Myth-making in stone: Touring Ludwig's neo-medieval castles

We met many characters in our wander through the history and art of Bavaria, but none are as interesting as King Ludwig II.

He's become a tourist industry on his own, and his image graces as many tourist items in Bavaria as does Mozart's in Salzburg.  It is a rich irony that the lavish construction projects that triggered the king's push from power are now major money makers for the Bavarian state. Neuschwanstein Castle is the most visited tourist attraction in Germany.  But most tourists rush through, only getting a sliver of the Ludwig story.  It's worth spending time to dig deeper.

Here's what most tourists know about Ludwig.  He was mad. He built a mountaintop citadel that served as Disney's architectural model and is the iconic image of a fairy tale castle.  He was a passionate Wagner fan whose financial support rescued the composer from penury. He died in mysterious circumstances soon after his ministers forced him to abdicate.

His story is far more complex.  All the experts here ... and contemporaries from Wagner to Metternich ... stand firm on their opinion that he was troubled, but perfectly sane. He clearly had a wealth of hang-ups after an odd, isolated childhood and was probably an opium addict by the time he died. Yes, he had outrageously opulent taste and spent breath-taking amounts, but he was spending his own money.  It was only when he exhausted his own resources and went to his government for a loan that they had an excuse to move against him. Arguably a design genius, he was personally involved in each project, creating things of dazzling beauty whilst integrating the best of modern technology.  The lost glass houses from the roof of Munich's Residenz must have been a technological marvel in line with the contemporary Crystal Palace in London.

He wanted to be involved in governing his country, but was rebuffed early. Marginalised to his palaces, he became increasingly isolated as he retreated to comforting fantasies of past times.  Idealised medieval castles and tales of German myth connected him to the world of his childhood. Re-creations of the world of France's Louis XIV carried him back to the age in which he felt he belonged.

Hohenschwangau

The Ludwig Big Picture
There's much more to Ludwig than the typical bus tour from Munich, which tends to feature a quick
duck into Neuschwanstein and a trot through the interior at Linderhof.  There are six essential palaces and two museums needed to complete the story, and logistics make it almost impossible to see everything in the right order.

Ideally, you'd start with the museums.  The Museum of Bavarian Kings in Schwangau puts Ludwig in the context of his lineage.  It's much easier to understand his extravagance and disappointment with the 19th century world when you see what came before him.  Then you'd move on to the excellent new museum at Herrenchiemsee dedicated to his life and works.  And only then would you get into the palaces.  First to the homes of his childhood, Hohenschwangau, the Residenz and Nymphenburg.  All three will remind you that the buildings he created weren't unusually lavish in his own experience; just an extension of his family's long architectural heritage.  Rooms at the first two demonstrate that his Wagner and German myth obsession was nothing new, rather an effort to re-capture and improve on magical spaces from childhood.

Next, therefore, would come Neuschwanstein, where he upped the ante on those childhood dreams.

Finally you'd move on to his French stage. The further isolated he became from modern politics, the more he yearned for the bygone days of absolute monarchy.  Unlike most of his fellow European royals, he had the money to build stage sets for his fantasies.  Cue Linderhof and Herrenchiemsee.  You'd end up back in the museum at the latter, looking at a fascinating video of all the building projects that were still on the drawing board when he died.

We saw all these things over our two weeks, but not in that order.  For our purposes, let me divide the Ludwig sites into two neat parcels.  Here, the castles evoking German myth.  Next entry, those channeling the Sun King.

The German myth castles

Neuschwanstein

Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein sit within easy view of each other on opposing hilltops.  The Disney-adorable village of Schwangau sits in the valley between them.  It stretches back from an idyllic lake, Alpsee, its placid waters a seemingly impossible emerald green.  The lake is surrounded by pine-forested slopes and sheer rock faces.  This is a mythic landscape in which dwarves, river nymphs and armour-clad heroes would come as no surprise.  It certainly must have fuelled the young Ludwig's imagination.

As would have the family home at Hohenschwangau.  Though it seems a stately, generously-proportioned pile to us, it's a small and rather humble country escape as far as Wittlesbach family homes go.  It is the creation of his parents, Maximilian and Marie, who were at the cutting edge of the 19th century trend for medieval revivalism.  Here you'll find compelling wall frescoes drawn from German legend in near-life-sized scale.  In the main hall, ancient heroes battle in a blood-free conflict; this scrap seems to be more about who has the noblest profile, the finest horse or the showiest armour rather than who's best in a fight.  In his father's bedroom, alluring Rhine maidens play out the stories that initiate the ring cycle.  The tale of Lohengrin surrounded Ludwig at every family meal.  No wonder he fell in love with Wagner; it must have been like a Harry Potter-obsessed teenager seeing the first film in 2001 after loving the books.

Dinner with Lohengrin

The exquisite frescoes in their deep jewel tones are matched by neo-gothic wood carving, monumental furniture, sumptuous upholstery and jewel-encrusted objects d'art.  And yet, your eye has space to rest here.  There are stretches of solid colour, or small repeated pattern.  Plenty of room is given over to broad windows that take in the beauty of the valley and mountains beyond.  Compared to the castles Ludwig went on to build, there's a stillness and a simplicity here.  Yet you can clearly see the childhood inspiration.  Almost ignored by his parents, left here with only the heroes on the wall to keep him company, his comfort with escaping into a fantasy world began.

