Complete compendium of 2018 travelogues: Porto, Gdansk and Munich.

Diana and I are exceedingly fortunate to have been able to visit Europe three times in 2018. We're very well matched as travel partners, and it's a pure joy. For years I refused to take a phone with me when traveling, but eventually relented, and since 2016 we've been "facebooking" our trips.

Your comments are much appreciated by both of us, and because so many of you have told me that you enjoy the photos, I've taken to arranging them at the blog in the form of travelogues.

Following are the links to our 2018 trips; Munich and Gdansk are in the form of links to "search by label," so just click and scroll. Porto was arranged earlier with all links in one place. Each trip also was accompanied by a prelude of articles of historical and topical interest pertaining to our destination.

I hope you enjoy all these articles, and thanks for reading.

Munich, Germany (and a side trip to Bamberg)
Bavarian Christmas Interlude 2018
Prelude: Munich Tales 2018

Gdansk, Poland
Gdansk Pilgrimage 2018
Prelude: Eight Days of Gdansk

I did it a bit differently last spring.

Porto, Portugal (and a side trip to Madeira)

Your courtesy compendium of links to the "Portugal Trip 2018" and "Focus on Portugal 2018" series.

Munich Tales 2018: The city's stellar airport should be a festive place to say goodbye to Christmas in Germany.

That's right. The airport, where we'll be on Christmas Eve as the way back home begins.

Munich Airport's Christmas Market Has 2 Ice Rinks and Almost 500 Real Trees, by Katherine Lagrave (Conde Nast Traveler)

Strap on some ice skates and sip some Glühwein on your next layover.

Nobody does Christmas quite like Germany, and as it turns out, nobody does holiday airport shopping quite like Germany either. On November 17, Munich Airport opened its 44-stall Christmas market amid nearly 500 (real) pine trees in the covered space between its airport terminals, meaning travelers facing a long layover can now do more than just flip through the latest Der Spiegel in Germany's version of Hudson News.

It's not just local handicrafts and seasonal treats like Glühwein, sweet roasted almonds, bratwurst, and Rahmfleckerl, a flatbread-like dish with cream, bacon, and chopped chives. The centerpiece of the market is a 50-foot tall Christmas tree decorated with 5,000 lights and 3,000 bulbs—but the main attraction is a big (especially for an airport) skating rink with free entry; visitors can rent skates for a "small" fee ...

... The market, in its 20th year, isn't the only notable thing about Munich Airport: It was ranked Europe’s first five-star airport by Skytrax in 2017, the best airport in Europe for the eleventh time in 13 years, and the sixth-best airport worldwide in the World Airport Awards 2018, with the second-best terminal in the world. In addition to its seasonal Winterlicher Zauberlandschaft (that's Winter Wonderland, to you), the airport also has Europe's largest roofed-in beer garden, a dedicated kids' center, and an alpine-themed restaurant where you can dine in a gondola from a real ski lift.

As we return home, a closing overview of Christmas in Germany, courtesy of Deutsche Welle.

10 things you should know before celebrating Christmas in Germany

Stock your pantry and keep your fire extinguisher handy. Here are 10 things you should know ahead of Christmas in Germany.

10. It's not over until the ... children sing

Christmas begins with Advent in late November and the holiday itself lasts three whole days, so it's only fitting that Christmas gradually come to a close in Germany. Officially, it's not over until Epiphany, or Three Kings' Day, on January 6. Typically, children dress like the Three Wise Men who visited Jesus in the manger, according to the Bible, and go door to door singing traditional songs.

Munich Tales 2018: A six-pack of Munich beer and food.

This post was inevitable, don't you think?

The 11 best places to drink beer in Munich, by Barbara Woolsey (Time Out)

In Munich? Want a beer? You’ve got a whole world of great options

In Munich, and the state of Bavaria, it’s not just brewing beer that’s an art form: so is consuming it. There’s an unspoken code of how to drink like a proud southern German: Always clutch your beer Maß, or litre mug, with just one hand. When you toast, make strong eye contact. And bring your own snacks – carrying outside treats into the beer garden is not just allowed, it’s polite.

But as much as tradition rules the Bavarian roost, in the capital Munich there are plenty of independent breweries and beer halls shirking the old ways. The Reinheitsgebot, a 500-year-old beer purity law dictating that only water, barley and hops could make beer, is being defied more than ever by a new guard of local craft brewers and funky tap houses without a wood barstool or painted mural in sight.

It makes for a dynamic mix of traditional taverns and beer gardens – mostly gathered in the heart of the city, where they’ve presided over the centuries – but also suave pubs rebelling against their Bavarian birthright. It depends who you’re talking to, but the latter is either a vital revolution or blasphemy. What better way to take up the debate than over a cold one?

A critical consideration at the beer hall is to not take the seat of a regular unless invited to do so -- by a regular. Anyone who must ask whether or not they're a regular plainly isn't one.

Gather Round the Stammtisch (Spiegel On Line)

Pubs around the world have their regulars -- those customers that prop up the bar every day. Germans, however, have formalized their own way of drinking, talking, laughing, and solving the world's problems. The "Stammtisch" is a venerable Teutonic tradition -- consider it a no-frills version of the French salon.

