When a door closes, a bottle of Glühwein opens...

I couldn’t spend yet another Saturday night in.

The apartment has become just a little bit too comfortable since the plunge into winter. After a week of rainy November nights, Munich has seen its first snow and I now quite willingly barricade myself in the apartment whenever possible, staring out at the frozen landscape with suspicion. The energy bill is still awaited, thus I have freely indulged in keeping radiators on and fire the antiquated ceramic stove in the sitting room ad lib. I cannot tell whether my rosy cheeks are from the unremitting heat or a distinct possibility of carbon monoxide poisoning, but I feel so toasty and warm, either way it’s worth it.

But this cannot go on.

For one thing the heating bill will land in the post-Christmas deficit of January and I know from previous experience the shock and pain of this. The Ghosts of Christmas Past and Future are both warning me to literally get out whilst I can and save myself the hardship (and the polar bears). Furthermore, Munich is looking wonderful right now. As I scurry through the streets, eager to get home as soon as possible, I pass Christmassified displays in shop windows and know that they deserve more than a cursory glance.

But I didn’t want to wait until December to explore Munich on ice. Now that I was liberated from the snug confines of the flat and my isolationist tendencies I wanted to head out on a Friday night and go dancing and drinking and generally emulate scenes from that cringe-worthy but in my case sadly formative movie, Serendipity. The question was where?

I asked around my German friends, however, my questions were generally met with a confused look and the statement, “I haven’t seen the movie Serendipity.” Evidently my friends are more high-brow than I am. Undaunted, I asked for general recommendations as to bars or places to visit on a weekend night. Where was the latest “happening” place, etc? Of course, my use of the word “happening” probably meant I was not the kind of person desired at such places but my friends kindly mentioned a few names, which I jotted down with anorak’s eagerness.

This lead to me yesterday donning a slinky dress, discordant with the arctic weather conditions and dragging a rather more weather-appropriately attired Philippe along for a night out on the town.

“This is the bar,” I promised. “This is the most happening place in Munich.”

His expression never wavered, but no doubt Philippe internally winced at my terminology.

Tottering out of the subway, we followed the GPS directions to the bar, which was situated within a posh shopping arcade. However, our entry to the mall was blocked by a burly bouncer, dressed in a suit which in Sound of Music-style, appeared to be made out of curtain fabric.

“Are you on the guest list?” he asked. “If not there’s an entry fee.”

Maybe it was this unexpected barrier or maybe it was the dazzling jacquard of the bouncer’s outfit but dumbfoundedly I handed over the extortionate cover charge and we were allowed past the velvet rope. We walked down the short stretch of shops to where the mall opened out into a courtyard, which like Marienplatz, was filled with a number of wooden Christmas markets huts and a crowd of people. This was a very different demographic to the families and tourists of the centre of Munich though. Here young adults in puffa jackets smoked roll-ups and knocked back glühwein. Stricken, I pushed past them to the bar.

“Closed for a private function,” blared the words printed on a piece of A4 stuck to the door.

I fumed before turning on my uncomfortable heels to go and give the bouncer a piece of my mind. Deliberate misinformation! We had just paid for the privilege of being stuck out in the cold, outside the bar we wanted to go to. Philippe held me back.

“Why don’t we have a drink to warm up first?” he suggested.

Ten minutes and a sugary, steaming mug of Glühwein later, all was fuzzy and alright by me. With the alcohol thawing both my frozen fingers and my attitude to the situation, I began to appreciate the warmth of the crowd around me and the unexpected opportunity I was presented with. I had never really spent nights out during winter, the focus in the UK being more on cosy nights at the pub. Being outdoors and equipped to enjoy it (ahem, having a glass of mulled wine in my hand) was a new and wonderful experience, and something I wouldn’t normally have considered doing. Meanwhile obnoxious music throbbed from behind the bar’s closed doors and it looked quite unappealing from the crisp calmness of the outside. I was suddenly glad for the private function.

This is one of the pitfalls of moving to a new place, I realised. The recommendations of friends' may not be to taste and the process of exploring new things may not always be successful. In the end it is a numbers game and the only way to find your own version of “happening” is to keep trying out places. Despite the potential for overrated, overpriced failures, however, occasionally there is a concomitant surprise, in this case it turned out to be sharing a mug of Glühwein under a snowy sky in the arms of a loved one.

That, is what I believe is called serendipity.