Return to Munich, Germany
I’ve visited the capital of the German state of Bavaria several times over my trips to Europe and it remains one of my favorite cities to explore. No matter how many times I walk its streets, there always seems to be something new.
Munich (München in German) tends to rate high in the world’s most-liveable cities indexes so I was pleased that my flight from the States landed here. I booked a few nights at a small hotel near the old center (the Altstadt) which allowed me to hike around and get over my jetlag.
Nearly everyone begins their exploration of Munich at Marienplatz which has served as the town square since 1158. Flanked by the old and new city halls, crowds gather here to watch the famous Glockenspiel with dueling knights on horseback (inspired by the tournaments that were held in the square during the Middle Ages).
From the tower of the Rathaus (city hall), I looked over Munich’s iconic Frauenkirche topped by its green twin onion domes. Churches throughout Bavaria feature these shapes to better shed heavy snow.
As I carefully walked along the perimeter of the tower’s viewing platform, I looked down on the busy square with locals and tourists scurrying like ants.
Back safely at ground level, the sky spit a few late-spring snowflakes so I ducked into the Asamkirche, a Baroque wonder. It was built from 1733 to 1746 by a pair of brothers, sculptor Egid Quirin Asam and painter Cosmas Damian Asam, as their private church.
I sat in one of the uncomfortable wooden pews and let my eyes wander over the elaborate and other-worldly scenes swirling around me.
The interior was carefully designed to manipulate natural light. The lowermost portion, where I set, was relatively dark; its design symbolizing the suffering of the world. The second section, located above, was colored in white and blue, reserved for the emperor. The uppermost portion of the indirect and hidden illuminated ceiling painting was dedicated to God and eternity.
In the church’s entry, an image of death ominously cut the life-thread of a hapless soul with a pair of golden scissors.
Back on the street, I was in search of a golden beverage. Munich is inarguably the world’s center of beer culture with famous breweries and Brauhäuser sprinkled throughout its cobblestoned lanes. Six big breweries dominate the beer scene in Munich: Hofbräuhaus, Löwenbräu, Augustinerbräu, Paulaner, Hacker-Pschorr and Spaten-Franziskaner.
I wasn’t ready to sit for dinner so I located a tiny Stehausschank (standing bar) near Munich’s Frauenkirche. Entering a non-descript door along the passageway, I popped into a compact wooden parlor to (literally) rub elbows with locals tipping back half-liters after work. The place served Augustiner, tapped from oak barrels, at an affordable rate of only 3.20 Euro.
Thirst quenched, I hit the streets again, this time to Munich’s historic Feldherrnhalle. Modelled after the Loggia dei Lanzi in Florence, it was commissioned in 1841 by King Ludwig to honor the tradition of the Bavarian Army.
In 1923, it was the site of the brief battle that ended Hitler’s Beer Hall Putsch. During the Nazi era, it served as a monument commemorating the death of 16 members of the Nazi party killed during the confrontation. Any person walking (or riding) by was required to provide the proper Hitler salute.
Just behind the Feldherrnhalle was a small alley called Viscardigasse with a curving gold line among its cobblestones. This little detour helped people bypass the Nazi memorial and required salutes, subsequently earning it the nickname “shirker’s lane”. Today, it’s a small, silent reminder that not all Germans were eager to show support.
I think Germany has done an admirable job in the last few decades of dealing more openly with its dark past. A series of Dokumentationszentrum are located in areas significant to the Nazi era.
These state-sponsored museums spare no details. It’s always startling to me to see young German children looking over the exhibits filled with disturbing photos of atrocities from the war.
I’ve visited the museums at the site of the former Gestapo headquarters in Berlin, the Nazi rally grounds in Nuremberg and the Nazi retreat at Berchtesgaden. This was my first time to visit the center here in Munich, the the birthplace of Nazism.
One section detailed how prisoners from the nearby Dachau concentration camp were led by guards through Munich’s suburbs as the American troops closed in toward the end of the war. The photos were from a young German who crouched on a balcony at his parent’s home and peered over the railing. Exhausted prisoners dropped dead or were shot along the procession.
Outside the museum, the ruined base of a Nazi memorial was adorned with bright yellow and orange objects. Destroyed by the Americans following Germany’s surrender, the city of Munich struggled for years to decide what to do with the site. Rather than cover it up, they were drawing attention to a dark chapter of history many locals might prefer to forget.
It’s not hard to see reminders of the war all around you if you pay attention. Many original buildings to the era (the Nazis preferred neoclassical massive structures) bear scars of bombing and gun blasts.
Along Ludwigstraße, I passed sidewalk cafes filled with students as I neared Ludwig Maximilian University. I’d come to visit the memorial to members of the White Rose resistance group. During the war, students conducted a dangerous anonymous leaflet and graffiti campaign that called for active opposition to the Nazi regime.
On February 18, 1943, brother and sister Hans and Sophie Scholl brought a suitcase full of leaflets to the university main building. They hurriedly dropped stacks of copies in the empty corridors for students to find when they left the lecture rooms.
Leaving before the lectures had ended, the Scholls noticed that there were some left-over copies in the suitcase and decided to distribute them. Sophie flung the last remaining leaflets from the top floor down into the atrium. This spontaneous action was observed by the university maintenance man, Jakob Schmid, who called the Gestapo. The university doors were locked, and the fate of brother and sister were sealed.
After a mock trial, the students were executed by guillotine.
After that sobering visit to the university building where the Scholls were captured, I walked back toward the center of Munich. A protest had formed at Feldherrnhalle against the Russian war on Ukraine.
The crowd, covered with the blue and yellow of the Ukrainian flag, was peaceful as they listened to speakers at the main platform. I was struck at the contrast between the memorial I’d just visited and the German activism today.
It was time for dinner and I chose the authentic Schneider Bräuhaus filled with locals rather than tourists. That Schneider Weisse is perhaps my favorite wheat beer also helped in the decision.
In true Bavarian style, you sit at big tables surrounded by people you might not know. After a few beers, plates of schnitzel and apfelstrudel, everyone becomes friends. I spoke with a few older couples before two younger guys from Munich joined our group. Before long, they were giving me all kinds of tips on places I should visit next.
Once again, Munich proved to be a fascinating start to my latest trip to Germany.
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