Travelling in Germany can be a thirsty undertaking and regular detours into one of the country's many Eckkneipen (corner pubs) can quickly become a necessity. Once your eyes have adjusted to the murky, smoke-filled dimness, be careful where you sit -- a wrong choice can be a severe break with German protocol.

In a crowded German restaurant or beer hall, you'll sometimes find an inviting table placed conveniently near the bar and surrounded by empty chairs. A cryptic sign hanging above will read Stammtisch. While such a table may seem tempting, sitting at a Stammtisch is a privilege reserved for the pub's regulars. If you stay long enough for a second beer, the table will likely fill up with boisterous and chummy Germans on a first-name basis with the bartender.

A Stammtisch is a table permanently reserved for the family and friends of a bar's owner -- also known as the Stammgäste, or "family guests." But more than merely being a piece of furniture, the Stammtisch is where a number of German character traits come together in one place: beer drinking, conviviality, and a deeply ingrained penchant for speaking authoritatively on any given subject.

THIS is the breakfast of champion beer travelers.

A Weisswurst Breakfast (beer included), by Michelle Wagenlaender (The Munich Eye)

It is not very often that one is served beer for breakfast. And no, it has nothing to do with Oktoberfest! Weisswurst Frühstück, the traditional Bavarian breakfast, includes boiled sausages served with loads of sweet mustard, freshly baked pretzels and a refreshing Weissbier (wheat beer). In fact, the sausages without the beer, mustard and pretzels might be slightly frowned upon by the locals!

Weisswurst, translated as white sausage, is a mix of finely minced veal and fresh pork bacon and is usually seasoned with parsley, lemon, mace, onions, ginger and cardamom. This mixture is stuffed into fresh pork casings and separated into individual sausages, measuring about 12 centimeters long (4-5 inches) and 2 centimeters wide (an inch). Since it is made early in the morning, it is not consumed after midday. There is a saying that the sausages should not be allowed to hear the church bells' noon chime.

Weisswurst appears again on this list of must-try food, which thoughtfully incorporates several non-native dishes. My choice for Schweinhaxe in Munich is the Schneider Bräuhaus, as accompanied by a lovely Aventinus.

11 Delicious Dishes You Can't Leave Munich Without Trying, by Evelyn Smallwood (Culture Trip)

Schweinshaxe
Also known as Haxe or Eisbein, Schweinshaxe is a big old pig knuckle slow-roasted with the skin still on served with a knife sticking out of it. The skin is crackly and the meat just falls off the bone. Bring a big appetite. The potato dumplings that come with are basically gravy sponges.

To conclude, two posts about the Munich milieu we experienced all those years ago -- now 31 of them.

30 years ago today on THE BEER BEAT: Meeting the gang at the legendary Imbiss by Gleis 16 at the Hauptbahnhof in Munich.

 ... The famous Imbiss (snack counter) at the foot of Gleis (track) 16 is long gone, the victim of extensive remodeling, modernization and gentrification, It wasn’t all that much even in its heyday, but during the 1980’s this simple, functional train station concession stand was a genuine Munich destination for discerning budget travelers the world over.

There were two long windows with outside counter space, plentiful tile and stainless steel, wonderful beer taps, kitchen equipment for preparing basic nibbles, and several customarily greasy, though by necessity diligent, employees in white shirts, sometimes augmented with blue smocks.

In front of the Imbiss were a handful of regular standing-room-only cocktail tables, and also some that resembled smaller, elongated versions of the telephone wire spools that used to litter backyards in the Georgetown of my youth.

Standing at these tables by morning, evening and night were locals, tourists, commuters, vagrants and assorted hangers-on, the majority of them savoring the Imbiss’s only true specialties: Cool Hacker-Pschorr golden lager at a reasonable price and a portion of Leberkäse, a high-quality form of all-meat bologna cut from a warm deli-sized square loaf, weighed and priced, and served with a crusty roll and plenty of mustard.

The Imbiss at Gleis 16 never disappointed. Like Munich's defunct Mathäser Bierstadt (tomorrow's topic), the Imbiss represented old-fashioned egalitarian functionality for the city's everyday commuters, as well as short-term visitors like us, for whom it was a fine and refreshing perch to observe life's rich pageant.

R.I.P., Mathäser Bierstadt.

30 years ago today on THE BEER BEAT: Munich's incredible Mathäser Bierstadt, symbol of a lost era.

 ... It was cavernous, filled with nooks and byways and various banquet rooms and snugs, and decidedly grittier than the Hofbräuhaus – no less attractive for tourists, but rowdy and with an earthier composition of native German barfly.

These many years later, what I’ve taken away from three Munich nights in July isn’t capable of being detailed. That I experienced it with wide eyes and a sense of wonderment cannot be doubted. For a beer- and history-loving Hoosier just shy of his 27th birthday, roaming Europe for the second time, Munich was the epitome. It was Disneyland with ubiquitous mugs of foamy lager and all the sauerkraut and potatoes one cared to eat.

Unfortunately, the Mathäser perished, and the site is now an ultra-modern cinema and entertainment complex. I walked past it in 2004 and bowed in reverence for what used to be. The last time I was there during its actual existence was in 1995, and even then the beer hall seemed exhausted, even if we did our level best to enliven the proceedings.