In that context, Neuschwanstein is a logical evolution.  Within clear view of his childhood home, Ludwig sought to build something bigger and better, but clearly a direct evolution from his early days.  The wall painting cycles of German legend, the jewel tones, the medieval-styled furniture are all here.  But it's bigger, busier, and a hell of a lot higher.  If this castle's on your bucket list, don't put it off for long: it's a climb to get here, and involves a great deal of clambering up and down and walking, at brisk pace, to keep up with the guided tours which are the only way in.

Too much to take in
The pace of the guided tour means the procession of exquisite interiors will whip by in a blur.  There are no quiet spaces here.  At least, not in the completed rooms you get to tour.  Every inch is covered with decorative detail, all deserving attention.  But you won't have time.  Looking at pictures in the guide book after our visit, I figured that for every one element I noticed, there were four or five others I didn't.  Frankly, you'll probably only remember three rooms with any clarity.

The singer's hall at the very top is flooded with light and supposed to evoke a scene from the Tannhauser legend.  It should be a cheerful space ... and the forest scene behind the stage is right out of Disney ... but you learn that Ludwig never entertained here and wandered these halls alone.  In isolation, this magnificence would have been oppressive.  Ludwig's bedroom is painted with scenes from the tragic story of Tristan and Isolde and features a magnificent carved wooden bed. If it looks familiar, it's because it looks exactly like  medieval chantry chapel; all that's missing is the tomb with its sleeping figure in the middle.  While beautiful, it's a lonely, dark place that suggests a man embracing the next world in the prime of his life in this one.

Throne room, Neuschwanstein

If you don't know the back story, you'll see the throne room and assume he was indeed a lunatic with a god delusion. It's essentially a Byzantine cathedral, glistening with golden mosaics, with room for the throne where an altar would have been.  It is actually evoking the story of Parsifal and the Grail Castle.  Knights would live in an essentially ecclesiastical space, fighting for the purity of body and soul needed to deserve the grail. Scholars now believe that Ludwig, probably a homosexual trapped by religion and society into not expressing his feelings, was embracing the monasticism of the Grail Knights as a way to combat and bottle up his own sexuality.

The more you learn about him, the more your heart bleeds.  Ludwig is the poster child for the maxim that money can't buy you happiness.  It can't change political reality, either.  Next entry, I'll explore his architectural attempts to recapture the world of divine right monarchy.

Logistics
A modern office in Schwangau, the village between the castles, sells tickets to all the attractions.  There are only a certain number of tickets for each day; when they're sold, that's it.  Given that large blocks of the English-speaking sessions are blocked in advance by bus tours, you risk disappointment if you get here at any time after mid-morning.  Arriving first thing, or booking in advance, is essential.

Admission to the castles is only by guided tour, on strict timetables.  If you don't arrive in the approximately 10-minute window in which the automated turnstiles accept your tour's tickets, you're out of luck.  Both castles take some getting to.  Hohenschwangau takes about 20 minutes to reach, mostly up stairs, while Neuschwanstein is a 50-minute brisk walk at a steady ascent.  There's a horse-drawn wagon to both, and a bus up to Neuschwanstein, but the queues to get on either mode of transport can easily eat up half an hour or more, and the horses don't go much faster than a brisk human walk.  All of which means that unless you're young, fit and going at a cracking pace, about two hours of your sightseeing day is going to be spent getting to, between and from the castles.

It's for this reason that many people only see Neuschwanstein.  Resist the temptation.  Resign yourself to the fact this is going to take all day.  You need both castles to understand the story.  Buy the triple ticket so you can get in to the Museum of Bavarian Kings.  Leave three hours between your admissions to Hohenschwangau (which should always be seen first) and Neuschwanstein so you can enjoy a leisurely lunch.

Besides, the tours at Hohenschwangau are better.  This castle is still owned by the family who, it seems, employ older and more experienced guides who have a deep connection to their topic.  And the place is small enough for a half-hour tour (which, in our case, stretched to 40 minutes) to be meaningful.  The same half -hour in Neuschwanstein was a blur of quick, magnificent rooms in between athletic sprints to keep up with the guide.  I needed the guidebook afterwards to remind me of what we saw.  That's the problem with being the No. 1 attraction in any country; the need to push the crowds through eliminates any ability to linger and appreciate.

Mozart makes for a happy, if exhausting, day in Salzburg

A gaggle of Chinese tourists sings Do-Re-Me while bouncing up and down stairs in the Mirabell Gardens.  Meanwhile, an open-topped double decker bus with that iconic, meadow-skipping graphic of Julie Andrews splashed across its side drives by, a crowd of Americans bellowing How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? from its top deck.  At dinner that night, fellow tourists from at least four countries will regard you with suspicion:  What do you mean, you're not doing The Sound of Music tour?

It's at that point you may start to wonder if Salzburg is no more than a giant, film-set based
amusement park, secretly managed by 20th Century Fox to milk revenues out of a 50-year-old movie.  Don't get me wrong:  I love the uplifting musical about the triumph of love, honour and family ties in the face of rising Nazism. But there is more to Salzburg than an American musical's interpretation of the city ... even if it seems that, these days, that's the reason most people come here.

