In an increasingly integrated Europe, border crossings seem to be a thing of the past. Crossing into the tiny principality of Liechtenstein, which is run somewhat as a region of Switzerland in areas like currency and customs, you are crossing into neutral, non-EU territory and dudes who technically might want to actually see your passport. They had no interest in seeing ours, and these two landlocked countries are part of the Schengen agreement, meaning that the surrounding countries are trusted to have already arrested all the terrorists.

Things are pretty expensive in Swiss francs. We could only spend lunchtime in Liechtenstein—some ate at the Christmas markets, others made a bee-line for the kebab-in-a-bun place we’d heard about. Yes, when in Liechtenstein, our tour manager has a little kebab place he likes to go to. Apparently the Germanic people do not eat hummus.

We then had to high-tail it to Lucerne, Switzerland, as the last lift up to Pilatus is at 4:30pm, and there is no other way to get up there. Pilatus is a mountain that would be great for skiing and all kinds of winter activities, but the bulk of it is blanketed by tall trees and protected by some kind of heritage listing that prevents them from being knocked down. Thus, apart from Swissco (a conference room they converted into a nightclub for the two Contiki tour groups on the mountain) there was sweet Fanny Adams to do up on Pilatus. We descended during the following day to Lucerne, where people bought a lot of watches, army knives, chocolate, and other Swiss accoutrements.

Lucerne is a beautiful old city divided by a river. The most historic bridge is the Kapellbrücke, a 14^th century covered wooden bridge that some brat with a cigarette burned down a few years ago, requiring that most of it be rebuilt. Perhaps the lesson is that wooden bridges are not a good idea, but I guess this is a risk they are willing to take.

Smö

Our first stop in Germany was the Olympic city, Munich. After a perfunctory look at some kind of historic church we all made a bee-line for the Hofbräuhaus, the enormous Bavarian beer establishment that everyone had been raving about for days. I myself had only heard the name talked about, not seen its spelling, so I was keen to check out this “hopera house” I’d heard so much about, assuming it to be a lame pun related to beer.

Munich is well known for its annual Oktoberfest beer festival. P.J. O’Rourke once wrote of our “dainty little” beer glasses back in Australia, “hardly enough for one serving of fish-fry batter back where I come from”. For those who do prefer their beer in huge increments, the Maßkrug is a whole litre, and it really is possible to drink several of them in one evening without feeling any ill effect. There is probably an explanation of moderate alcohol content or something like that.

Of course, the hopera house was totally packed, and there simply weren’t 50 spare seats for us, so I ended up eating and drinking elsewhere, and squeezing into the hopera house much later on for dessert.

Sadly, it was only an overnight stop in Munich. So, apart from my first taste of German drink and traditional cuisine, which were both delicious, the sight-seeing was brief, and I was unprepared for an evening as cold as a well-digger’s bum. So it is definitely high on the list of cities to return to soon.

Smo