Munich Tales 2018: The Bavarian revolution of 1918-19, and whether independence retains any appeal today.

Bavaria is a province (Land) in the modern federal parliamentary republic of Germany. From 1805 to 1918, Bavaria was a kingdom, which remained somewhat intact, if subordinated, in 1871 when Bavaria was absorbed into the newly unified German Empire.

The kingdom came to a close in 1918, and it was messy. I'd begin by saying that Americans have long forgotten the short-lived Bavarian Republics in 1918-19, except it's unclear how many of us ever knew about this revolutionary period in the first place.

Dreamers by Volker Weidermann review – Munich 1919, a moment of anarchy, by Caroline Moorehead (The Guardian)

A superb account of an episode when the writers took over and it seemed all could be different. Then people were rounded up and shot

On 7 November 1918, a critic and journalist called Kurt Eisner, with long grey hair, a wild beard and pince-nez, led a victory parade through the streets of Munich, calling for revolution. Crowds flocked, among them the many disbanded soldiers returning from the war. Eisner dreamed of a free and independent Bavaria, run by councils of writers and workers in which artists would elevate and educate the masses and there would never again be war. He would be prime minister. It could not, indeed did not, last. But for three chaotic weeks, ungoverned Munich was in perpetual carnival mood, with women sitting outside on their porches in the sunshine and prophets, “hypnotists, and those who had been hypnotised” preaching anarchy and happiness. Thomas Mann’s son Klaus, 13 at the time, saw himself as “an animal feeling the approach of an earthquake”.

What followed Eisner's failed People's State of Bavaria was too red for comfort.

The Bavarian Soviet Republic (German: Bayerische Räterepublik) was the short-lived unrecognised socialist state in Bavaria during the German Revolution of 1918–19. It took the form of a workers' council republic. Its name is variously rendered in English as the Bavarian Council Republic or the Munich Soviet Republic (German: Münchner Räterepublik; the German name Räterepublik means a republic of councils or committees; council or committee is also the meaning of the Russian word soviet) after its capital, Munich. It was established in April 1919 after the demise of Kurt Eisner's People's State of Bavaria and sought independence from the also newly proclaimed Weimar Republic. It was overthrown less than a month later by elements of the German Army and the paramilitary Freikorps.

The Weimar Republic, inheritor of the mess left behind by Kaiser Wilhelm, was too weak in its own right to suppress the Bavarian Soviet, and allowed the violent right-wing Freikorps to do the job. This decision had nasty implications down the road.

These days, some observers place Bavaria in the camp of the breakaways.

German court shuts down hopes for a breakaway Bavaria, by Adam Taylor (Washington Post)

Would Germany be Germany without Bavaria? The wealthy southern state comprises roughly one-fifth of Germany’s landmass. It is the country’s second-most populous state. Oktoberfest, lederhosen, sauerkraut? All Bavarian in origin.

Yet some Bavarians want nothing to do with Germany. The state is home to a pro-independence Bavaria Party, and one Bavarian man even filed a court case last year in an attempt to force a referendum on whether the state could vote to leave Germany.

But if 2016 was year of Brexit, 2017 is unlikely to be the year of “Bayxit” (in German, Bavaria is known as Bayern). On Monday, a German court released a decision saying that the country’s constitution does not allow Bavaria to break away. There will be no referendum, the court said, because states are not allowed to leave Germany.

“In the Federal Republic of Germany … states are not ‘masters of the constitution,’” the court wrote in the decision, according to a translation from the Local. “Therefore there is no room under the constitution for individual states to attempt to secede. This violates the constitutional order.”

However, this fellow who lives in Bavaria has a firm opinion about prospects for the Bavarian independence movement.

There is no serious independence movement in Bavaria. Putting Bavaria in the same league as Catalonia or Scotland, which had referendums on independence, or South Tyrol or the Basque Country with a history of separatist terrorism is just bullshit, as we would say in Bavaria.

Munich Tales 2018: What would the holidaze be without "beer and the pissoir"?

Photo credit.

I'm writing these words on the 15th of December, imagining that on the morning of the 21st, I'll have consumed too many delicious Rauchbiers at Schlenkerla in Bamberg on Thursday night. Vegas won't touch the action on this particular assumption.

By early afternoon, we'll be taking the train back to Munich after the overnight stay, and pausing only momentarily before heading to the arena for the basketball game (FC Bayern and Braydon Hobbs vs. Real Madrid).

Prior to leaving Bamberg, something I never find it easy to do, let's turn back the pages to a post prompted by our 2009 visit during Christmas.

In the purest of anthropological senses it was a revelation to witness the holiday observed with a manner of dignity and traditional restraint, at least by prevailing and manic American consumer standards.

In 2009, the genuine wintry weather in Bamberg provided ample opportunity to drink beer and eat pork indoors, in proximity to grandly tiled stoves fairly pumping heat, with an inevitable chilly contrast when it came time to use the restrooms. While not about Christmas in any specific sense, these observations now invariably strike me as seasonal.

---

Beer ... and the pissoir.

Any farm boy can tell you what happens in winter, when hot liquid hits frozen ground and steam rises, and so my youthful reveries tending our livestock came back to me after I made my way from the toasty upholstered interior of the beer café, through the entry door, across a corridor, through a second door, and outside to where the restrooms were located just off the snowy, arched passageway leading from the street.

