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.

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.