Bavarian Summertime Blues (a love letter)

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With only hours to go until I am returning to Cyprus, I decided to do one last stroll past the moors of Gallow’s Lake. It’s a beautiful summer day, but the air hangs heavy with the harbingers of a coming thunderstorm. Time seems to stand still as not a blade moves, only the sounds of the animals of the bog are ever present and mix into a cacophonious melody praising the days of summer.

I fucking love Bavaria (#iflby), it is, was, and will always be my home. Its mountains and lakes, its humanity, nature, and the fact that no one cares who you are or where you’re from as long as you pay the next round at the local Boazn (dive bar) and have a compatible opinion on Bayern Munich vs. 1860 Munich.

Not one season is wasted in this area. Spring with its flower-covered alpine meadows, summer with its lazy afternoons at the lake or river, beer in hand, the fall and the smell of bread, wine, fireplaces, and hearty stews, and then winter, blanketing the state in white and bringing the other kind of migratory bird, Northerners, down here to ski, drink, and enjoy Bavarian “Gemütlichkeit.”

I’ll be gone, missing out on our 12’400 Christmas Markets, the winter solstice bonfires, and the calm of a winters day at home, writing and dreaming. But I’ll always be back, because once this state embraces you, welcomes you, you’ll always be a Bavarian. Until then, and until work and study pulls me back to Cyprus, I’ll sit here and wait for the thunderstorm. It, like everything in Bavaria, will be a little bigger, a little louder, but also a lot more beautiful.

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