They were unheated, with a predictable temperature differential. I was in and out in a flash, returning to cool smoked lager in a far warmer room.

At least there was plumbing, albeit frigid fixtures.

It hasn't always been the case. In 1999, while drinking draft Baltika in Moscow at a tiny bar located in the concrete bowels of a towering modern concrete housing block, my fumbling water closet query in deficient Russian was met with a shrug. The bar man gestured in the direction of what proved to be a slippery collection of muddy shrubs around the darkened corner.

It may have been Archie Bunker who observed, “You don’t buy beer, you rent it,” and your humble columnist has gleaned a fair amount of experience in such matters in his career as professional beer drinker, especially when imbibing in Europe. Many aspects of the continent’s beer and brewing cultures have changed since 1985, but none more so than a steady escalation in cleanliness and comfort of the facilities at a typical watering hole.

Good, bad or indifferent, my personal theory is that such improvements owe more to the course of the women’s liberation movement than the interest of most males in facets of basic hygiene. In all likelihood, publicans continued pointing to the bushes out back until modernity brought changes in migratory patterns, in the form of female patronage. Only then were modern plumbing solutions contemplated.

Beer and Bamberg (Germany) are gloriously intertwined, which is why I became a regular visitor so long ago. During the 2009 Christmas trip, it suddenly dawned on me that the pleasant modern urinals in the men’s room of Brauerei Spezial (founded in 1536) weren’t there until the late 1990’s. Before that, men urinated into tiled trenches running along the floor. These trenches presumably emptied into the sewer system, although sometimes it’s best to take nothing for granted.

While I hardly can attest to how it was done during the Middle Ages, or even as recently as the 1970’s, my impression is that the process of waste disposal always has differed little from my experience in Moscow, or this one in Albania, circa 1994: A lovely, contemporary wood-lined room with a spotless, modern stainless steel urinal … connected to PVC pipe, which led outside to termination just shy of the town’s riverbank.

Unscientifically speaking, you can look at the many centuries-old brewery taps and public houses in places like Bamberg and see that restrooms weren’t included in the original architectural designs. They were added later, away from the seating areas, often tacked onto the interior courtyards that are a familiar feature of these older buildings.

Modernity has deprived us of the European waste disposal mechanism I miss the least: The fearsome female restroom attendant. Sometimes she was ensconced behind sliding glass windows, but more often she remained seated at a rickety wooden table in front of the battery of stained tiles, guarding her ceramic plate, which was intended for loudly smacking coins into, indicating you’d paid the required tariff and qualified for a square of toilet paper (if really necessary).

In theory, the women were there to keep the area clean, and surprisingly, they often did just that, sometimes while you were otherwise engaged in your business. It made for initial embarrassment, but after all, they were skilled and highly professionals, only doing their jobs.

Male toilet attendants were permitted, but invariably they were less reliable than the elderly ladies, especially as the geography passed eastward from capitalism to communism. When I was teaching English in Slovakia, I was a frequent customer of a venerable drinking establishment where the restrooms were in the basement (not uncommon).

My preferred brand of beer also was the nightly preferred beverage of the subterranean lavatory commandant. Whenever his plate contained the requisite number of coins, he would climb the stairs for another pint of pay package, and by closing time, he could be found unconscious at his post, snoring in the sour, fetid air.

Now THAT’S motion-activated, folks.

Munich Tales 2018: Everything I like about Germany is tied up in one great package called Bamberg.

At this point in my life, there's probably nothing I can add to numerous previous statements of intense personal affection for the city of Bamberg. When I first began traveling, Munich was my Mecca, and I didn't visit Bamberg for the first time until 1991.

Since then, it's been an ongoing fascination, one scheduled for renewal later today when we hop a northbound train from Munich for one evening in the town I love so well.

There are far too many beer-drinking stories to fit into this post, so instead, consider these dispatches from our 2009 "The Baylors Do Christmas In Bamberg."

I originally composed and posted these comments from a balky computer, with internet access having been included in the price of our quasi-Airbnb lodging. The trip began as we dodged a blizzard in Paris, although our luggage wasn't as lucky.

It got better after this, although I had no way of knowing at the time that the trip would be our last until 2013. The years 2010, 2011 and 2012 were spent engaging in ultimately demoralizing trench warfare at Bank Street Brewhouse.

Now, back to Bamberg in 2009.

---

I. Monday 21 December ’09: Apart from one tiny glitch ...

We are safely in Bamberg, but our luggage is not, and only Air France has the information, although CM Coffey still does not and probably never will. If we do not have our bags or a suitable lead by Tuesday, it will be time to buy clothes. Needless to say, this was not a primary reason for us to visit Germany, but so be it.

Know this: German keyboards are different.

ü, ä, ö, ẞ ... although nothing compared to others I have used.

It snowed quite a lot here over the weekend, and temps today probably were in the low twenties. Fortunately, we are staying a stone's throw from both Fässla (the bottling line is just outside our window) and Spezial. Last evening's Ochsenbrust in horseradish sauce with dumpling took a bit of the sting out of wearing the same clothes for 24 hours, now 48, although perhaps it was the gently smoked amber Lagerbier that Spezial does so well.

