Walking through this strangely remote microcosm, the thought flashes for a moment that the ancient philosopher Epicurus could be around the corner. Epicurus? Well, of course, every lifestyle Munich resident with a solid quarter education knows that this Greek thinker invented the joyful life, friendship and the Samos dish with gyros, souvlaki, bifteki and tsatsiki a good 2300 years ago.
Above all, however, he had a garden near Athens, in which he philosophically strolled with his pupils, who, regrettably Zeus, also included slaves and women. If Epicurus were still alive, he would have long ago chosen Moosach as the location of his philosopher’s garden instead of the finely dusty Athens – more precisely: the Botanical Garden on Feldmochinger Straße. There is no better place to dive into the depths of being and fly up to the castles in the air of the imagination.
At first glance, what you see there is quite earthly: trees, wildly sprawling bushes, greenhouses along the paths where artists have their studios, countless flowerpots in which palm trees and oranges grow, statues of gods, wild vines, self-confidently sprouting things Weed. Friends of the pedantic order would speak of a mess and feel confirmed: art and sloppiness are synonyms.
Might be. But it is precisely the overabundance that shoots into the herb that makes the Botanic a Bavarian-Mediterranean Arcadia, where after half a bottle of wine you can already see delicate nymphs, satyrs and Dionysos personally roaming through the undergrowth. No, that’s not Moosach anymore. And not Munich either. This is a different world.
But fear not, friends of order: this world is doomed. The botanical is flattened. According to the decision, Arcadia is just good enough to serve as a compensation area for a new building project. It’s supposed to turn into a meadow – well, let’s see. In any case, nothing more can be done, housing construction has priority, especially if an investor has to earn money from it. But one can be sad, right? Sad because something special, unique is disappearing again. Just like the last idyllic backyard on our street recently, or the old, slightly dilapidated house that seemed to be whispering for years: I’m small, I’m inconspicuous, but leave me alone. Didn’t help.
Even the bar with the nailed-together wooden shed is gone. All the sleepy corners, the untidy, spun, the hidden gaps that have long escaped maximum utilization are being renovated. Often you don’t even notice them, but when they’re replaced by a cool investor palace, you think: damn, how nice that was back then. It will be the same when the Botany is liquidated. And of Epicurus and Dionysus one will say: gone unknown.