Checking In

The hotel sat on a quiet Straße in Haidhausen, a beautiful neighbourhood in Munich, tucked between a corner Apotheke and a small bookshop. Green shutters, flower boxes overflowing with geraniums, and a hand-painted sign reading Pension Wiener Platz welcomed me to my new temporary home. It looked exactly like the photo on the booking site, which felt like a small miracle after twelve hours of travel.

I stood outside for a moment, just breathing it all in. My Gepäck felt heavier than ever, my shoulders ached. But soon I could relax, I just needed to leap over the hurdle that would be checking in, in a foreign language.

I pushed open the heavy Holztür and stepped inside. The lobby smelled like furniture polish and old wood. Dark Holzvertäfelung lined the walls, and a massive grandfather clock ticked steadily in the corner. Black and white photos of old Munich hung in ornate frames. A small brass bell sat on die Rezeption, but before I could ring it, a woman appeared from the back room.

"Grüß Gott!" she said with a warm smile. "Willkommen!"

"Grüß Gott, Servus" I managed. Getting better at that one. "Ich habe eine Reservierung... uh, my name is..."

She switched seamlessly to English, her smile never wavering. "Ah yes, I have it here. Welcome to Munich. You are our Gast for three nights, yes?"

"Yes, three nights."

She slid a form across the desk. "Please fill out this Anmeldeformular with your Name, address, Reisepass number."

I filled it out while she typed on an ancient computer. The form was in German, but the fields were clear enough: Name, Adresse, Passnummer.

"Sehr gut." She filed the form away. "Frühstück is served from seven to ten in the morning, down here in our breakfast room. Kaffee, Brot, cheese, eggs, everything you need."

"That sounds perfect."

She reached behind her and produced an actual Schlüssel. Not a plastic keycard. A real brass key attached to a large wooden tag with "32" burned into it.

"You are in Zimmer 32, on the dritten Stock. The Aufzug is there," she pointed to an old iron cage elevator, "or you can take die Treppe if you prefer. Third floor."

Third floor. Zimmer 32. Got it.

"Danke," I said, taking the key. It was heavy and solid in my hand.

"Bitte schön. If you need anything, I am here until eight. Enjoy your stay!"

I grabbed my Gepäck and headed for die Treppe. The Aufzug looked charming but also slightly terrifying, and honestly, I could use the movement after sitting on planes and trains all day.

The stairwell was narrow, with worn wooden steps and a smooth banister polished by decades of hands. I climbed past the first landing, then the second, then the third.

I walked down the hallway, checking Tür numbers. 24... 26... 28...?

Wait.

I checked the other end of the hallway. Same thing. Room 32 didn't exist on this floor.

Had I misheard? Had she said vierte Stock? Fourth floor?

A Tür opened behind me, and an older man stepped out carrying a small bag. He saw my confusion and smiled.

"Verloren?" Lost?

"Uh... ja. Ich suche Zimmer 32?"

He chuckled. "Ah, dritten Stock, yes? You are on the zweiten Stock."

"But...How? I climbed two flights of stairs?"

"Ja, third floor including the ground, but you said yourself you only climbed two flights of stairs. In Germany, we start counting from das Erdgeschoss. The ground floor is zero." He held up his fingers, counting. "das Erdgeschoss, then erster Stock, zweiter Stock, dritter Stock." He pointed up. "You need one more oben."

"Oh! So the third floor in Germany is... fourth floor in English?"

"Genau!" Exactly. He laughed, not unkindly. "Happens to many guests. One more Treppe up, you will find it."

"Danke" I said, feeling like the such a tourist.

"Bitte. Welcome to Germany!"

I climbed one more flight, and sure enough, there was room 32, right at the top of the stairs.

I unlocked die Tür and stepped inside.

The room was small but gemütlich. Heavy Holzmöbel in dark wood: a massive Schrank, a writing desk, a low dresser. The Bett was actually two twin beds pushed together under one large duvet, each with its own pillow and sheet set. Classic German hotel style.

But what really caught my eye was der Teppich. Bright red, patterned with tiny white Sternchen like a field of stars. It was gloriously dated, and I loved it immediately.

I walked to das Fenster and pulled back der Vorhang. The view opened up over low rooftops, TV antennas, and laundry lines. And there, rising above it all, was the green copper spire of a church, probably Sankt Johann Baptist in Haidhausen. The afternoon light caught the top of the spire, making it glow. This isn't even their nicest church, I chuckled, but it might be my favourite.

This was Munich. Not the tourist-postcard Munich, but the real one. Neighborhoods and churches and clotheslines and Teppich with Sternchen.

I tested das Bett. Firm but comfortable. Opened der Schrank. Empty hangers waiting. Checked das Bad. Small but sauber, with white tiles, a Dusche behind a glass door, and neatly folded Handtücher on a heated rack.

Everything was alt but cared for. Traditionell but welcoming.

I should unpack. I should explore the neighborhood. I should stay awake until tonight to beat the jet lag.

But alas, instead, I kicked off my shoes, collapsed onto das Bett, and closed my eyes.

The last thing I heard was the church bells ringing the hour, deep and resonant, floating through das Fenster on the spring breeze.

I was asleep before they finished.