My initial take on Franconian Christmas: It is festive, and there is much excitement, and even Christmas music in the Biomarkt down the street, but all of it seems to take place without the considerable surface glitz that we enjoy in the States. Decorations are subdued, and very naturalistic for the most part.

More as we go. Tchuss.

II. Tuesday 22 December 2009: To buy or not to buy.

Through the ever helpful offices of Bliss Travel, we now have the scoop.

We're in Bamberg, and our bags are still in Paris. They had been rerouted onto a flight Sunday night, which was cancelled. Then, with the northern regions of Europe beset with snow and ice, with resulting snafus, our luggage was placed back in the queue to await storage space on one of Air France's four dailies to Nürnberg, all of which were sold out on Monday and Tuesday.

But it's better knowing than not knowing, and with temperatures now up in the forties and the snow all melted in Bamberg, we spent the morning shopping for a set each of replacement wear and light toiletries. There as yet has not been the first communication from Delta or Air France as to when we might expect to receive our things, and in this uncertain atmosphere, it seems senseless to spend too much until necessary.

Then, when necessary, comes the complete Lederhosen outfit.

Here in an hour or so we'll be heading out to the Jako Arena for a German Bundesliga basketball game between the Bamberg Brose Baskets and Paderborn. Gerhard at the Cafe Abseits, a good beer bar on the east side of town, is a basketball fan and was running a ticket promotion from the cafe. He graciously set aside two, and we visited him at lunch to redeem and chat. I had a fine Helles Bock from Mönchsahmbach and an equally good countryside Rauchbier from a brewery that slips my mind. Will there be beer at the game? We'll know soon enough.

Tomorrow I'm slated to meet beer importer Dan Shelton at Spezial for a summit that should include a visit to Mahr's. All this, and there has not been time to have an Eiche at Schlenkerla. Matthias understands. Spezial has been the attraction thus far, and there's nothing shoddy about that.

III. Wednesday 23 December 2009: Tale of one city and many breweries and basketball therein.

Lunch at noon at Spezial the day before Christmas Eve turns out to be something that leads elsewhere, namely Mahr's, Schlenkerla and Klosterbrau. Whoa.

And, ending at Fässla to jostle among the high schoolers for carry-out bottles as part of the process of laying in for the holidaze. Whoa again.

Last night's Brose Baskets win over Paderborn was lopsided. Bamberg's team is good, but I can't say that the quality of play was much beyond mid-major college in the States. Entertaining, but limited. I'll remember Casey Jacobsen and Elton Brown, but moreover, I'll remember the way the crowd reacted to the American named Eric Taylor, a European league lifer (born in 1976). Also, there's Predrag Supat, the Serb, who dominated the first half for Brose. Bamberg is a basketball city in German terms. Bob Knight would approve.

I'm fairly blitzed at this point, and will say Tchuss.

Thursday 24 December 2009: The French have not released my bag, and I, too, shall surrender soon.

We spent the morning shopping for little knick-knacks and more groceries to tide us through until Saturday, when many eateries and stores reopen. Quite a few will be closed through the weekend, meaning that I may have to trek to the train station for beer. Let's hope that the people's choice, Fässla, is open for carry-out bottles.

The students and youngsters were out in force last night. With a drinking age of 16 for beer, this translated into long lines at the "to go" windows and mayhem in the streets. It was a long day, with lunch at Spezial with Dan Shelton (of the importing company) and his wife. We met Urban Winkler of the Weissenohe brewery, toured the Spezial brewery, then walked to the Wunderburg neighborhood for quality time at Mahr's with Stephan Michel. Dan and Tessa split to return to their digs west of here, and after checking at the flat for the first of our bags (where in Paris is the other one?), we adjourned to the impossibly packed Schlenkerla tavern.

Unable to find Matthias Trum, and desirous of some peace for dinner, plans changed and the next stop was Klosterbrau for an excellent meal of venison, boar and a special seasonal black bock. Back home, I vaguely recall watching an interview with Michael Palin while snacking on pickled herring before passing out.

After greeting Bamberg in a blizzard, all the snow has gone and the sun is brightly shining as I type. The Christmas market in Maximillianplatz disappeared overnight, and all morning today and into the afternoon, businesses closed one by one, and the streets grew more and more quiet as people retreated to their homes and families. The next two days will be subdued, but I'm guessing that by Saturday, they'll have had enough of domesticity and will be looking for a place to get their drink on. I aim to be right beside them when this happens.

Friday 25 December 2009: Luggage in our time? Perhaps.

It's the most wonderful time of the year
When the French bring your bags and the fridge is still full of Bamberger beer
It's the most wonderful time of the year

Yes, we're told that a Weihnacht miracle will occur and the second of two suitcases will arrive via courier at around 19.00. I'll believe it when I carry the weight up the stairs, but there it is.

In spite of the baggage difficulties, it has been a fine holiday.

We set off this morning at ten to stroll through the Altstadt and climb Altenburg hill to the medieval castle that affords a sweeping view of the valley and Bamberg's dizzying number of church spires. The streets were deserted on Christmas morning. Pleasingly, some food and drink businesses already were open and serving, indicating that the city is blessedly free of the archaic blue laws that exist in Indiana and prevent alcohol from being served on a purely Christian holiday.

