Efforts are still ongoing. Like Sleeping Beauty awakening, buildings and works of art long ignored are reopening to the public, often after years of renovations that blend historic restoration with bold contemporary design. Norman Foster’s glass dome on the Reichstag is the most famous example of this approach, but it’s a trend you’ll find across the country.
My three favourite cultural sites from this trip were all devastated during the Second World War and have since been brought back to glorious life. These museums won’t just delight your eyes—they’ll also restore your faith in modern approaches to cultural preservation.
The Residenzschloss, Dresden
I am a museum glutton. It’s rare that I’ll ever push back from a cultural banquet before closing time if there are still galleries to explore. But the Residenz was too much, even for me. The collections are so lavish, so overwhelming, that I found myself visually and mentally saturated. I had to stop. Rather than continue, I retreated to a long lunch to process what I’d seen.
The blockbuster core of the Residenz is the Green Vault, so famous it requires a timed-entry ticket separate from general admission. That’s not just because it’s Dresden’s top attraction; many of the rooms are small and the museum needs to control crowds. These were purpose-built treasuries for the rulers of Saxony, and in the early 1700s, the art-obsessed Augustus the Strong decided that the rooms should be just as ornate as their contents. He went gloriously over the top.
Each room follows a different colour scheme, with spiralling gilded wooden accents, mirrored walls, painted ceilings, and marble floors. High baroque, at full tilt. Objects are grouped thematically: a room of amber pieces; another with solid silver figurines; one wall lined with rock crystal drinking vessels, another with shell-shaped goblets encrusted with jewels. There’s jewellery, ceremonial weapons, classical bronzes, and more decorative frivolity than seems possible in one place. It’s even more dazzling than the Habsburgs’ collection in Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum—a place I didn’t think could be bettered. The quality may be similar, but Vienna can’t match the splendour of these rooms themselves. Remarkably, they were restored from wartime devastation; if not for a single gallery showing before-and-after photos, you’d never guess.
I am a museum glutton. It’s rare that I’ll ever push back from a cultural banquet before closing time if there are still galleries to explore. But the Residenz was too much, even for me. The collections are so lavish, so overwhelming, that I found myself visually and mentally saturated. I had to stop. Rather than continue, I retreated to a long lunch to process what I’d seen.
The blockbuster core of the Residenz is the Green Vault, so famous it requires a timed-entry ticket separate from general admission. That’s not just because it’s Dresden’s top attraction; many of the rooms are small and the museum needs to control crowds. These were purpose-built treasuries for the rulers of Saxony, and in the early 1700s, the art-obsessed Augustus the Strong decided that the rooms should be just as ornate as their contents. He went gloriously over the top.
Photography is not allowed inside the Green Vault … another decision to keep people flowing through this remarkable space … so I borrowed an image from the web.
Upstairs is the arms and armour collection—a shared passion of mine and my husband’s. We’ve seen world-class collections in Vienna and London’s Wallace Collection, but Dresden outshines them. There’s an enormous gallery of Islamic weapons and armour, many of them jewelled, and a series of Turkish campaign tents as intricate as any carpet, set up dramatically in a vast, dimly lit space. European armour is displayed in another enormous gallery where curators have arranged the figures as if in action: jousting knights, melee combatants, and noble warriors astride richly adorned horses. There’s even silver armour—utterly useless in battle, but stunning as a display of wealth.
Upstairs is the arms and armour collection—a shared passion of mine and my husband’s. We’ve seen world-class collections in Vienna and London’s Wallace Collection, but Dresden outshines them. There’s an enormous gallery of Islamic weapons and armour, many of them jewelled, and a series of Turkish campaign tents as intricate as any carpet, set up dramatically in a vast, dimly lit space. European armour is displayed in another enormous gallery where curators have arranged the figures as if in action: jousting knights, melee combatants, and noble warriors astride richly adorned horses. There’s even silver armour—utterly useless in battle, but stunning as a display of wealth.
We jumped forward a couple of centuries to the 19th-century State Apartments, recently reopened after restoration. Though there was more to see, I simply couldn’t absorb anything else. Each item we looked at was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, and I’d already seen hundreds. I almost cried with frustration as I passed by yet another treasury level, left unexplored. I will be back.
Sanssouci, Potsdam
A generation after Augustus created his ornate Saxon treasury, Frederick the Great was building his own fantasy palace across the border in Prussia. By then, baroque had given way to rococo—more gold, more marble, more swags, more frills. If you prefer minimalism and clean lines, Sanssouci may be your personal nightmare.
This was Frederick’s escape from the pressures of Berlin—today a half-hour drive, then a day on horseback. Sanssouci itself is surprisingly compact: a single-story enfilade of rooms, with Frederick’s private suite at one end, a few guest rooms at the other, and salons for dining and socialising in between. What it lacks in size, it makes up for in extravagance. Every inch the Enlightenment king, Frederick gathered his friends here to talk philosophy and play music.