Had the film never existed, you'd still want to spend some time in this tiny city: 145,000 residents in 25 square miles, which includes gently agrarian suburbs.  Here are the main reasons.

Setting. Salzburg occupies an achingly beautiful spot in a green river valley against the shoulder of the Alps.  Snow-capped peaks fill the horizon, a couple of smaller mountains rise out of the plain within the city's suburbs, and two craggy hills enliven the city centre.  The medieval fortress atop one forms a picturesque backdrop for numerous views, and a blockbuster sightseeing point from which to take everything in.

Architecture. Religion and the salt trade combined to make Salzburg a very wealthy place for most of its existence. As an archbishopric, rather than a secular state, it was ruled by a succession of prince-bishops. In theory, that means centuries of men without heirs; freed from the pressures of family inheritance, they could leave all their efforts and profits to the glory of the city.  While there was plenty of abuse down the centuries, it does mean that this place ... like Vatican City ... accumulated more than its fair share of glory.  The churches and palaces are magnificent, but just as good are the streets of shops and houses built for the prosperous middle classes all that money and power supported.  The entire old town is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Location. The city sits of the very edge of Austria. It's just five miles to the German border from the town centre; 89 gets you to Munich.  It means it's an easy day trip from the Bavarian capital. But it's also a good base for exploring a fascinating region.  You can be in the centre of Berchestgaden National Park, a wonder of Alpine beauty, in 20 minutes.  The gorgeous lake Chiemsee with its Versailles-like palace on one of its islands is under an hour.  You'll have a more relaxed visit to both of these popular sites, which I'll cover in later blogs, if you start from Salzburg. Thus it's logical to make it a hub for a a few days.

For us, however, one name reigned supreme.  Mozart.  This is his city.  He was born here in 1756 and lived here, on and off, for his first 25 years.  And while he sometimes seems overshadowed by Rogers and Hammerstein, his home city ... which he never actually liked very much ... markets him relentlessly.  Life-sized cardboard cutouts beckon you into shops.  Mozart chocolates flood countless shop windows. His work headlines all of the numerous classical concerts that take place here daily. (Though, look carefully. Many of the concerts don't actually feature that much Mozart.)

We spent a day in his footsteps, devoting most of our time to his two homes that now operate as museums, then ending the day at an opera with a twist.  But, as mentioned, Salzburg is tiny.  So we decided to take in as much as we could, aided by a one-day Salzburg card that got us into everything for a single 27 euro fee per person.

We started at Mozart's Birthplace. Most guidebooks will tell you that, if you only have time to visit one of the homes, go for this one.  I disagree, for reasons I'll explain later.  But any Mozart lover should try to do both.  Here, you'll be surprised by the humble, rather cramped surroundings of a family that was already quite successful.  (Mozart's father was an accomplished musician and teacher with a popular book on musical theory delivering revenues.) Early rooms, devoid of most furniture, use portraits and documents to introduce you to the man and his era.  Later on, there's memorabilia: locks of his hair, items he owned, one of his pianos, etc.  The more interesting stuff is actually downstairs, where the museum has expanded beyond the Mozart-affiliated rooms. There's much more on the cultural and economic background of the world that created the genius.  There's a room furnished to show what the family's rooms might have actually looked like; much more evocative than the plain, bare rooms above.  My favourite section was on opera, where two rooms displayed models of stage sets, from the originals up through modern interpretations.  Here, three stations allowed you to duck into sound booths to watch and listen to performances.  Besides that, the museum was curiously low on sound.  It's my biggest complaint: listening to the actual music should be at the heart of any Mozartian pilgrimage.  Here, it certainly is not.

From there we wandered to the archbishop's Residenz, where we were irritated to discover we couldn't just pop in to the state rooms.  It's a one-way, 1.5 kilometre trek through a substantial museum before you get to the palace. Since it was included in our pass, we grabbed the audio guide and took a stroll. Turns out the organisers know what they're doing: the state rooms aren't terribly impressive (as palaces in this region go), but there's some beautiful stuff in the treasury.  A 17th century prince-bishop's kunstkammer (cabinet of wonders) is a particularly delightful example of this early trend in natural history museums.  The best reason for admission, however, is actually access to a rooftop terrace that looks over the Residenzplatz and the Mozartplatz, then leads to the choir loft in the cathedral.

At this point we needed a restful lunch, and there's no better place to get that on a sunny day than the beer garden tucked into the ramparts of the Hohensalzburg Castle ... a short walk and quick funicular ride up from the cathedral. I'm sure we paid more than options down below, but the beer was good and the view exquisite.  Restored, we clambered up and down another six to ten stories worth of stairs to take in the highlights of the castle.  These are generally acknowledged to be the renaissance rooms up top, dark wood paneling and ceilings highlighted with gold gilt and festive paint.  Equally impressive, however, is the marionette museum on the way up, which gives you the history of the long tradition of puppetry in this area and shows off scores of beautiful puppets.  You can also buy tickets here for productions in their dedicated theatre.  (For more on that, keep reading.)