Clouds rolled overhead, and with temperatures in the low thirties and a brisk breeze sweeping the hilltop, it was a bracing and exhilarating walk. Descending the commanding heights back to our riverside starting point, we passed the city museum in the old town hall astride the Regnitz and saw that the doors were open. Inside was a fine collection of 18th century Porcelain from Meissen, and one of 38 nativity scenes on display in and around Bamberg during the holiday season.

A reconnaissance of Ludwigstrasse's expanse revealed that Bamberg's Chinese restaurant owners are not as ambitious as metro Louisville's, with all three closed for the day. However, at the train station, the bakery and small grocery both were open, and I bought a handful of half-liter Schlenkerla Märzen lagers to accompany the evening's home cooked vegetable soup.

From the beginning, we had agreed that in the absence of truly close friends in Bamberg, it was perfectly acceptable to spend the 24th and 25th keeping ourselves loving company in our rented apartment, hence the bags of groceries and liquids procured in advance. This led to a Thursday evening with the hundreds of channels available on the telly, and a Fässla or two.

First we chanced upon the Basque network from northeastern Spain, and a public Christmas celebration, presumably in Bilbao, with crazy costumes, quasi-operatic tunes and the inexplicable, pre-historic language spoken by the world's first cod fishermen. The whole time, I kept expecting a Muse concert to break out.

Next, we viewed a 2006 performance in Salzburg of Mozart's "The Magic Flute," and while entirely unrelated to Christmas, the choreography was inspired, and the female singers displayed much cleavage. Thumbs up. This was followed by snippets of a schlocky Bavarian idyll, rather like the Osmonds meeting Lawrence Welk in lederhösen and dirndls, then a quick bout of channel surfing to Berlin and a performance by Max Raab and the Hotel Palast Orchestra. For the uninitiated, Raab and the boys do 1920's arrangements of popular music of the day. He sings in the style of the society orchestra hearthrobs, all the while cultivating a dry stage presence reminiscent of Joel Grey in "Cabaret."

Finally, the Arte network was screening "City Lights," the not-so-silent masterpiece by Charlie Chaplin. There is no dialogue, but a soundtrack as a concession to the new technology of 1931. In it, the Little Tramp falls for a blind flower girl ... and meets a drunken millionaire along the way. For the first time in years, I remembered checking out Super-8 versions of Chaplin's one-reelers ("Tillie's Punctured Romance"?) from the New Albany Public Library, taking them home, and resolving to make silent films.

I must go now to await the Nürnberg airport courier in precisely the same way as kids look for Santa. Tomorrow, the Cafe Abseits beckons, with Schlenkerla reopening Sunday. Monday is a short bus ride to Memmelsdorf and a meeting with Herr Straub at the Drei Kronen brewery (and restaurant, and hotel), and on Tuesday, I hope to locate Stephan at Mahr's for a brewery tour.

Sunday 27 December 2009: Settling down to smoked beer.

Damn ... I skipped a day, eh?

After two days spent walking quite a lot, we cut back on Sunday and had a lie-in. Breakfast was at 11:00 a.m., and consisted of black coffee and herring salad prepared with beets. I thought of my friend Suzanne's late mother, whose herring salad is the stuff of legend, omitting the beets, and adding voluminous onion and garlic. Wonderful memories, indeed.

It was another sunny winter's day, not quite as bright as yesterday, but still blue. We walked to the top of Michaelsberg hill and observed the grounds of the monastery, and then descended to Schlenkerla tavern for a meeting with the owner Matthias Trum and a few drams of smoked lager. After a bit, a Haxe (pork knuckle) magically appeared, and was duly devoured. The Eiche (oak-smoked) Rauchbier was especially interesting.

I've little else to say. Bamberg rewards leisurely exploration, and good beer and conviviality never are very far away. The city has been slumbering during the weekend, but will reawaken on Monday. Lunchtime at Spezial seems a certainty. Bock, anyone?

Wednesday 30 December 2009: Adaptive reuse and a Biomarkt on Obere Königstrasse.

Our lodging is located on a narrow side street that runs past the Fässla Brewery, which is running full tilt and contributing wonderful aromas to the neighborhood, and into Obere Königstrasse. Spezial's brewery and restaurant face Fässla's across Obere Königstrasse, and both have been there for a few hundred years. I'd guess that these are the oldest buildings on the east side of the Main-Donau Canal.

When we came here in 2007, there was a huge hole in the ground just off the corner of Obere Königstrasse and Luitpoldstrasse, which leads from the train station toward the Altstadt. The 19th-century building on the corner still stood and was being incorportated into the building that eventually would rise from the hole. It still wasn't finished a year ago, but now is: A sleek, modern Best Western hotel that still fits into the historic architecture of the area. The ground floor of the Best Western is a Buck Rogers-style Biomarkt, sort of a Whole Foods kind of place dedicated to organic foods.

What's interesting about this to me is that even though you might not notice, I've been coming here long enough to grasp that the section of Obere Königstrasse running past the new hotel and the old breweries has been in transition. A very high level of transition compared to New Albany, but flux nonetheless. Formerly there were established businesses (an apothecary, retail shops) that have now gone. The ghost signage gives them away. They were beginning to be replaced by kebap stands and Chinese trinket shops, and these newcomers remain, but now there are two "natural" juice and tea bars, as well as a recent organic bakery.

