Bratwursts and Sauerfraut

July 26, 2001
Munich, Germany
"Bratwursts and Sauerkraut"I knew I'd caught the right train to Germany because the little girls in the seats behind me kept saying "Kaputt" whenever they lost a hand at cards. Kaputt means something's not right. If your car breaks down on the 405, it goes Kaputt. I learn my basic words from listening to children on trains. Kids speak slow, loud, and they usually repeat themselves. By the time I reached Munich, I knew how to count to ten, hello, goodbye, and how to say "mommy, i need to go potty". This last one is important . . if you dont know how to locate the bathroom in a foreign country, very soon things go Kaputt.
Europe is crowded in the summer. My travel guide, Lonely Planet, lists a few cheap accomodation options in every city. When I call these places they are almost always booked. Why? Because we all bought the same Lonely Planet Travel Guide at Barnes&Nobles before we left. This is what happened in Munich. I threw myself on the mercy of the Tourist Office. The German behind the counter told me "VE only have vooms for 140 marks" (about 70 bucks). I asked him if he had anything cheaper. He frowned and said "Of course, there is alvays 'Zeee Tent'"
The Tent. 19 Marks a night. So I went. The Tent is actually a big circus tent on the outskirts of Munich. The Germans set it up in 1972 to move all the hippies out of town before the Olympics began. The hippies never left. Well, they did, but they got replaced by Oregon's finest. I showed up and found two big Circus Tents surrounded by a sea of little tents. People lived here. For Months. Years. The front desk (a winnebago) said they didn't have any more dorm beds. "But you can sleep on the floor. 15 marks a night, heres a mattress pad and a few blankets."
Cradling my bedding, I walked into the huge circus tent. Hundreds of mattress pads covered the wooden floor. All sorts of travelers scurried about inside, sleeping, packing, doing laundry, playing guitar, cooking hippy-vegan food, sewing, etc. I found a space in the corner between a locker and a bunch of Irish kids who looked like they hadn't been sober in weeks. I laid down on my mattress and tried to sleep. I couldn't. Some travellers were practicing Tibetan atonal horns. After a few minutes, it started to rain.
Kaputt.
"So, you vant to go to zee Concentration Camp?" the tourist officer asked.
"No," I said, "I want to visit it."
Dachow is in the suburbs of Munich. It's hard to find. I walked down a nice street lined with new Irvine-type homes and found a guard tower at the end of it, and a chain link fence. I'd reached Dachow. There's only one English tour a day. By the time it started, my stomach was growling. The tour guide said the tour would take 3 hours. 2 hours into the tour and I was dying for a bratwurst and sauer kraut. Anything. Hunger. Walking through Dachow with a gnawing stomach. I realized later that this affected me the same way Lent does. I try to stomach a little suffering, I fail. I can't even wait the full 3 hours. How much harder must it have been for those how truly suffered? And in Dachow, they suffered alot. The neo-nazis say Dachow wasn't bad, because nobody got gassed here. True, but 35,000 prisoners died here from starvation, disease, and bullets. They showed us a field where 5000 Soviet POWS were gunned down by the S.S. for target practice. The lies were rampant. The front gate says "work will set you free" When the prisoners were led to the gas chamber, they were told they would be getting a hot shower, and afterwards some coffee and jam for breakfast.
I came to Germany wondering how could the people of Germany could let this stuff happen? How? Well, the nazis moved quick. The imprisoned all the opposition.
Dachow wasnt just for Jews. They sent everyone here; journalists, bankers, communists, priests, anybody who spoke out against the party.
Some guy on the tour asked "How do the modern Germans come to terms with this, this camp?" The tour guide said, "Life must go on. You can live with it, just do not deny that it happened."
The place swarms with German students. They are learning about it now, which didn't happen 20 years ago. Life goes on. Houses surround the camp. But the camp remains.
So does the good parts of German culture. Munich is Bavaria, the heart of stereotypic germany; bratwursts, liederhosen, and the Hofbrauhaus. The food is excellent, the people are friendly, and the city is the biggest small town in Germany. None of the buildings can be taller than the central church. The parks are full of biergardens. The streets are full of Mercedes. The smell of roasting Brats fills the parks, and people dance to Um-Pah bands and proudly wear there liedhosen.
I had only one day of sunshine, and I made it to the Gardens for all the fun.
Berlin is just the opposite. A brand new city since the fall of the Berlin Wall, the city is skyscrapers, techno music, and sleek shopping malls. I arrived in Berlin during the "Love Parade" the biggest techno party in Europe. The streets were crowded with people wearing crazy outlandish costumes (no liederhosen in sight) everyone had died hair, glitter, and boas. What was going on? I watched about 10 floats go by, all the same, crowded floats full of ravers dancing away. There were 90 more floats on the way. It was quite a spectacle . . . very different than Munich. But I still was able to find a good Bratwurst. When my train left that night, we rode across Berlin and saw almost every major Plaza packed with people dancing. I wonder if these were the same people who loved David Hasselhoff a few years ago. Whatever they are, the Germans are very passionate, and they all seem to be very passionate about the same thing at once. And they make good food.