scared Espan away and came and put his arm around me. Which, okay. He'd done the European both-cheeks-kiss when he brought us over. He was very in my space, and asked Andrew if I was his girlfriend. Andrew said no, which in retrospect may have been a mistake. Rasta dude got even friendlier, asking "gib mir a Buss" and trying to kiss me. No panic, just an extrication. He kept assuring Andrew "we're brothers, we're friends" because he thought Andrew was terrified because of the neurological condition that makes him shake. Then he tried to bum money off Andrew to buy a beer, and indignantly refused his change. Then he tried to kiss me again.

This happened several more times, and he started asking what was with my shirt, why was it so high in the front, and I was no longer up for fending him off in order to hear the drum circle, so I told him if he kept doing that I'd run away. He didn't want to see any more of us, then, and so we left.

Then Andrew caved to peer pressure and jumped in the river, which was fun to watch. He's still wet. The walk back wasn't actually as long, but the slanting late-afternoon sunlight made it seem eternal, in both good ways and bad. The Hofgarten, which we hadn't seen on the way in, was made exceptionally picturesque by the light.

We made it back. Parker had an insightful and educational time at Dachau. I am immensely tired, so I'm not going on a quest with the boys for alcohol. I might, very hypothetically, go with them for a little on the way to the gay club they missed last night, because they said they saw a salsa club and wished I'd been there. However I have a blister, no shoes or clothes appropriate for dancing (I probably would just not wear shoes), and my feet are exhausted, so I may crash again early tonight and get up to see a mass of some kind.

From: [identity profile] music-dissident.livejournal.com


Where is this peer pressure thing coming from? I've wanted to swim in the Englischer Garten since I heard of it! :P
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