Germany—The Romantic and the not-so-Romantic

We had arrived in Munich around 7:00 in the morning. The train station there was huge and we were able to find decent food fairly quickly. This meant a cup of tea for me and a soft pretzel. The pretzel had been cut like a sandwich and had butter spread in the middle. It was fantastic.

We were at a loss of what to do. I knew little about Munich, apart from its beer halls (and it was too early for those). I had always envisioned Munich as this cute fairy-tale type place, nestled in the Alps; a place full of cuckoo clocks and Heidi-type figures.  Firstly, Munich isn't located in the Alps. Those mountains we had seen on the way here? Those were a world away. Secondly, Munich is in no way cute. It is a modern city. There are no Heidi-type figures walking the streets. No yodeling, no lederhosen. What were the sights again?

Since no maps were available, we just had to venture out. We only headed in the direction we did because a big church was looming off in the distance, as usually these big churches indicated the old section of a city. We lucked out. We ended up right were we needed to be.

Marianplatz had rung a bell with me. It's supposed to be the main square in Munich. But I couldn't see the appeal of it. There were some big buildings there, but they were covered in scaffolding (a common sight at many of Europe's main attractions). Nothing was happening in the square. It was still too early. Most places in Europe don't open to at least 9:00. Munich had the feel that it hadn't quite woken up yet.

We discovered a market nearby. The whole street smelled of BBQ pork. I realized that it was from all the sausage that was being cooked. We had found the sausage capital of the world! It did smell heavenly. But again, the vendors were just setting up. We got to look, but couldn't actually buy anything. I was hankering for a brat, but it would just have to wait.

 

A side note to those who may remember my whole stance on eating meat. Well, as good as Chris and I were in 2011, we had to be realiastic towards our travels. Choices are a lot less liimited when you're traveling, especially if you depend heavily on street food. Also we wanted to experience the local specialities—yes, sausage in Germany being among them. When we settle back down into normal life, where we do all the cooking, we'll probably go back to our pescatarian ways, but in the meantime—is that BBQ I smell? Okay, end of side note.

Being in Marianplatz, we were right where we needed to be to catch the tram to Dachau. Dachau is town, a suburb really, just to the north of Munich. Its name is unfortunately tied up with the name of the concentration camp that existed there.

We rode the tram, our moods sombre. There is nothing exciting about visiting a concentration camp. I wondered what effect it would have on me. The Holocaust is something that I studied more or less on my own, taking out all kinds of books from the library. It was a subject that I tried to get my head around for a long time. I'm still getting my head around it, even more so after visiting Dachau. What's astounding is the camp's proxity to the town. Those people would have had to have known. Fear is a mighty thing, but how could people just stand by and close their eyes to it? It's the whole machine that perplexes me—how something of this scale could be allowed to happen. This is what I'm trying to get my head around.

Sure enough, I broke down in Dachau. Just walking through the gatehouse, where within the bars it read “Arbeit Macht Frei” (Work Makes You Free), made me feel all kinds of emotions. Those people who had walked through the same gate—did they feel hope in reading these words, or did they already know it was a lie? Did they already know that they were doomed?

It's to be noted that Dachau was mostly a work camp. It was the first concentration camp, and it was a model for the other camps. There was a cremetorium that at Dachau, but it was never used. It was never an extermination camp the way Auschwitz and some of the others camps were. Still, there was a heavy loss of life, mostly from the deplorable conditions. The workers were overworked and underfed. The bunks, which at first glance look adequate and spacious, had four people crammed into a place designed for one. There was unimaginable filth. Cholera and other diseases took numerous lives. The stench of death must have reached the residents in the town. How could they have not known?

We walked around the museum trying to absorb every testimony and story. There were many groups that had been sent here, not just the Jews, but the Jews had been treated worse than anyone. They were already seen as dead, so it didn't matter how badly they were treated. The guards even seemed to have fun degrading them, humilating them, lowering them to something less than human. For anyone to have come out of this camp, or any of the other camps, and keep one's sanity is unbelievable to me. On a postive note, many of the stories, and even the film we watched, brought out the examples of humanity that were displayed in such extreme conditions. Amongst the barbed wire and rubble, there is a sign of hope that humanity can pull through. I'm glad I visited Dachau, but I'm still trying to get my head around it.

