As I wake up on yet another morning in Germany, I can hardly believe that a week has already passed since I arrived. The past seven days have been a blur of bratwursts, beer tents, and Bavarian revelry, as I’ve immersed myself in the world-famous Oktoberfest festivities. But now that the dust has settled and the crowds have dispersed, I find myself with a sense of restlessness. What’s next?
To be honest and behind the scene’s I wasn’t even sure I wanted to make the trip back “home”. What was waiting for me there that what was right here for me in the moment. My friend even said she was surprised I would even venture back to west Wales and so in this video I am left with pretty conflicting feelings.
Part 2 – Beer Gardens, Giant Sausages, and the Weird Game with the Ball
Somehow, I caught the tram.
Still didn’t really know where I was going, but there was a sign, and it felt promising. The English Garden — supposedly one of Munich’s best spots, and I could see why. Just around the corner from the sign, the space opened up into a ridiculous number of tables. An actual sea of them. It was like a beer garden had swallowed a football stadium.
I kept the camera low. Felt like one of those places where you get a few sideways looks if you whip out a phone and start talking to yourself. Pretended I was taking photos. Oldest trick in the book.
Deposits for glasses — spotted that too. There’s something beautifully German about being trusted with a pint, but also being reminded you’re on borrowed time.
I wandered.
Still didn’t know where I was, or what half the buildings were, but everything felt… impressive. Grand but unpretentious. The kind of place you imagine being here in the summer with the hum of conversation and the clink of proper glass. Or even in winter, wrapped up with a steaming mug of something, if you can hack the cold.
Apparently it all shuts down in October, which is a shame. I could’ve spent days in there, just wandering. It was peaceful in a way that crept up on you.
Eventually I made my way to the U-Bahn — or at least I tried. Plan was to head to Augustiner, thanks to a Reddit post that said it was a must-visit. The route? U3 and U6. That was the theory.
In practice, I got distracted.
Some monument popped up on the route. Probably something wildly important — cultural landmark, historical hotspot — but all I could think was: I wonder if they serve beer up there. Priorities, right?
And then I saw it — this bizarre little game people were playing. Ball bouncing off some contraption in the middle, couple of taps, bounce again. No idea what it’s called, but it looked serious. Like the kind of game that’d end marriages and start fights. I give it two years before it ends up on a Channel 5 documentary as “Europe’s hottest new street sport.”
I kept walking — U-Bahn forgotten for the moment — and I’m glad I did. The place was just… lovely. People sunbathing, sleeping, eating. Whole atmosphere felt like a deep exhale. It was warm, not too crowded, just right.
And then I hit this tunnel. Random little underpass with music playing. Not buskers — just music piped in. Maybe to stop people camping there? Maybe just a weird Munich quirk? Either way, it was surreal. Like the city was softly narrating my walk with a lo-fi soundtrack.
Part 3 – White Sausages, Stealth Pints and Navigating the Night Underground
Eventually, hunger called time on the wandering.
I’d been eyeing up a place — looked decent, bit busy, tucked out of the way. But here’s the thing: I always get twitchy going into restaurants or pubs on my own abroad. Doing it at home is a breeze, walk in with a semi confident demeanour, look like your one of those types embracing doing things on your own and being glued to your phone helps. But abroad I don’t know why. Been doing solo van stuff for a while now, but that part still hits weird. You feel like everyone’s looking, even when they’re not.
But I forced myself. Got a drink. Sat down. Tried to work out what I wanted to eat.
I’d been after white sausages — proper Bavarian Weisswurst. But apparently, they’re a breakfast thing. Day’s cut-off had long gone. So I ended up with… well, it was food. A plate with a lot of bread and two of the tiniest sausages I’ve ever seen. If you’d blinked, you’d have missed them. Still, I was starving. Bread and dignity don’t always mix, but you pick one.
No idea where I was at that point, but I dropped a pin on the map. €7.50 for the meal — sweet. I figured I’d be back if I could find it again, though with my sense of direction, that’s a gamble.
The streets started to fill out as I wandered — more locals, less touristy feel. Cafés buzzing. People actually sitting and talking, not buried in phones. It was nice. Different rhythm to it.
Passed a cheese stall. Tempted. Seriously tempted. But taking cheese back through the Eurotunnel? Not worth the gamble. Ferry maybe, but the tunnel scans everything and I didn’t fancy a customs bloke pulling a sweaty slab of Brie out of my van.
The chill crept in. Not cold, but that kind of dusk temperature where your arms start second-guessing your outfit. So I ducked into another place — proper old-school boozer. Warm, welcoming, smelled faintly of beer and wood polish. Had one pint. Sat. Breathed.
Bloody lovely.
One more, I told myself, then back to the apartment. But first — the tram.
Navigating Munich’s underground after a few beers is a challenge I wasn’t emotionally prepared for. I had to get the U6. Simple. Except Munich apparently has two U6s. Same name, same station, different directions. The map was no help. The app was cryptic. I stood there, slightly drunk, trying to look like I wasn’t completely lost while also filming absolutely none of it.
Got on the right one, somehow. Or at least a right one. Got off somewhere. Still not entirely sure where. There’s apparently footage of me on a scooter at 2am, but that’s another story.
Part 4 – Midnight Scooters, Pub Reflections, and That Feeling of Almost Belonging
By now, the sky was properly dark and the trams were starting to feel less like public transport and more like escape hatches. My phone battery was doing that thing where it drops 20% every time you blink, and my brain wasn’t far behind.
And then came the scooter.
Yeah, that footage exists. Somewhere. Me, alone in Munich, wobbling through empty streets at two in the morning, helmet slightly askew, laughing like an idiot because I couldn’t believe I was actually managing to stay upright. It wasn’t planned, or cool, or even particularly safe — but for those few minutes, it felt like the most alive I’d been all trip.
I finished the night how most solo wanderers do — with one last pint.
Some backstreet pub I found almost by accident. Warm light, heavy wooden tables, people mid-conversation about things I couldn’t understand. And that was the thing — I couldn’t understand them, but I wasn’t excluded. No one looked twice at the scruffy bloke nursing a beer alone. I wasn’t a tourist anymore. I wasn’t quite local. But I belonged, in some weird in-between way.
There’s a moment, sometimes, after a few days on the road — when the adrenaline fades, and the fatigue settles — where you stop doing and start feeling. And sat in that pub, surrounded by strangers speaking a language I barely knew, I felt it. That weight of the week. The joy. The crap bits. The quiet pride.
I’d navigated trams and buses and beer gardens and sausages. I’d second-guessed every plan and still kept going. I didn’t always know where I was, but I never really felt lost.
And maybe that’s the win.
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