The English Garden is beautiful. The green is everywhere. I was told that the Isar runs through the Garden. And i walk, looking out for it. A small boy pushes his bicycle forward seated on the seat. He is too small to ride one. Guided and encouraged by his grandparents, he goes forward along the side of the walking path. I look back at them a couple of times, and exchange smiles.
I spot a small bridge. I climb it and start clicking some pictures. A streams runs beneath it, and the scene is appealing. A mother walks with her two children in tow. She stops and offers to click some pictures with me in them. I say no, and i ask whether the stream is the Isar or not. A friend had told me that it was a narrow river, but i imagined it to be really narrow.
She consults a map and says no. When i ask for directions to reach the same, she offers me the map that she used. I decline it, and we see some people run in a particular directions. Still seeing them, she tells me that those are the Munich Marathon runners.
I walk ahead to find a fork. On bypassing that, i see sheep and rams grazing on an open field. I gaze at them, and go close to them. A small kid went away from me as it saw me approaching it. The older ones were used to humans, i guess.
I fear that i get lost and hesitate to venture forward. I return on the paths i had taken and reach the bridge. I walk to the stream and sense the coolness of the water; to find that it numbs the fingers for a few minutes even after contact. I then see a map of the Garden on a post, and measure the distance to be covered by me to reach the Isar. Not being suffciently equipped for the cold, i decide to return to my room, telling myself that i will visit the Isar on another day.