Munich

Munich is exactly the same as always: everyone drives like idiots, the beer is expensive and nobody speaks Bavarian. I visit David. We move from roast pork to the Isarauen and beer garden to gyros one Sunday. I’ve been here before. Everything is strangely familiar and far away. Another European Championship quarter-final is on in the evening. I sleep through half of it.

Business appointments drive me through Munich on my bike in temperatures of over 30 degrees. I don’t want to live here, I’m glad I’m only here for two days. Everything dissolves a little, even customers. In this case positively, from now on there are two separate HPs to look after. I’m not standing still, but I’m not moving either. I look out onto the street. A summer storm scatters its hailstones over Munich.

I don’t understand how Germany’s economy can survive. Nobody sells anything, but if they do, it’s at 100% profit. Germans no longer want cheap labour. I’m clearing out my belongings and half of them are going in the rubbish bin. Quote from my father: “The Czechs will take it from you before you get to the recycling centre.” But the Czechs have become picky. Germans now snatch my old things out of my hands.

The return is as expected: tough. Everything is expensive because it was so cheap before. Everything is far away because I was close to the distance. Everything is loud because it was so quiet. Many things that were important became insignificant. The good thing: I learnt how little you really need. The bad: Forgetting what remains. I will continue travelling.