Culture in München

Two full days into my short European sojourn—which I am splitting between Bavaria and Sicily—I've already tanked more culture that in the past half year at home. How about two jazz concerts plus an avantgarde digital art exhibit, not to mention walking through one of Germany's most beautiful cities?

I had decided on this quick trip to Europe when I happened to find—back in June—a very reasonably priced Business Class mileage redemption from LBB to MUC and back, at 65,000 miles each way and less than $150 in total fees. Had I flown a day earlier or later, the mileage requirement would have jumped by more than 250,000 total!

Approaching the MUC airport outside of Freising

When I got closer to the departure date, I had asked, almost begged, Sabine (whom I had last seen for a few days in the spring) to find something "cultural" to do. Honestly, after spending so much time at mountain bike races I had started to feel starved for different stimuli. When I arrived about a week ago, the weather in Bavaria was beautiful so that my first three days in Freising were marked by cool, yet sunny, conditions—perfect to stroll through the town that is celebrating its 1,300th anniversary. That in itself counts for culture!

Food counts for culture, too 🤣

While Sabine had secured tickets for a jazz concert at the Unterfahrt jazz club in Munich for Friday night, she hadn't really planned anything in particular for Thursday. However, she remembered seeing a flier for a jam session at the Furtner, a formerly active brewery in need of a facelift that still attracts a mostly young crowd that socializes with beers in hand. The Furtner has a small room that's separate from the bar area, and when we arrived shortly after 8 p.m. (after dinner at my favorite Greek place, the Irodion), maybe 50 or so jazz fans were listening to a trio of young musicians. They played the remainder of their first set, and after a break to refill the beers the jam session started. It soon became clear that the young piano player was the gifted one, while the bass player showed some pretty rough edges.

Have piano, will travel

The pianist, Alexander Wittges, has been written up by some newspapers as the "Freising Piano Man." He is just 18, thanked his dad (who was working the soundboard) for his unwavering support, and is about to study music at Juilliard. In his spare time he rides his cargo bike with an upright piano mounted around town and plays for passers-by to make a few pennies. The kid is good. Really good! Three hours later, fewer than half a dozen of us were left over, witnessing this extraordinary evening of young talent exploring and finding new heights. Wow.

On Friday we took the train to Munich and enjoyed some of the sights in the city center. The Marienplatz in front of the imposing Rathaus (city hall) as well as the adjacent Viktualienmarkt were teeming with locals and tourists alike, with many enjoying a bite to eat or nursing a stein of beer. For me, coming from the noisy US, it was so odd to hear just the soft hum of the voices—none of the loud and screeching tonalities that in the States greet us in public places and restaurants alike. People here are quiet and private, yet they're having a solidly good time.

Once the shadows grew longer, we headed for the Kunsthalle to spend time at the exhibition titled Digital By Nature: The Art of Miguel Chevalier. Well, since the official description of this showing did not manage to prepare me for the onslaught of visual stimuli I am not going to try to describe here what we saw, because it would be inadequate. Let me just say, most of the works of art were simply beautiful for their colors and organic interplay with the visitor. It was so different from anything either one of us had ever seen, and I can only recommend to make an attempt to see an exhibit by this amazing artist.

For dinner we went nextdoor from the Kunsthalle, to the Vapiano, which has been our traditional pizza place since my first forays to Munich years ago. I'm not exactly sure what the attraction of this modern chain-restaurant is for us, and so I have to assume that there is a certain sentimentality that overcomes us when we order a pinsa diavola, pick some of the rosemary from the small planter on the table and add it to the pie, and share a bottle of wine. Nothing fancy, just good memories coming back and new ones being made.

Properly stuffed we took the tram to the Unterfahrt, which is a true jazz cellar in a retired underground train station. Once again it was a classical jazz trio performance, only much more polished and groomed than the night before. To see, no, listen to legendary drummer Omar Hakim in such an intimate setting was a real treat. But as smooth as the performance was, it lacked the sheer life of the jam session of those young musicians in Freising. For me, emotion and passion will always trump technical brilliance.

