The past few days, I made a quick trip to Munich – to see my family and meet some clients. I love being in Munich; the “city with a heart” always has something to offer. Munich’s small nightlife is often more interesting than what you’d find in New York, Moscow, or London. Don’t ask me why, but whenever I go out in Munich, something’s always happening. I’m not talking about the music or Munich’s “air-kiss society,” but the unique experiences that stick with you for a long time. I go out maybe once a month – but when I do, I go all in. My friends like to make the most of it, and whether I’m in Paris or Munich, I get loaded up with long drinks and dragged to check out every new and trendy club in town.
A few months ago, I found myself in Munich’s “Eight Seasons,” one of those posh clubs. The crowd was suited up and sipping outrageously expensive drinks. The vibe was pretty meh, so I took refuge in a sea of vodka Red Bulls. My friend Daniel is Munich’s unofficial party king. There’s a bottle of vodka with his name on it in every club in the city. Daniel has a thing for Asian girls with exotic names like “China Tina,” and whenever I’m in town, we hit the scene together. When it got late, he suggested checking out an underground club on the other side of Maximilianstraße. I was tired, but fine, why not? One last drink. From the outside, you’d never guess it was a club, but Daniel confidently headed for a door. Behind it, pounding house music pulled us straight back into Munich’s vibrant nightlife.
Daniel headed to the bar to secure his bottle of vodka. I needed the restroom. When I came back, he was standing next to a brunette. I wasn’t exactly sober, but she didn’t seem unattractive. One quick look: decent face, nice figure, though maybe a bit drunk or coked up. Daniel had just met her and introduced us briefly. The brunette told me her name, and her next sentence nearly knocked me off my feet: “If you pull down your pants and whip it out, I’ll blow you.” I was stunned, convinced I’d misheard her. Must’ve been all those vodka Red Bulls, I told myself. Five minutes later, I was grinning at the bar. The bartender was mixing me a drink while the brunette knelt between me and the bar, doing exactly what she said she would.
Yep, that’s Munich clubs for you. I’ve never experienced anything like it in New York or Moscow (where you might expect such things). Sure, it’s probably an exception and could happen anywhere, a rational observer might say. But it wasn’t my last Munich “aha moment.”
A few months later, I was back in Munich, out with Daniel again. It was 5 a.m., and after the famous (but rather dull) P1 club, we decided to grab another drink elsewhere. I headed straight for the bar to get a round of Red Bulls. Next to me stood a gorgeous mulatta – a bit tall, but with everything in the right place and perfectly proportioned. Soon, we were chatting. Her name was Larissa, and I got her a Coke. She was 24 and from Brazil. Wow, jackpot, I thought, though I realized I was quite drunk. It was hard not to slur and to focus on the conversation.
Half an hour later, Larissa and I were in a taxi headed to the next club. I would’ve preferred to go straight to her place or mine, but she wanted to keep partying. She warned me about her ex-boyfriend, who might be there and wouldn’t be too happy seeing her with a new guy. Should I be worried? Nah, she’s great, and what could go wrong? Everyone knew Larissa at the club. We skipped the line and didn’t even have to pay cover. I grabbed the next round of drinks while she looked for her friends. When I returned, she was chatting with a group of Brazilian guys. They were ripped, like you’d expect from Rio’s beaches. As I hesitated to approach, she waved me over. A few words later, I realized they were all gay. My brain started ticking, but before I could react, Larissa leaned in with her sultry voice: “You know, I’m a very special woman.” Okay, time to hit the restroom – and then the bed. It had clearly been one too many vodka Red Bulls.
Lying awake later, I thought about Larissa and the phenomenon of men with big breasts and feminine voices. Eventually, I drifted off, relieved to have gone home alone for once.
Munich never fails to surprise me. The only downside is that over time, you start to develop certain expectations. Last Saturday, after a long night with my brother-in-law, I found myself out for one last drink. My friends and my brother-in-law had already left, and I was standing alone in a corner with my drink when a girl smiled at me. We started talking, dancing, laughing, and flirting. A crazy South American treated everyone to champagne, and as the lights came on in the club, I thought about heading home. Why is it that I never make it to bed before 9 a.m.? My brother-in-law says I’m afraid of missing out. He’s probably not wrong.
By dawn, I was in a taxi full of people heading to an after-party. Honestly, I only got in because the girl from before climbed in ahead of me, still flashing that promising smile. Two hours later, I was sitting on a flat roof somewhere in Munich’s west side. The others were drinking wine while I slowly dozed off in the sun. By 2 p.m., I finally made it home. Still drunk, with a nasty sunburn on my face. The girl – she was 31, by the way – had gone home with a 19-year-old. But hey, I’ve learned that going home alone isn’t always a bad thing.
Who knows what surprises Munich will have in store for me next time. For now, I’m on my way back to Moscow. Oh, and there’s the announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into Moscow. Please turn off your electronic devices and fasten your seat belts.” Until next time.
Photo by Zalfa Imani on Unsplash