Descending from the heights, we started heading to the other side of town, but were distracted by a quick stop into the Franciscan church. This study in contrasts makes for one of the most beautiful religious spaces we saw on the whole trip.  The main church is all austere gothic elegance, white walls stretching up to lofty gothic arches outlined by green/grey stone.  A long, narrow nave expands into a round space for altar and side chapels, where floods of light from windows above illuminate a crazy quilt of baroque decoration.  The gold gilt, curvaceous iron work, frolicking putti and angst-ridden saints are all the more effective for their austere setting.

Over the Salzach river, most people go to the Mirabell Palace for the gardens. Even if you're not into re-creating The Sound of Music, you'll appreciate the bright floral parterres swirling across the emerald lawns, picturesque rooflines and Salzburg castle forming a backdrop beyond.  These days the palace is more government office than tourist site, and there's little signage to indicate anything is inside.  But if you try for unlocked doors and poke your nose through, you can find the monumental baroque staircase that leads up to the ornate rooms where they hold concerts here nightly.  (If we'd had another night free, we would have booked one.)  It's definitely worth a peek.

The main attraction for us on this side of the river, however, was Mozart's Residenz, the much larger rooms the family occupied when he was a young man.  I found this a more satisfying museum on almost every front.  Presumably, because the tour books put this one in second place, it's without the bus tours that made it hard to move inside the birthplace.  The rooms are far larger, and there are plenty of places to sit and listen to a very informative audio tour. Which, sensibly, is flooded with music. Like the birthplace, you'll find portraits, artefacts and musical instruments.  But there's also more video, and deeper investigation into topics like other members of the family, Mozart's travels and how the Mozart mystique has carried through the ages.  I only have two regrets about this fascinating museum: the audio-visual room with the computers that dug into musical scores was closed, and by this point I was probably too tired to take everything in.

We limped through more picturesque streets to a cafe beside the river, where we drank white wine and watched the sun glimmer off water and rooftops as evening fell.  Then it was time for the opera.

Not just any opera. A puppet opera.  Founded in 1913, the Salzburg Marionette Theatre is one of the
oldest continuously operating companies for this art form.  Marionette theatre reached the zenith of its popularity in the post-war years; the Salzburg company was famous, toured the world and inspired spin-offs.  My own first opera, so I am told, was a marionette version at the Kungsholme in Chicago ... a long-closed version of what's still going in Salzburg.

We were there for The Magic Flute, and magic is a fine word to describe the whole evening.  Wisely, they start the performance showing the puppeteers getting in place and arranging the set, before the screens tighten in on the stage and the perfect illusion begins. If you hadn't seen them at the beginning, and if light didn't reveal the tell-tale glint of strings, there are moments when it's hard to believe these are two-foot high dolls being manipulated by others while a recorded version of the opera plays.

In many ways, this is actually a better way to present the more fantastical operas than live action.  At least in these days, when everyone is going for modern interpretations.  Puppets can fly, be dragons or other fantasy creatures. Sets can be lavish. The illusion can be more complete. I found myself longing for a Marionette Theatre ring cycle.

But I fear it is not to be. There was an element of sadness to this performance.  With its beautiful, purpose-built theatre less than a quarter full (there were perhaps 50 people in the audience), I feared we were looking at a dying art form.  I suspect they don't have much money to invest, which accounts for a sound system that could have been much better.

The company recently introduced a marionette version of The Sound of Music that plays regularly as a counterpoint to the serious opera. I hope that brings the crowds in, and keeps the tradition going.  Whether you go the Mozart or Rogers and Hammerstein route in Salzburg, it's the Marionette Theatre I'd put forward as the one thing you shouldn't miss.  Now, sadly, almost unique, it's a slice of the past that we shouldn't let go, and it will send you out into the Austrian night uplifted, content and humming a tune or two.

Residenz awes, but simple wandering is the best approach to Munich

To fully appreciate any sightseeing in Munich, you need to understand four things:

Religion.  It's in the name itself. Munchen is an old German version of "monk", and that's who founded the place.  It's closer to the Italian border than to Berlin and has always shared emotional bonds with its southern neighbours.  On a sunny day, parts of Munich are indistinguishable from Florence.  Great religious houses were always drawn here, and throughout the Reformation this was a bastion of Roman Catholic defence against growing Protestantism elsewhere in Germany.  That's why you'll find a disproportionate number of grand churches here, all worth your time.  There are three chapels in the royal palace in the centre of town alone.  Which leads us to...

Wittelsbachs.  The family ruled the region, with Munich as their capital, from 1180-1918. They held an impressive variety of titles, including Holy Roman Emperor (twice) and king from Napoleonic times through the end of WW1. After which they retired ... as plain old dukes ... into civilian life.  They were fabulously wealthy.  Family ambition for those Holy Roman elections drove showy building booms in the 17th and 18th centuries. Desire to be a shining star of progressive, enlightened Europe did the same in the 19th.

Conservatism.  When making decisions about rebuilding after the war, Frankfurt and London embraced modernity.  Munich threw its resources into re-creating the treasures of its past; a process that still carries on today.  Natives still dress conservatively (including regular donning of traditional lederhosen and dirndls), appreciate titles and often act with an old-world formality. This makes for a city best described as gracious and elegant.

