Most of my blog updates are impersonal and only bring up where or what I actually did in terms of landmarks etc.
We are far away from what I started as short weird stories that happened to me in Montreal. Far from the short snippets I would post on the road across Canada, bumming on Wal-Mart wi-fi spots. Living the ghetto dream (if that’s a thing)
So I’m here typing theses lines figuring I have enough content anyway, I do not need to pump anything artificial to keep the blog breathing. It works, it has people reading it. I never intended to have as many readers as I have. Which are still not much, but much more than just buddies from home now.
I guess the complete lack of direction or sponsors make it fun to read, or a good time killer.
Living in student housing abroad
As a kid, most off my favorite shows involved individuals living on campuses and having all their campus adventures etc. I never really thought I would get to live that experience. The total “go with the flow” attitude, the laid back fun, making new friend out of anybody. Getting drunk all the time. Not all the time, this is just Bavaria right ?
I consider myself quite lucky that I found a spot in a student dorm here in Munich. Not only because the cost of life in Munich is ridiculously high, but also because it is such a big part of the experience. To live in a crappy cell-like “apartment”
I do not think I would have made it with all my head going from the huge travel high, the feeling of the carpet being swept from under my feet everyday, suddenly replaced by hardwood floor.
You meet people in any situations, people that you might not have met other wise that make the trip more friendly, more home like. I live 5 minutes away from my former German roommate back in Montréal. She invites me for home made pizza, cake and we grab ice cream every now and then.
I live one story beneath a new friend of mine with whom we just sit back and have a cup of tea super late at night talking about the bugs in the rooms, the leaky roof and other small talk just looking at the clock going by. Drinking tea in a glass because she only owns one mug.
I live 5 minutes away from a tall bloke who bakes us cake and goes out with us. Always 5 minutes away from doing something. You text him, he shows up. You go to his place, he gives you salmon wraps to share with the wine.
I live 5 minutes from a quirky girl who always ask questions about everything, loves to talk about anything, and is always laughing. I need to remember to bring her back her vodka bottle before I go to Berlin tonight.
How do you make a shitty 12m² apartment feel like home ? You invite friends over. You know the people nearby.
The party side of living in student housing
I came back from a friends dorm room, we played a board game and had home made food. It’s late, very, near midnight. I am wearing a suit, head to toe dressed up.
I attended a formal job fair, the biggest in the south of Germany, that is organized by my university. So I had to look the part.
Next thing I know, I am home, and realize if I’m going on a weekend trip to Berlin, having clean socks and underwear could be nice. So I set off for midnight laundry.
Basket and detergent I go down the 10 stories separating me from the basement part that has the laundry room (and the bar). As I get closer to my goal, I can hear music pumping out of speakers loudly. Loud bass, strong techno baseline.
-There is a party in the O-Haus ?
Sure seems so.
I get closer, cross the halls, and as the music grows louder, I see this giant mass of people with red cheeks and plastic cups in their hands. Frey my way across the room, elbows to everyone, get down the crowded stair case where some people from my building are making grilled cheeses. Every square inch occupied by drunk people, couples making out, strangers making out AAAAANNDD people who wishedthey were making out.
Behind me someone yells my name with a heavy, thick German accent;
-“Max !! Maximilian !” “Shots shots, have a shot !” “Trinkt !”
“Ja, Ja, genau !!!” As I walk closer.
Turn around, a guy I know from my building is behind a makeshift bar. I motion that I will be back. Get in the laundry room, drop my clothes in the machine. Come right out.
I go to the counter, tell him I’ll have a shot. If him and the other barman have one too.
They look puzzled for a second, then fill up 3 cups of tequila and whip out some salt and lime slices.
Pour one down the hatch, tell him I’ll be back in a few anyways to put my stuff in the dryer. Which will probably involve taking another shot. And another when I bring my now dry clothes back to my apartment…
The way things always turn out