The formal rooms are all white marble and gold gilt (top photo), adorned with frolicking classical deities. More intimate spaces are pastel-toned, with silk wall coverings, inlaid wooden floors, and ceilings dripping with ornamental plasterwork. Frederick, a keen naturalist, brought the outdoors in: one room’s plaster ceiling is a web of golden spiders and insects. My favourite, however, is the guest room decorated for Voltaire, where exquisitely detailed birds, animals, fruit, and flowers spill across creamy panelled walls.
When Frederick needed more space for guests, he transformed the nearby orangery into overflow guest space. There are both entertaining rooms and bedroom suites here. Though less grand, it would still shame many other royal residences of the time.
All of this sits within a park. Immediately around the palace are formal gardens with blue-and-gold trellises and terraced walks; beyond that, a vast landscape garden in the English style. I hadn’t realised that Sanssouci refers not just to the palace but to the entire park—nor that the park contains multiple palaces. Nor that Potsdam itself is a charming town full of impressive architecture. We had just three hours for the main palace and the orangery. This place probably deserves at least an overnight stay and a couple of days’ exploration.
A generation after Augustus created his ornate Saxon treasury, Frederick the Great was building his own fantasy palace across the border in Prussia. By then, baroque had given way to rococo—more gold, more marble, more swags, more frills. If you prefer minimalism and clean lines, Sanssouci may be your personal nightmare.
This was Frederick’s escape from the pressures of Berlin—today a half-hour drive, then a day on horseback. Sanssouci itself is surprisingly compact: a single-story enfilade of rooms, with Frederick’s private suite at one end, a few guest rooms at the other, and salons for dining and socialising in between. What it lacks in size, it makes up for in extravagance. Every inch the Enlightenment king, Frederick gathered his friends here to talk philosophy and play music.
The formal rooms are all white marble and gold gilt (top photo), adorned with frolicking classical deities. More intimate spaces are pastel-toned, with silk wall coverings, inlaid wooden floors, and ceilings dripping with ornamental plasterwork. Frederick, a keen naturalist, brought the outdoors in: one room’s plaster ceiling is a web of golden spiders and insects. My favourite, however, is the guest room decorated for Voltaire, where exquisitely detailed birds, animals, fruit, and flowers spill across creamy panelled walls.
When Frederick needed more space for guests, he transformed the nearby orangery into overflow guest space. There are both entertaining rooms and bedroom suites here. Though less grand, it would still shame many other royal residences of the time.
All of this sits within a park. Immediately around the palace are formal gardens with blue-and-gold trellises and terraced walks; beyond that, a vast landscape garden in the English style. I hadn’t realised that Sanssouci refers not just to the palace but to the entire park—nor that the park contains multiple palaces. Nor that Potsdam itself is a charming town full of impressive architecture. We had just three hours for the main palace and the orangery. This place probably deserves at least an overnight stay and a couple of days’ exploration.
The Neues Museum and Nefertiti, Berlin
Like so many buildings here, the Neues was gutted by wartime bombing. Its treasures had been hidden, but the structure itself needed decades of work. When I last visited, it was still closed for renovation; it finally reopened in 2009. David Chipperfield and his team have achieved a masterful balance: parts of the building have been fully restored to their 19th-century glory, while others show bare brick and scarred walls, a silent testimony to war. Throughout, sleek modern displays make it a joy to explore.
Most people come for one thing: the bust of Nefertiti. She’s arguably the most recognisable object from ancient Egypt and one of the most famous sculptures in the world. Her serene beauty is undiminished by millennia. She stands alone, lit dramatically in her own room, at eye level so you can meet her gaze. She’s also at the centre of an ongoing international controversy, with Egypt demanding her return. I won’t wade into the debate here—but if you’re in the same city as Nefertiti, you owe it to yourself to go and see her.
Tour groups sweep in and out of her gallery, but the rest of the museum deserves as much attention. Nefertiti belongs to the Amarna period, a short, joyful chapter in Egyptian art named after the capital city she and her husband Akhenaten built. The Germans were lead excavators there, and outside of Cairo, I doubt you’ll find a better collection from this era.
Beyond Egypt, the museum houses impressive Greek and Roman collections (some of which are normally in the Pergamon), as well as artefacts from ancient Germany and nomadic peoples of the Eurasian steppes. One highlight is a tall, hammered golden ceremonial hat—utterly bizarre, completely unique, and just as memorable as Nefertiti herself.
You can also take a look at the artefacts Heinrich Schliemann brought back from Troy. More disputed loot, but arguments going in multiple directions this time. The Soviets took the best stuff back to the Hermitage after WW2 and haven’t returned it despite German requests. And, of course, the Turks would like the treasures to return to their point of origin. What tangled webs we weave in our museums.
Closing Thoughts
These three museums represent very different times and tastes, from ancient elegance to baroque flamboyance to Enlightenment intellectualism. But they all have something in common: destruction, followed by rebirth. They are monuments not only to the past, but to the enduring human desire to preserve, rebuild, and celebrate beauty. That, in itself, is something worth seeing.
Closing Thoughts
These three museums represent very different times and tastes, from ancient elegance to baroque flamboyance to Enlightenment intellectualism. But they all have something in common: destruction, followed by rebirth. They are monuments not only to the past, but to the enduring human desire to preserve, rebuild, and celebrate beauty. That, in itself, is something worth seeing.
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