I'm not sure if the Biomarkt's arrival spurred their establishment, or if their presence encouraged the Biomark's capitalists to set up shop. It is encouraging to note that the ancient breweries fit perfectly even if we can't vouch for the origins of the voluminous pork dishes on their daily menus. Their beer is fresh and brewed on the spot - 'nuff said.

We tend to come to these places and imagine that nothing has changed, but it doesn't take long to see that it's patently untrue. The key is: Do they encourage and manage the inevitable change? I think so, and quite well.

Thursday 31 December 2009: Silvester, but no Tweety.

Here in Germany, New Year's Eve is known as Silvester, and appears to be another handy excuse to close down the shop (whatever it is) and relax. Same goes to a lesser extent on January 1.

Previously, Christmas Eve counted as one such excuse, followed by Christmas Day I and II, the latter corresponding to Boxing Day for those Anglophiles reading, and although I've found two Irish pubs in downtown Bamberg, neither greeted me with the smell of black pudding or the flavor of black gold on the day after the day.

The only other time I spent New Year's Eve in Europe was during the transition from 1991 to 1992, in Kosice, Slovakia, where the most memorable tradition was proof that the warnings of my students not to stroll along the streets precisely at midnight were spot-on, because that's when people began throwing empty wine, champagne and beer bottles out of their windows. One needn't be a practitioner of nuclear physics to grasp the results, especially beneath the stories-high Communist era housing blocks.

Given that it is raining and most businesses are closed, we have not left the apartment today, having visited Spezial's handy bottled beer carry-out window Wednesday night upon returning from a fine session at Schlenkerla with Matthias Trum and his wife, Sandra.

During the course of roaming, we have met a pleasant young couple who run an espresso bar adjacent to the construction zone that marks the spot where a new replacement bridge for the vanished Kettenbrücke will soon rise. It's been open since November 1. We stopped there several times because it's on the direct route home from the Altstadt, and we bonded over professional basketball fandom, as they are fervent supporters of the Brose Baskets. They have invited us to coffee today even though the bar is closed for the holiday. We're told to knock conspiratorially on the door. If only Spezial offered the same option.

We seem to be winding down now as the end of the holiday draws near. The likelihood of time- consuming security checks at Nürnberg for the first leg of the outbound flight compelled us to shift gears and book a room at the airport hotel for tomorrow night. The flight is at 6:30 a.m., and would have required a 3:30 a.m., 85 Euro fixed-rate cab ride, but this way, we're only meters away from strip search after the early alarm sounds. There'll be a chance to spend the afternoon in Nürnberg, and perhaps eat some of the city's famous Wurst.

Excuse me ... I hear the sounds of pre-packing taking place. Is Fässla open today?

Munich Tales 2018: "The Beer Hall Putsch Tour."

Perhaps the ultimate expression of beer in political terms was Adolf Hitler's "Beer Hall Putsch" in Munich in 1923. One needn't be a Nazi to reflect upon this marriage of large, agitation-friendly venues and takeover tactics.

The Beer Hall Putsch of 1923, also known as the Munich Putsch,and, in German, as the Hitlerputsch, Hitler-Ludendorff-Putsch, Bürgerbräu-Putsch or Marsch auf die Feldherrnhalle ("March on the Feldherrnhalle"), was a failed coup d'état by the National Socialist German Workers' Party (NSDAP) leader Adolf Hitler—along with Generalquartiermeister Erich Ludendorff and other Kampfbund leaders—to seize power in Munich, Bavaria, on 8–9 November 1923.

To me the above video is bizarre, as when the 20-somethings cheer at the host's prompting. However, it's also a good way to view bits and pieces of Munich. It's hard imagining another major city where beer is such an integral component of everyday life that it becomes a vital facet of attempts to overthrow the government.

During the famous “Beer Hall Putsch” of November 1923, the revolutionaries used all of Munich‟s major beer halls as staging grounds. Whereas most of the putsch saga unfolded at the Bürgerbräukeller, the Löwenbräukeller on the west side of town also played a role in the events of 8-9 November 1923. Drunken storm troopers filled the beer hall on the Stieglmaierplatz awaiting their Führer’s order to “march.” Ernst Röhm, leader of the SA, interrupted the drinking to give patriotic speeches whenever the brass band took a break. By 11:00pm that evening, Storm Troopers and other right-wingers had packed into all Munich‟s beer halls, waiting for something to happen. The police knew that something was afoot. They knew about the large numbers of SA men at the Löwenbräukeller. They knew too of a “Völkische Rechtsblock” (Right-Wing Racist Block) meeting at the Hofbräuhaus. And the police knew of the meeting held by Gustav von Kahr and the Bavarian government at the Bürgerbräukeller. What the police did not realize is that most of these men were armed, and had hidden weapons and ammunition at or near these beer halls, waiting for the command to action (Gordon 1972: 314-335).