Trade.  You'd think the elements above would leave the Bavarians in the dust of modernity.  Not so.  These have been canny business people since the monks first started selling their beer to the traders crossing through here, and the first Wittlesbach of note made his fortune controlling the toll bridges capturing money from the traffic of the salt trade.  While strict rules keep Munich's city centre an historic gem, it's ringed with modern office parks and factories employing workers in lucrative industries like high tech, automotive and pharmaceuticals.  BMW's glittering HQ, the space-age Allianz arena and the Olympic Park all show off how the Muncheners' eye for business keeps them prosperous and modern.

All of those things come together in my favourite spot in Munich: The Residenz.  Wittlesbach family HQ, it is the most extensive palace I've ever wandered through.  (And I've seen a few.) The place grew by accretion from the 14th century, successive generations adding their own wings or renovating existing ones.  Today there are 130 rooms wrapping around 10 different courtyards; you're working on a similar scale here to the Vatican or the Louvre.

Despite the medieval roots, the interiors you see here today start in the renaissance and go up through the 19th century, providing a fascinating study in the evolution of royal style.  Be warned that the Residenz is the endurance test of palace visiting.  No matter how keen you are on lavish art and architecture, there will come a point where you wonder if you can take any more.  Will it ever end?  But I, certainly, kept pushing on, because there was some new, extraordinary element of lavish magnificence beyond every corner.  Leave at least half a day, and don't dream of taking it all in.  Wander, let the glory wash over you, spend time (and use the audio guide) on the things that appeal most to you.  That will be different for every visitor.

Early on, I was wowed by the grotto, where gods and sea creatures made of aquatic shells cavort across a wall-covering span of fountains. The post-war people of Munich contributed tens of thousands of fresh water mussel shells from their own kitchens to allow the artisans to re-create this wonder after WW2. It's a nice reminder, from the start, that most of what you see are magnificent copies and re-creations of what was destroyed.  Soon after you come to The Antiquarium, a massive cross-vaulted hall decorated with inlaid marble, classical statuary and Renaissance "grotesquerie" frescoes.  This is the interior shot that shows up most often in guidebooks, for good reason.  I think it goes head-to-head with Siena's Piccolomini Library (described here) in a battle to be the greatest Renaissance room in Europe.

Inlaid marble is a consistent feature in the Residenz, and my visit forever killed my assumption that
pietra dura is quintessentially Italian.  The emperor's staircase, the imperial hall and the stone rooms all offer walls that are ablaze with the myriad colours of their jigsaw-set marbles and precious stones.  The stone rooms, added in the early 1600s, also feature a set of luscious tapestries with such fine detail you'll be hard-pressed to believe the image is woven rather than painted.  (Warning: don't take the short tour or you'll miss these gems.) The most extraordinary pietra dura, however, comes in the smallest of three royal chapels, where detailed bible scenes play out in marble while a dome of gold gilt and bright blue evokes heaven above you.

The plasterers have a chance to trump the stone masons in the baroque and rococo rooms, dripping with gold gilt stucco work.  The green gallery, with its emerald damask wall covering, fabulous art collection, mirrors and windows beneath the gold and white ceiling gee-gawgery is a warmer, friendlier riff on the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.  The designer of these rooms, Francois de Cuvillies, is also responsible for the red, gold and white jewel box of a theatre.  But it's the series of rooms from the Napoleonic era, with their French Empire furniture and restrained (in comparison) decoration that are the ones I'd move in to.

The final tour de force is a white and gold rococo hall lined with portraits of Wittlesbachs back to their adopted ancestor Charlemagne.  Frankly, I'm surprised this crew didn't go back to Julius Caesar, if not God himself.  No matter how tired you are at this point, you must spend at least another hour in the treasury.  Which, in most other cities, would be one of the top sights in its own right.  The crown jewels, ornate table decor, private altars, reliquaries, jewellery and all manner of collectible knick-knacks that just happen to be fashioned out of gold, silver and precious gems ... it's hard to believe so much is in one place, much less that one family once owned all this stuff.

And yet The Residenz is just the tip of Munich's sight-seeing iceberg.

Every guidebook has a similar list of musts.  Most are in such close proximity you'll never need to step on public transport.  (Although, when you do, it's efficient and cheap.)  I'd round out my top three with the Asamkirche and Nymphenburg Palace, both of which I'll cover later in my entry on the rococo.  The art museums are justly famous, the English Garden is one of the world's great urban parks and all the churches deserve a peek inside.

We only had a few disappointments.  The much-promoted Deutsches Museum is, to anyone familiar with Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry (described here), a bitter disappointment: a lonely, echoing cavern of a place filled with dusty displays that look like they haven't changed since the 1950s.  Only its copy of the Altimira Caves with their pre-historic paintings struck me as really new and different but, ironically, the lighting in the exhibit prevented any close examination.  We wish we would have gone to the Bavarian National Museum instead, which I think I would have enjoyed much more.  Guides will rave about the Viktualienmarkt, but Europe offers many more interesting food markets, most notably Barcelona's   Bouqueria (described here). And the famous Dallmayr's Delicatessen isn't quite so special once you're coming from London, where Fortnums, Selfridges and

Harrods all battle it out in the luxury food hall stakes.

