“Thank God!” Says the young man when he is asked by Constantine to roll up his sleeve. Konstantin stands in front of the Irish pub Kennedy’s on Sendlinger Tor on Saturday evening and puts his stamp on the guest’s wrist. He looks at the print, a Guinness glass framed by the pub name, for a long time. It will probably be the last time for a long time, stamp on skin, relieving permission to enter, unrestricted feeling of being there.
So put on your sleeves, take off your mask, and in, the Liverpool game is about to start, later karaoke, plus Guinness and growling, it won’t come back that fast. How do Munich’s night owls fare when bars and clubs have to close again? Next disenchantment, new horror, perplexed surrender, last ecstasy? Where does the feeling lie on this last evening before the new Corona rules take effect this week?
First of all, frustration prevails in the Sax restaurant, although all the conditions for a nice start to going out are in place, at least for the male-dominated special species of football fans. The drinks are cold, the schnitzel crispy, the screens easy to see from everywhere, and the place is so full at 5 p.m. that it almost feels like being in the stadium, just warm and with service on the seat. However, Dortmund then shoots the opening goal against VfB, which the overwhelming Stuttgart fans do not like, only the little lion round, which celebrates the home win of the afternoon in white and blue and the yellow Borussia catching up on the stupid reds.
So far, so normal, going out always means breaking out of everyday life. That goes together with football, friends, music, drinks or everything. Everyday life is currently as overwhelmingly shaped by the pandemic as the second half of Dortmund’s goal chances. Torben, 32, is sitting on the sofa with a beer and says: “The restrictions just have to be back.” However, he doesn’t think they’ll be enough. “Last year we pissed our pants at an incidence of 100, now at 1000,” says the management consultant.
“You already felt a bit of panic at the end of the gate”
He has a friend visiting him, they’ll go to ice hockey again on Sunday, “the last time”. They tell and analyze as if it were about familiar moves, not tough restrictions. “Unfortunately, everything was predictable,” says Torben. On Friday they were out for a longer period, “you could feel a bit of panic at the end of the gate”. By the others. Your own serenity could of course also, who knows for sure, be resignation. As with Mara and Magdalena.
The two women are sitting in front of the Loretta bar, they started their day drinking at noon at noon. “We just make the best of it,” says 25-year-old graphic designer Magdalena. In the past few weeks, too, she said that partying and dancing didn’t appeal to her, so one is simply not completely carefree again. “And you have to be clear: not being able to celebrate is really a luxury problem at the moment.”
You should have previously googled what is allowed and what is not. “You can’t keep up,” says Mara. The 37-year-old works for a media agency, she says: “The first lockdown was almost exciting in a way, now it’s just a, again‛. ” Your limit, which shrugs your shoulders in annoyance: When you are no longer allowed to invite friends to your home. “But of course, for the 18-year-olds that sucks again,” says Magdalena. Anger and anger then come a few hundred meters further in front of Kennedy’s.
Konstantin monitors the 2-G-plus rule in front of Kennedy’s at Sendlinger Tor. If you don’t have a current test, you have to stop by the next test station.
(Photo: Robert Haas)
Here Konstantin, 20, is only supposed to supervise the admission rules. Although that takes time now. Because with 2 G plus, Konstantin has to check the vaccination certificate, ID card and the quick test that was freshly made at a test station, as well as checking into the Luca app. But he is also a comforter, tourist guide and evening savior. “Do you have a quick test?” Asks the biology student. Some yes, some no.
Ferit, 31, for example, wanted to go down to the bar “just for a quick beer”. Not possible, he has to go around the corner to the test station, from which three young men are just coming. “All in all, it took three quarters of an hour,” says one of them. “Without shit?” Says Ferit. He lines up anyway. “I can’t keep up with the rules at all,” he says, “and the spontaneity in my free time, which slowly developed again over the summer, is of course lost again.” But the beer has to be, maybe even more so.
Two men come to Konstantin’s high table who says: “We are 2 G plus.” A curse. They are gone. A woman in line who heard this shouts, “What a shit!” and walk to the subway. But most of them stay, can be tested, they want to celebrate again under all current circumstances. It is the same in the clubs. The milk bar gets full to the brim in the evening, “they wanted to know again,” says operator Jakobaltenbacher on Sunday.
Fully reserved: In H’ugo’s Tresor Club, guests dance lively on the weekend.
(Photo: Felix Hörhager / dpa)
In H’ugo’s on Promenadeplatz, a lounge-bar-club-restaurant, there is even a small test tent next to the local discotheque. You are “fully booked,” says Pippo, the chief cameriere. In front of Kilian’s, a few meters further on, the guests wait very patiently in line. Masks are removed, earrings are put in, apps are opened, documents are unfolded. And if you still need a test, you can take your time on the way.
There is no hectic rush on Saturday evening, something that was lost not only on this evening and not only in Munich, perhaps as one of the few positive side effects of this pandemic. You even take your time for some minor details, like a young man in front of Kennedy’s. He too looks at his longed-for hand stamp for a long time, then carefully blows on it. That it won’t come off for a long time, the last stamp. It’s almost like a kiss.