Hitler marched into the Bürgerbräukeller with his SA, but the army had not joined his revolution. Von Kahr and his ministers, unsure of the situation outside the beer hall, decided to “play along with the comedy” until they could find an opportunity to escape. Later, when Hitler left the beer hall to attend to some other business across town, the triumvirate pleaded with Ludendorff for their release. Ludendorff let them go “on their word of honor” that they would continue to support the putsch. Once free, von Kahr and company quickly called for army reinforcements to retake control of the city and suppress the putsch (Dornberg 1982: 68-90). The next day, the “Hitler putsch” ended in gunfire on the Odeonsplatz, just north of city hall. Hitler‟s political career, and the National Socialist Party looked finished ...

Munich Tales 2018: "Mad" King Ludwig II and his Neuschwanstein Castle -- among others.

It has adorned thousands of postcards, jigsaw puzzles, screen savers and probably elementary school lunch boxes.

Unfortunately, Neuschwanstein Castle also served as an inspiration for Walt Disney's cardboard magic kingdom, thus launching another blue million zany delusions in the collective American psyche.

But was the real-life "mad king" Ludwig II really crazy? 

Mad King Ludwig? Study Claims Bavarian Monarch Was Sane, by Frank Thadeusz (Der Spiegel)

People have long believed that Bavarian King Ludwig II, the man responsible for building the famous castle of Neuschwanstein, was mentally ill. Indeed, he was dethroned for that very reason. But a recent study casts doubt on that diagnosis.

Rick Steves considers "The Castles of Mad King Ludwig II."

Touristy, glorious, and romantic, the mountainous borderlands of southern Bavaria house some of Germany's best attractions. My favorites are three of King Ludwig II's castles: stocky Hohenschwangau, his boyhood home; the nearby and fanciful Neuschwanstein, his dream escape; and Linderhof, his final retreat.

Ludwig was just 19 when he became king of Bavaria in 1864. Rather than live with the frustrations of a modern constitution and a feisty parliament reining him in, he spent his years lost in Romantic literature and operas…chillin' with the composer Wagner as only a gay young king could. From his bedroom in Hohenschwangau, Ludwig trained a telescope on a ridge to keep an eye on Neuschwanstein as it was being constructed.

snip

Ludwig was king for 23 years. In 1886, fed up with his extravagances, royal commissioners declared him mentally unfit to rule Bavaria. Days later, he was found dead in a lake. People still debate whether it was murder or suicide. But no one complains anymore about the cost of Ludwig's castles. Within six weeks of his funeral, tourists were paying to see the castles — and they're still coming.

Munich Tales 2018: Christmas markets are special in Germany, and so it looks like some mulled wine for us.

Marienplatz, Munich (photo credit).

Our first taste of a German (or in this specific instance, Bavarian) Christmas market came in 2009 in Bamberg.

A Christmas market, also known as Christkindlmarkt (literally: Baby Jesus Market), Christkindlesmarkt, Christkindlmarket, Christkindlimarkt, and Weihnachtsmarkt, is a street market associated with the celebration of Christmas during the four weeks of Advent. These markets originated in Germany, but are now being held in many other countries. The history of Christmas markets goes back to the Late Middle Ages in the German-speaking part of Europe, and in many parts of the former Holy Roman Empire that includes many eastern regions of France. The Christmas markets of Bautzen were first held in 1384. Dresden's Striezelmarkt was first held in 1434. Frankfurt was first mentioned in 1393, Munich in 1310, and Augsburg in 1498. In Austria, Vienna's "December market" can be considered a forerunner of Christmas markets and dates back to 1298.

In Bamberg we observed the endearing custom of ignoring the chilly weather and drinking outdoors at or near the Christmas market. Beer and spirits are available, but most of what we saw consumed was mulled wine, which we joined in partaking.

Now it is 2019, and we're off for Munich and a brief stop in Bamberg. Costs are reasonable for off-season travel, and in spite of my stated antipathy toward Christmas, it should be noted that it's very real -- except when it isn't.

The bulk of my annoyance is directed against the American way of celebrating the holiday, which otherwise might keenly interest an atheistic skeptic like me for any number of reasons pertaining to history, sociology, anthropology or beverage alcohol.

And food. Lots and lots of food.

Consequently, here come da social media Christmas market photos, along with any other items of interest for the next few days. Hit my Facebook page to see them. As usual, upon our return, I'll be backdating the blog with these images.

The Best Christmas Markets in Munich, by Evelyn Smallwood (The Culture Trip)

During Advent, Christmas markets in German city squares turn the magic right up. They are noticeably low on obnoxious music, with super-sweet Glühwein in plentiful supply, and strolling around looking for the perfect wooden ornament is a treat, no matter how cold the weather. Here are our favourite Christmas markets in the beautiful city of Munich.

This:

How Germany quietly cornered the Christmas market, by Kate Ferguson (Deutsche Welle)

Scented candles. Loose leaf tea? Forget hygge. Believe it or not, Germany has been quietly commodifying coziness for centuries

 ... Since the 14th century, Germany has been shamelessly promoting these seasonal delights in special zones known as Christmas markets. Best described as the economic nerve centers of festive cheer, they tend to be located in a town or city's central square, meaning heavy footfall is all but guaranteed.

Unlike hygge, weihnachtsstimmung has not been subjected to any form of backlash. In fact, cheap travel and the rise of globalization have caused the popularity of German-style Christmas markets to surge. These days, they can be found all over the world. From Beijing to Bangkok, the smell of roasted almonds and pine needles is prompting revelers to reach straight for their wallets ...

And, this.