But these were minor frustrations within a magnificent week.  A week which didn't actually feature
that much sightseeing.  Because the two best ways to enjoy Munich are to stroll and to drink.

The guiding hands of generations of Wittlesbachs, most notably of Ludwig I (reigned 1825-1848), have created an elegant city full of stage-set beautiful spaces.  It has the sophistication of Vienna and the architectural continuity of Paris, but with a fraction of the crowds once you leave the main flight streets around the Marianplatz.  It deserves long, leisurely afternoon strolls, stopping to admire architecture, monuments, flowers and trees.

You'll be helped in your leisurely pursuit by the wealth of beer halls and beer gardens.  You could, in fact, structure a whole holiday around visiting these alone.  And they certainly featured prominently across our week.  They'll get a whole entry to themselves.

But first, it's time to move on to look at our other urban hub for this trip: Salzburg.

In the land of sausage and dumplings, a German-Japanese chef puts Munich on a different culinary map

The words "German cuisine" and "gourmet" are not a natural fit.  Plenty of people head to Bavaria for the beer, but they rarely rave about the food.  Every beer garden and traditional tourist restaurant serves the same hearty fare, building from the twin pillars of carbohydrates and pork products.  A bowl of kaesespaetzle (the Alpine version of mac n' cheese) is as comforting as your mother's warm hug as she tucks you under a fluffy duvet, but it's hardly elegant.

But, as a Munchener friend pointed out to me, that's not the way the natives eat.  Like the famous British fry-up ... which foreign visitors assume the locals eat every morning because that's what they get in every B&B, but the natives may do at home once a month ... traditional German specialities are  just one slice of the food scene here.

Like Copenhagen before it, young chefs in Munich are mixing tradition up with innovative ideas and unexpected fusions.  Based on our experience in the talented hands of chef Tohru Nakamura, I wouldn't be surprised if Munich starts trending as the Danish capital did a few years ago, and his Michelin-starred Geisels Werneckhof starts getting mentioned regularly alongside Noma and the Fat Duck.  At each place, chefs have turned traditional cuisine on its head to give the world something completely new.  In Nakamura's case, it's the improbable-sounding Japanese-German fusion.

This was the best meal we've had all year.  It was the one activity that appeared on both of our lists of favourites from across the whole holiday.  We have nothing in London like it.  Quite simply:  If you're serious about your food, it is worth planning a weekend getaway in Munich just to eat here.  It's that good.

I've encountered a few places claiming Japanese fusion, but they've been car crash hybrids offering oddities like wagyu beef tartare or chicken cordon bleu sushi.  This is far more subtle.  In fact, if you sat down to eat without context, you'd only see high-end European food.  You'd know that something was different, but not be able to put your finger on it.  A lightness of touch, a clarity to the sauces, the crunch of vegetables and the hint of flavours you can't identify.  But you won't be flying blind, because Nakamura takes the time to visit each table at the start of your meal, explaining his concept and why things will taste a little different.  How, for example, he uses Japanese "dashi" for the base of his sauces, which tends to make things lighter, brighter and a bit sharper.  (And you don't even need to speak German or Japanese; he rolled out perfect English for us.)

We went for the chef's menu, which you can select in a nine, seven or five course version.  We chose the middle path, though the profusion of little extras amounted to three or four additional courses on their own.  Starting with five would more than suffice on a second visit, but I'm glad we opted for more to experience the range of Nakamura's innovation.  We also went for the matching flight of drinks, selected in the same spirit of innovative fusion by Gascon-born sommelier Gerard Desmousseaux.  After checking our tolerance for experimentation, he delivered a menu of seven beautiful glasses ... each with interesting commentary ... that used wine, sake and beer to reach that perfect match to the food.

After a spread of delicate, unusual and gorgeously presented amuse bouche (top photo), our first course delivered the combination of taste, surprise and presentation that would characterise the rest of the meal.  Locally sourced char had been mildly smoked in juniper branches, then combined with a creamy custard and served in a perfectly hollowed-out egg, with chervil root for a bit of crunch and meadowsweet for herbal back notes.  We'd barely gotten over our appreciation for the first fish course when a second followed:  langoustines two ways, served in a bit of tasty broth with kohlrabi that had been given time to go soft and soak up the flavours.  (The notes in the Riverford veg delivery box always explain away the kohlrabi with "it's very popular in Germany"; if I could make it taste like this, I'd be happier about receiving it!)  The subtle Japanese elements here were umeboshi ... a fruit ... and a herb called shiso.  And, no doubt, the precision plating with flowers that channeled the horticultural perfection of a ikebana flower arrangement.

The dish of the night, for me, came next.  Regular readers will know that I'm a sucker for foie gras and have eaten far more than my fair share.  But never combined with sweet chestnut and pistachio (another favourite of mine), beetroot and sour cherry.  The sommelier paired this with some rose sake, sweet but with a dry finish, that pushed the whole thing right over the edge into sheer perfection.  It's one of those stand-out dishes I will remember for a long time.

