Somewhere deep in the catacombs beneath Munich where the Munich RE stores their gold, below the steam tunnels, someone connects the fiber optic cables and cooling systems of the new Bitcoin mining machines.

And even at this depth through the tunnels sometimes wafts the smell of the beer aging caverns of the brewery down by the river where afternoon tourists drank their tour beers and ate butter brezen sprinkled with chives.

And there by the river, breathing out steam of the sauna, the Muellerische Volksbad Armin's new girlfriend dries her hair in the locker room.

A sun painted on the high ceiling, it's like a church. A group of people hurrying into the sauna for the late swimmer price. Jostling into position to file past the little gate and strip off all their clothes layers into the lockers and speed carefully across slippery tile, their butts peeping out of towels to secure a seat in the hourly sauna meister aufguss ceremony.

The feeling of desert dry heat and wood in the sauna followed by steam and eucalyptus of the sauna meisters towels waving.

And then sweating and overwhelmed with heat everyone proceeds to the outside deck and one after the other submits to the torture of pulling a string to drop a bucket of cold water on each head, or climb down a metal ladder into a cold pool of water under the winter starry night.