Waiting for the (almost) last train home

We spent most of Saturday in a workshop organized by the co-op that Sabine hopes will help her secure a permanent home for the final third of her life. For me, it was interesting to see what the hurdles are for a project such as this to come to fruition, and at least I will be able to understand a little more of the upcoming challenges, discussions, and decisions that she and the group of other co-op members will be facing.

Poll of workshop participants regarding anticipated mobility needs. Interesting.

On Sunday morning, the predicted rain had set in and my three-and-a-half days on the ground in Freising came to a conclusion. It was time to leave for the sunshine of Sicily.

Jürgen

A Sunday in the land of the buffalo

One of the advantages of living in Lubbock is that leaving town will take you to places more exciting, exhilarating, and exotic than the Hub City. One such spot is Caprock Canyons State Park, a mere 103 miles from my garage. And after being unceremoniously disinvited from officiating the TORS#3 race in Warda just days earlier ("financial reasons"), I proposed to Sandy a Sunday excursion to relieve the stress caused by staying at home for almost a week. Actually, she hadn't been out of the city since our trip to the DR, so it really was time.

And so we fired up the Beemer, the retractable roof solidly latched into place since the first serious cold front of the season had brought chilly temps to the South Plains. However, by the time we had left Idalou and Ralls behind and were about to enter the Pumpkin Capital of the USA, Floydada, it was warm enough to go full cabrio. Another 45 minutes of driving, and we passed through the only highway intersection in Quitaque, gateway to CCSP. Don't even try to pronounce it.

I had paid our $5-a-person entry fee to the state park online. Once we went across the cattle guard that keeps the buffalo inside the more than 15,000-acre areal (that's just shy of 24 square miles) we got our first glimpse of what is one of only four genetically pure bison herds in the world. Depending on the time of year (you know, they do have babies, some are shipped off to other herds to increase their genetic diversity, and some just die), the herd counts about 250 to 300 heads. They roam the entire park, including the campgrounds. Imagine opening your tent in the morning and looking at a bearded face that puts mine to shame!

I had to do a bit of Googling to find out the history of this herd, and it's interesting enough to synopsize here. As everyone knows, bison were almost entirely eradicated in the late 19th century, and very, very few animals survived—essentially none. Yet, one of Texas' early mega cattle ranchers, the legendary Charles Goodnight and his betrothed, Mary Ann, spotted several bison near their JA Ranch and decided to capture, nurture, and breed them. And so, from two calves and a cow, the Goodnight Bison Herd evolved, and the rest is history, as they say.

The buffalo are just icing on the cake. Caprock Canyons is very similar to the oh-so-much-better-known Palo Duro Canyon, located just off the High Plains of Texas where the Rolling Plains start—right below this amazing geological formation known as the Caprock. While Palo Duro (close to Amarillo) attracts lots of visitors (remember those Marlborough cigarette ads of yore? Those pics of the cowboy—astride his stallion, gazing into the sunset, and finding God in his cig—were not taken in the Grand Canyon, as everybody thought, but in Palo Duro), Caprock Canyons is much more of a "local" attraction, a place people will visit after having spent a night in the two historic hotels of Matador and Turkey. I tell you, this region is worth a visit just for the names.

And so we hiked for about four miles into one of the box canyons that dead-end where the canyon walls become steep and impassable. (Well, there is a loop trail that requires a bit more climbing than we wanted to embark on that takes hikers up on top of the Caprock's caliche and then back down, but that was more of a hike than I had planned for a first-time excursion. Maybe next time, as the view from up there is quite spectacular.) We were awed by the rock formations (oxidized iron-infused red sandstone with crisscrossing veins of quartz) and stopped for rocks and colorful leaves and coyote scat that bore witness to the seeds of the ubiquitous opuntias. (Man, I really wanted to use these two words as a pair!)

After our hike we found us a quiet spot for a relaxed and civilized picnic. It's amazing what a few olives, some salami, just the right cheeses, and a bottle of wine will do after a hike. I had stocked the soft cooler, and the good old roll-a-table back from the rafting days came in very handy (and it had even fit into the Z4's trunk, together with two camping chairs, without interfering with the roof's folding operation). There was no wind, the sky was as blue as it comes, and the temperature couldn't have been any more perfect. What a wonderful day to enjoy the best of fall!

Jürgen