Taking the Dodger’s Alley

by Mariana Martins (Portugal)

I didn't expect to find Germany

Veronika, our local guide, tell us that the two towers of the Frauenkirche, a landmark of Munich, escaped destruction during the WW2, unlike most of the city. The pilots of the Allied Forces used them as a point of orientation; a very straightforward reason that by looking at the city, makes hardly any sense. “The most Italian city of Germany”, we are told, one of those big statements that hold no real meaning. Actually, by looking at the warm pastel colours of some buildings, as well as the architectonic style, I can somewhat see some resemblances but what stands out is a familiar laziness lingering. It’s not the same, though. I’ve come to believe in the existence of the Bavarian way of living, which can be symbolically represented by beer. Munich houses the Oktoberfest, no surprises here. They do it since the XVII century, having started as the wedding celebration of the King of Bavaria Ludwig I. Yet, the cult of beer remains as important throughout the year. So, give it a go. Enter one of the several famous beer halls, with little imagination you’ll be able to travel back in time, and party with very loud and proud locals, at the end of a day’s work. Or, go outside, stretch slowly like a cat under the sun, in one of many beer gardens. Yes, they even have gardens for it. Everything’s so easy-going that our next stop comes to sudden. We are, now, at a narrow street in the back of the Feldherrnhalle, a loggia modelled after the one in Florence. The tone of Veronika’s voice sobers up. “Look at the ground”, she asks us. We notice a brown trail on the floor. The streams of history fill in the place. Turns out the Beer Hall Putsch, the failed coup d’état by the Nazi Party in 1923, had culminated in front of the loggia with the death of 4 policemen and 14 Nazis. Hitler was arrested 2 days later and served only 9 months. But the real outcome, not even he could have imagined it so vividly: the newspapers gave him national projection while he wrote Mein Kampf in jail. When released, he knew that power should be obtained through vote, and so he did. In 1933, the Feldhernahlle was turned into a memorial for the Nazis killed in 1923, and every citizen who passed in front was obliged to make the Nazi salute. As an act of civic resistance, those who opposed Hitler would take an alternate route around the monument, using the Viscardigasse alley, which came to be known as “Dodger’s Alley”, amongst other designations. Hence, the meaning of the trail where we stood. I was not in Munich for the beer. I meant to stop by a day, without big plans, after visiting my real destination, the concentration camp in Dachau, which is relatively close. It had been opened in 1933, to “lodge” political adversaries, at first of course. I knew very little of the rise of the Nazi Party in Bavaria, its hometown. There’s nothing as seeing things with our own eyes and learning from those who dedicate their lives to guard the past. Even so, it occurred to me, already in Munich, that the word concentration can be seen trough diverse lens. I had been so focused on the idea of visiting Dachau, as one of the places in Europe that concentrate all evil, that my view had been temporarily narrowed. Until arriving in that alley, it had escaped me that nothing in this world simply pops out of nowhere, that beginnings often happen earlier than we imagine, and anywhere. Strolling around the English Garden, at the end of my journey, I think of nothing. It’s June. I run into people jogging, walking their dogs; many lying around in the grass. There are constructions inspired in diverse cultures, such as Greek, Japanese or Chinese. I notice some people doing nudism and I can’t help but smile – can’t imagine my fellow countrymen doing the same in a public garden with such tranquillity. I’m looking for waves. I’ve been told it’s possible to surf here. Can’t wait to see how they have done it.