It was so good, it nearly overshadowed the local pork that came next.  But it didn't, because: I've never had pork "shabu shabu" before (thinly-sliced, cooked quickly in boiling water); the accompanying pork belly was incredibly succulent; and pork with eggplant (aubergine) is a revelation I need to repeat.

The cheese cart arrived to divide savoury from sweet.  A solid, traditional offering, this was the course I could most easily have lived without.  But then I would have missed the spot-on pairing of a creamy, Belgian dark ale with the cheese.  There's one to try at home.

The menu promised two sweets, first a lavender honey ice cream.  Curiously, it was the secondary element, fig and oxalis pistou (note another use of little-known herbs), that took pride of place.  It was essentially a tartare-style patty of diced fig meat with the ice cream on the side, and a real treat for anyone who loves that fruit.  The final course was a celebration of pumpkin, yuzu (an Asian citrus) and carrot.  I appreciated this course intellectually, as a testimony to how sweet vegetables can gender-bend to the dessert side of things.  As an American, pumpkin for pudding is no stretch for me.  And I loved the presentation, arranged on a striking pottery plinth somewhere between pillow and altar.  But as a dessert lover, I was a bit disappointed.  Where was the chocolate?

I needn't have worried.  Noting that it was both our wedding anniversary and my birthday, the team wheeled out a third dessert course to wrap things up.  I was already well past replete and heading for stuffed when confronted with five more little chocolate-based sweets, one a mousse revealed by lifting up a delightfully kitschy "lucky cat".  A great element of fun to wrap up a very serious gourmet experience.

Geisels Werneckhof is a tiny place, with just two rooms and a handful of tables seating up to 50.  That allows for plenty of personal attention under the firm front-of-house direction of Julia Pleintinger.  Everyone was aware of our special occasion and made a fuss over us.  Though this isn't at all a touristy place, everyone spoke to us in English.  And everyone ... most particularly chef and sommelier ... realised we were serious about our food and wine and took the time to chat and give us details about our experience.  This remarkable meal was a high point of the whole trip, and I suspect it will be quite a while before we find another culinary experience that surprises and delights in such equal measure.

Baroque, beer and blockbusters: Bavarian holiday surpasses all expectations

I owe Germany an apology.

Over two decades of prolific European travel, I've never given it much consideration.  I enjoyed a trip to Bavaria and the Tirol in 1986 (old travel diary entry resurrected here) but never felt the pull to return.  Other places always seemed more exotic, offered better food, dangled history and culture that was closer to my heart.  Germany was the home of close colleagues, and a useful place to add a bit of sightseeing on top of business trips (search "Berlin" for several earlier blog entries).  But as the venue for a proper two-week holiday, it never even made my top 20.

Then came my Germanophile husband.  The lover of Wagner and Mozart's German operas. Whose culinary foundations rest upon pork and potatoes.  Whose historical interests include the rise of Nazism, Napoleon's campaigns and the European wars surrounding the Protestant reformation.  A man with family roots stretching back to Western Bavaria in the 17th century.  A guy literally allergic to tomatoes, and spiritually allergic to sun-drenched beach holidays.  So it came as little surprise that, in control of the destinations for leisure travel during his big birthday year, he opted for a fortnight in Germany.

And thus he deserves all the credit for my revelation:  Bavaria is magnificent.

In culture, history and landscape it can hold its own against any other European destination.  In fact, on many fronts, it beats them.  The Wittlesbach family palaces, frankly, make the Windsors look like poor cousins.  This region arguably contains the finest flowering of the Baroque and Rococo in Europe, leaving more famous Italian and French examples looking tired.  (Admittedly, part of that may be because so much of what you see here has been painstakingly re-created since WW2 destruction; thus colours, gold gilt and fabrics are quite literally "like new".)  The Alpine landscape is jaw-dropping.  Should you be an active type, this is dream hiking country.  Meanwhile, down in the flat valleys and along rivers, bicycle trails abound.  Great music, history, art and architecture seem to be around every corner. While most of the dining falls into the hearty comfort food category, you can discover innovative modern cuisine if you look.  And, of course, there's some of the best beer in the world.  When you can't take any more "liquid bread", German whites shipped in from the northern part of the country remind you that their wines are deserving of much greater fame.  All this is delivered by an efficient, elegant and friendly people whose national pride is growing as the spectre of the last great war fades.

Our itinerary looked like this.

First up, Dillingen, a charming town on the Danube about 90 minutes northwest of Munich.  Well off the beaten tourist track, its appeal lay in personal history.  Some Bencards were famous printers here in the 17th century and this town, along with nearby Augsburg, is the earliest point of origin anyone in the family can trace.

Dillingen's glory days were the 17th and 18th centuries, when the Jesuits established a university here and made this their impressive headquarters for running the counter-reformation north of the Alps.  Today it's a relatively unknown place devoid of foreign visitors (the Jesuits are long gone), but the history means you'll encounter impressive architecture and some stunning churches.  And probably have it mostly to yourself.

The main street, Konigstrasse, is stage-set charming. (photo above) The university's Studienkirche and the Franciscan convent church deliver rococo religious fireworks; there's also a cathedral that's supposed to be equally impressive but is currently closed for renovation. The Golden Hall inside one of the university buildings (now a secularised teacher training college) is, frankly, worth a visit all on its own.  Pretty impressive for a sleepy place you can cross on foot in a brisk 15 minutes.

