The Path Less Traveled

Lying in the heart of Munich is a putrid, mustard-yellow church.  Just outside the church there is an alley Germans used to avoid saluting the Nazis guarding a statue of an eagle and swastika.  During Hitler’s reign, citizens were expected to salute the soldiers.  Those who didn’t were sent to one of the first concentration camps.  The statue was propaganda designed to brainwash and frighten dissenters.

“Let’s get this out of the way,” the tour guide began.  Although he was German, he spoke English with a Kiwi accent.  He was tall and his body was toned.  Many of the women in my group were quite taken with him.  We were riding bikes through Munich, and we stopped for history lessons along the way.    

“After the war,” he proceeded, “we took down all the swastikas except one because we didn’t want to be reminded of all that.  But we want to remember those who stood up against what was happening in Germany.”

He skirted around using words like Nazi, nor did he mention Hitler’s name.  Despite his preference for vague terms, we all knew what he was referring to.  I could barely see the swastika mosaics on the portico ceiling of the Haus der Kunst.  From there we rode to a plaza that was destroyed during the Second World War and then rebuilt cheaply with columns that were not sculpted but painted on the building’s façade.  Even the windows were illusions.

We left the heavy history behind and proceeded to the English Garden where the public drink, play loud music, swim in dangerous water without lifeguards, and walk around in the nude. 

“Since Munich is the richest city in Germany, it’s very expensive to live here,” the tour guide explained.  “For people like me, we don’t have balconies or verandas or yards or pools because we can’t afford them.  So we come here.”

The fields were covered with sunbathers.  Bike paths cut through the lawn.  Music blared from speakers as I pedaled by on my metal clunker of a bike.  A man covered in paint was rubbing paint on the limbs of bikers who cycled within his reach. 

“We have this law called the Common Sense law,” the tour guide said.  “Which means we can do whatever the fuck we want because we are responsible for ourselves.”

We weren’t required to wear helmets while riding.  If we cracked our skulls, we couldn’t sue anybody.  If we drowned in the narrow river in the English Garden, the park would not shut down.  Surfers wearing wetsuits braved an aquatic treadmill and struggled to maintain balance in the crashing waves.  Down the river, a group of old men clad in only their underwear jumped into the water.  The strong current forced them downstream toward a small waterfall.  Three people die in the rapids every year.

“It might be dangerous,” the tour guide said, “But it’s fun.  It’s my life, and I can do what I want with it.”

We all parked our bikes and stripped down to minimal clothing.  We didn’t carry swimsuits or spare pants.  Those who stayed behind guarded our valuables.  I was worried about my wallet, but I didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity, so I shoved my cash and credit card into my shoe and approached the river’s edge.

“Swim to the left side,” the guide warned us.  “There’s a little dip where you can see the waves.  Pick your feet up, and don’t walk on the bottom.  There could be broken glass.  Is everyone ready?”

He jumped.  When he resurfaced, his hair was matted to his forehead.  Although only his face was visible, I could tell he was shivering.  A few droplets of water splashed onto my naked chest.  The temperature was mildly unpleasant, but this was no time to hesitate.  The rest of the group was jumping in, one by one.  The time to back out was long past, before I took off my shoes and even before I bought my plane ticket to London.  I hadn’t expected to find myself standing at the precipice of a frigid river, but the moment was waiting for me.  So I jumped.

The plunge was ice-cold.  I bobbed up to the surface and spit out water.  The shock from the cold squeezed the tense breaths of air out of my lungs and forced my mouth open.  I started to slice through the water incredibly fast due to the speed of the current.  I wondered how deep the water was, and, forgetting the guide’s warning about broken glass, I started walking along the bottom.  I glided through the water as though propelled by a moving walkway commonly found in airports. 

I approached a slight dip where I could see the white tips of the waves crashing against the surface.  I forgot to float on my back, so I banged my shin off a rock.  I recalled an episode of Man vs. Wild in which Bear Grylls traversed a swift river by corkscrewing laterally to counteract the force of the current.  Rather than getting dragged downstream, I followed Bear’s advice and twisted my body and chopped through the water.  I reached a triangular island between two streams and pulled myself up to reconvene with my group.

Exposed to the air and the shade, I shivered while waiting for further instructions.  Despite the brief discomfort, the water was invigorating.  I could see the rest of my group across the stream.  I would’ve regretted missing the plunge if I chose to protect my wallet instead.  My possessions and my money would have held me back, and I could’ve hidden behind a reasonable excuse. 

But I would’ve been filled with envy as I watched my freezing, but jubilant friends float down the river and pass me by.  There are times to sit back and observe from afar, and then there are times to participate in life and to be a subject of observation.

I felt incredibly stupid, but completely alive, so I jumped in again.  A bridge loomed ahead, and as I neared it I prepared to grab ahold of a metal bar and hang from it.  As I clung onto the bridge, the current pulled my legs downstream.  The water lapped against my shorts and threatened to wriggle them out of my flailing legs.  As I had no intention of finishing the hike tour with my genitals exposed, I released my grip, and the river ripped me away.

 

I corkscrewed to the water’s edge, missed a slick tree root, and managed to clutch a rock and hold myself steady.  I saw Kat floating away, so I grabbed her arm.  She climbed over me to escape the swiftness of the current.  After performing my gentlemanly duty, I hoisted myself onto the muddy embankment and dripped a wet path back to my belongings, still tucked safely inside my weathered Nikes.