Who would have thought that an overnight stay in Munich could give rise to so much to write about.

The flight from Barcelona to Munich was with Lufthansa, and was faultless, with text messages being received every step of the way, from check-in 24 hrs beforehand to when the baggage was due to appear on the carousel.

That’s where it ended. The taxi rank was 3 lanes of taxis, the idea being the taxis were to be taken in order from across the front three. As they left others moved forward to take their place. The issue was that the “idea” did not seem to have reached the 50 or so people wanting a cab, and the one, or maybe two guys who were trying to get some order into the ensuing melee, and who were being “assist” by various people in the crowd, were fighting a lost cause. So when it appeared to be our turn, it was head down and dive in the first available cab at the front of the line.

At last, and off to the hotel to check in. Room 529 on the 5th floor. Into the lift and press button 5. Lift ascends and doors open on level 7. Press 5 again, lift descends - doors open level 3. Not wishing to spend the night in the lift, press level 0 and hopefully start again.
Doors open, level 0, girl in the lobby sees us frantically pressing 5 and no movement from the lift, tells us we needed swipe the room keycard across an innocuous looking black patch on the panel and up we go, this time stopping at level 5. Later that night it was our turn to impart the same undisclosed methodology to another hapless couple.

It was late and we were tired so we opted to eat in the hotel restaurant. The food ( fillet steak) was perfect, but what was not so enjoyable was a party of 4 fellow countrymen, who had clearly consumed a quantity of alcohol beyond their capacity to manage its effect.
Asking the waiter for a glass of “good” port, as opposed to a glass of bad port, and when the word “port” was not understood at first request, ( port in German is often used referring to a harbour) the person just kept repeating the same word even louder. Eventually they seemed to realise that the port was not about to come, so they opted for “a couple of cab savs”. We decided they were probably from Sydney which would have explained a lot.

The next day it was down to the Bahnhofstrasse to get the train to Innsbrucken. The ticket showed train no. 85, coach 262 which, while the trains in Europe are long, this had us wondering if this one had lots of small carriages. Anyway assuming that the destination on the train that read Venice was to be ignored, we clambered into coach 262, looking for seats 52,53. A relatively small number of seats in this carriage but when we saw seats 44 and 46 were only a few rows from the end, we assumed we were either on the wrong train, (but it did read train 85) or the wrong carriage. So off with the cases and onto the platform to get some guidance. Yes, said the friendly attendant, correct train, correct carriage, so up with two cases and back on board. How were we to know that the seat numbers omitted numbers 46 to 51.

The last hurdle to be overcome was to have the person sitting in Jeans allotted seat agree to move. Leaving them to sort it out, which they did, and at which time I was rapidly losing interest, so I couldn’t be bothered to ask the guy who was in my seat to move and I sat where he should have been. All of this and we weren’t even in Italy.

Anyway, it all turned out for the best and we arrived in Innsbrucken and our hotel in one piece.