Then on to Schwangau, pressed up against the Alps in the shadow of King Ludwig's fairy tale Neuschwanstein.  I snapped the photo up top from our hotel balcony.  This area is all about Ludwig's architectural fantasies. In addition to the aforementioned (Germany's No. 1 tourist attraction) there's nearby Hohenschwangau and ... an hour's picturesque drive beyond ... Linderhof.  If you want to fully appreciate the story and genius of the so-called "Mad King", you need to spend time in all of these AND visit Herrenchiemsee on the road between Salzburg and Vienna.

The Museum of the Bavarian Kings, newly-installed in an old lakeside hotel nestled in the valley between the castles of Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein, is a perfect place to start any visit to the area.  We did it after chalking up five miles scrambling around the castles, and exhaustion dulled some of our appreciation.  Ideally, this is the first thing you'd do on a Bavarian holiday, since the Wittlesbach family influences almost everything you'll see.  Understanding their background and chronology helps to put everything else in context.

Most tourists, of course, are dashing through this area on bus excursions from Munich.  They only hit the highlights and don't have time to linger.  The crowds can be oppressive, but the Bavarian Palaces Department does a remarkably efficient job of moving people through and the minute you stray away from the "must see" stuff, the people fall away.  You'll be pressed body-to-body in Neuschwanstein, but will often find yourself alone in the Kings' museum and are never more than 10 minutes away from a quiet, isolated walk in Alpine forests.  While the bus tours are an efficient way to see the majors when your time is limited ... and that's how I first encountered this area ... I felt sorry for the herds.  Several days in the area meant we could linger in the museum, take some picturesque drives, have the time to explore the grounds and garden follies at Linderhof (almost as impressive as the palace itself) and visit the Pilgrimage Church of Wies, a UNESCO World Heritage Site of staggering rococo splendour.

Another area highlight is the Zugspitze, Germany's highest mountain offering a thrilling cable car ascent and breath-taking views.  It lies just outside the pretty and well-heeled resort town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, someplace that would have merited a wander if we'd had more time.  Even with our more leisurely schedule, we couldn't fit in all this region has to offer.  The famous village of Oberammergau, filled with wood carving shops and painted houses, and the architectural blockbuster of the monastery at Ettal were things we could only drive by and note for another trip.

Next came three nights in Salzburg, where we swam against the usual Sound of Music stream to concentrate on Mozart.  The museums at Mozart's birthplace and his residence in his early 20s give some fine insight into his genius.  You can gawp at the magnificent churches in which his music was first heard (we liked the Franziskanerkirche best) and wander through the grand residences of the prince-archbishop who didn't appreciate him enough.  (He should have spent lass cash on architecture, and more on his musician.)  But the highlight for me was seeing Mozart's Magic Flute performed by the Salzburg Marionette Theatre.

The main town is small enough to be easily walkable and you can cover most of the sights in a day.  That left us time for a day in Berchtesgaden, an Alpine national park best known as being the rural retreat of Hitler and his inner circle.  We did a fascinating half-day tour here to learn about the World War II history; with more time we would have loved to have added in the boat ride on the achingly beautiful lake Konigsee.

We then headed to Munich for eight nights, which seemed like an eternity when we checked in ... but like everywhere else, there was plenty left unseen on the wish list when we left.

This is a royal city awash with lavish palaces, impressive art and sophisticated architecture.  While most people have heard of Mad King Ludwig, few outside of Germany these days appreciate the power, wealth and grandeur of his Wittlesbach forebears, who were kings, dukes and Holy Roman Emperors from this base.

Munich is a spiritual sibling to Florence.  Perhaps no surprise as the Wittlesbachs married in to, and admired, the Medici.  Indeed, the facade of the Residenz is a copy of the Pitti Palace.  Nearby you'll find a near-exact duplicate of the Loggia dei Lanzi serving as the terminus of a wide boulevard of what seem to be Italian Renaissance palaces ... but are actually German university buildings.  A major difference, however, is that Munich is ringed by thriving high tech and manufacturing businesses.  Visitors share space with affluent, busy locals, making this a living, thriving city rather than an historic stage set preserved for tourism.

We balanced "proper" sightseeing (the palaces of the Residenz and Nymphenburg were highlights, the Deutsches Museum disappointed) with gentle rambles around town, chilling out in the Sofitel spa and plenty of time in those famous beer gardens, watching the world go by and chatting to the friendly people who shared our long, communal tables.  We also joined the bus tour masses for one day on an excursion to Nuremburg; a strange juxtaposition of traumatising Nazi history with Disney-cute town centre.

It all came to an oompah-filled climax on the opening day of Oktoberfest, when we joined hundreds of thousands donning traditional dress and cheering when the mayor tapped the first keg.  The opening day parade was impressive, the fairgrounds awash with photo opportunities, but any spot in one of those famous beer tents impossible to come by.  Having drunk the atmosphere, we adjourned to a garden off-site to drink the beer.

In coming weeks I'll cover these highlights in some depth.  First up, the extraordinary Japanese-German fusion meal that we both agreed was one of the most memorable events of the holiday.  Maybe even of the whole year.