Living Life With Passion & Purpose!
Seeing the big Jägermeister logo on the side of the bus made me smile right away. I was already a huge fan — I’d even scored a bottle with Dorte and her family just a few weeks earlier — so spotting that classic stag-and-cross ad felt like a perfect little sign that the day was going to be a good one.
This was the view from high up in Eric’s multi-floor building in the old athletes’ village from the 1972 Olympics. Looking out over the rows of apartments and the iconic tent-roofed stadium in the distance felt surreal — he lived right there in what had once housed the Olympians.
The 1972 Munich Massacre Site from Eric’s Window
This was the view from high up in Eric’s multi-floor building in the old 1972 athletes’ village. Looking out over the apartment blocks, he quietly pointed out the exact buildings where the Black September attack had unfolded — the massacre that killed eleven Israeli athletes and coaches.
I had no idea it had even happened until that moment. Standing there with him, seeing the locations right outside his window, made the tragedy feel immediate and real in a way no textbook ever could.
From high in Eric’s apartment you could see almost the entire Olympic Village and the tent-roofed stadium. He pointed out the exact buildings where Black September had taken the Israeli athletes hostage. I had never even heard of the Munich massacre until that afternoon.
What happened here in 1972 completely transformed every Olympics that followed. At the next Games (Innsbruck and Montreal 1976) security exploded — electric fences, thousands of armed personnel, and a permanent shift from the relaxed “Games of peace and joy” atmosphere to the heavily fortified Olympic Villages we know today. The tragedy that unfolded in 1972 is the reason athletes now live behind layers of checkpoints, snipers, and intelligence screens.
Eric took me inside the swimming complex, which was still very much alive and being used by the people of Munich. It was packed that afternoon. Standing there looking up at the Olympic diving platforms, I was struck by just how high they really were — suddenly I had the same kind of respect for those divers that I’d felt for the ski jumpers in Lillehammer.
When we came out of the swimming hall I noticed the lights were on in the Olympic Stadium. Eric said it was used all the time — it could have been for a local soccer game or even a concert. Seeing the big floodlights blazing and the stadium still alive more than twenty years after the Games made the whole Olympic Park feel like it never really shut down.
Eric told me the building was designed to look like a four-cylinder engine — and once you know that, you can’t unsee it. Standing there at night with the traffic streaking past and the round BMW logo glowing on top, the whole tower really did look like a giant engine block rising out of the Olympic Park. It was a cool piece of architecture.
This is the famous Hofbräuhaus am Platzl, Munich’s oldest and most legendary beer hall. It was originally built in 1589 by Bavarian Duke Maximilian I as an extension of the royal brewery, and the general public was first admitted in 1828 by King Ludwig I. Almost the entire building was destroyed in World War II bombings and carefully rebuilt afterward.
Eric brought me here for dinner, wouldn’t let me pay for a single thing, and we drank our beers by the liter while an Oompah band played. I had an absolute blast — Wiener schnitzel, bratwurst, and more beer than I could count.
Classic Bavarian Weisswurst served the traditional way — floating in hot water — with a big soft pretzel and sweet mustard.
Eric grabbed my camera and took this picture of me. I was holding a Maß (pronounced roughly “mahs”) — the traditional Bavarian one-liter beer mug that is the standard serving size at the Hofbräuhaus and every real Munich beer hall. Big smile, big liter of beer, and one of the best nights of the whole trip, all thanks to one of the friendliest South African I’d ever met.
One of the musicians from the live Oompah band that played the whole time we were there. Full Lederhosen, white socks, and a trumpet — pure classic Bavarian beer-hall atmosphere. Eric and I sat right in the middle of it with our Maßs while the band kept the whole place singing and stomping.
That’s the loose English translation of “Blaskapelle Reinhold” — the name written on the sign on stage with them. They were the live Oompah band playing at the Hofbräuhaus that night.
Accordion, brass, dirndls, Lederhosen, and pure Bavarian beer-hall energy.
The Hofbräuhaus is open every day from 11:00 a.m. to midnight, with the kitchen closing at 10:00 p.m. and last drinks around 11:30 p.m. The live brass bands usually play in the main hall from noon to 4:00 p.m. and again from 6:00 p.m. until closing
The long tables at the Hofbräuhaus are meant to be shared — no reservations in the main hall, you just sit down with whoever’s there. Eric and I ended up with this rowdy, laughing group of Japanese tourists who were clearly having the time of their lives. They might have been having even more fun than I was!
One of the Japanese guys from our shared table got pulled up on stage to “conduct” the Blaskapelle Reinhold. He grabbed the baton and played along while the band kept the Oompah going strong. I jumped into full concert-photographer mode and snapped this picture.
I moved around to the side for a much better shot and caught the guest conductor really getting into it with his baton, while the accordion, sax, and brass kept the Oompah going strong.
After the guest conductor’s big moment ended, the regular maestro stepped back up with baton in hand and took full command again.
After the guest conductor wrapped up and the real band took back over, I grabbed a couple of fresh ones and went full two-fisted mode with these absolute units. Pure Hofbräuhaus victory pose!
Months later when I finally developed the film, this shot of me and my new friend came out completely out of focus. I had handed my camera to one of the drunk Japanese tourists at our table, thinking he would do a great job — and instead the auto-focus, which was designed to focus on whatever was in the middle of the frame, chose the back wall instead of us. Classic pre-smartphone heartbreak. Doh!