It was almost noon by the time we had finished exploring Dachau. It felt slightly wrong, but we were hungry and there was a nice cafeteria there at the visitor's center. Currywurst was advertized on the lunch board, so as wrong as it felt, Chris and I went for it. And it was delish.

The Madness of King Ludwig

In the afternoon we caught the train out to Fussen, an Alpine town right on the border of Austria. We were heading out to those snow-capped mountain peaks. Finally, Bavaria as I had imagined it.

This was a section of the trip that was a must for me. I had fallen in love with King Ludwig back when I was in my teens. I was going to pay homage to him, or to his madness, or his genius—whichever way you look at it. Neuschwanstein has been on the top of my list ever since I can remember. There was no way I was leaving Europe without seeing it.

It came sooner than later. I had imagined the castle nestled in some mountain crag, requiring an arduous hike to even catch a glance at it. However, after leaning my head out of the train window, I squinted my eyes and asked Chris, “Is that it?” I never knew, from the tiny town of Fussen, you can actually see the famous castle.

It gets better. Our hostel sat just down the road from the old part of the town. And yes, even from the road, you could see Neuschwanstein. From our hostel room you could see it. And at night, it was lit up. It seemed almost too good to be true (for a Ludwig fan like me).

This was the first hostel proper I had stayed in. In my life. It meant sharing a room with others, which has never really been my thing. We were staying in a room of eight. It wasn't as bad as I had thought. We fell into conversation with a boy named Sam. He was born in America but was living in Australia. He was traveling Europe by himself and was quite self-assured. We invited him to join for a visit into town to have some brats and beer. He said he'd come look for us after he finished reading “Wuthering Heights.”

Chris and I headed out into Fussen. This is the town of fairy tales, of cuckoo clocks and everything Heidi-esque. It's full of backpackers, but doesn't feel overly touristy. Or maybe it was just the off season. We really loved Fussen.

We situated ourselved in a bar by the river. The beer here was so cheap. Even though I'm not a beer-drinker, it was the cheapest thing on the menu. Chris drank something called King Ludwig Dunkel while I drank something light. We kept an eye out for Sam but he never came.

Our hostel room was so cute, almost done up like a kid's room. The hostel was run by a gregarious Bavarian guy who loved to laugh and lavish attention on his guests. The place had a homey feel to it, and everyone got along. Sam was in the room when we returned and he said he had looked for us, but apparently he hadn't gone far enough. He was going to see the castles the next day, as were we, but told us he wasn't a morning person. I had heard that it was going to rain heavily in the afternoon, so Chris and I planned to head off early. Thankfully we fell asleep quite easily despite others going to bed at different times.

The next morning I'm pleased to say I discovered Nutella. It's amazing that I've lived my whole life without ever trying it before. And now I have, and I'm a happy girl. That's all I have to say about that.

Chris and I started off early as planned. The day was misty and drizzly, but at least it wasn't heavily raining. With a map in tow, we took the path off into the mountains. It had been unclear how long the walk would be (somewhere between twenty minutes and an hour and a half); maybe we were slow walkers, but it took us a good hour or so to reach Hohenschwangau, the first of the two castles.

King Ludwig had spent some of his childhood at Hohenschwangau, the original Swan Castle. It's a gold-coloured castle, something straight out of a picture book. It was mainly a vacation castle, full of fanciful murals and swan decour. Young Ludwig had been inspired by his time there. No doubt he had looked out across the mountains to a location where he dreamt of building his own castle some day.

King Ludwig was an interesting character. He wasn't much of a politician. In fact he loathed politics. What he did love was building castles. He admired the works of Wagner, and no doubt was inspired by his operas. He had a taste for the theatrical. Ludwig used his own money to build his fairy-tale castles, though he ended up with much debt. He wasn't popular amongst the ruling class, but he was loved by his own people. He'd do crazy things like ride around in sleights in winter and visit the peasants. He brought lots of work to the region with his castle-building, and all around I don't think he was too bad of a guy. However he had enemies in high places and was soon removed as king, deemed unfit to rule. And that was how he got the title of Mad King Ludwig, although he had never been officially diagnosed as mentally unstable. Soon after his dismissal as King, Ludwig was found dead with his doctor in a lake outside of Munich. To this day they don't know if it was a murder or a suicide. It's just part of the mystery of Ludwig.

In seeing his master work, Neuschwanstein, I think I got to understand the guy a bit better. He was definitely a dreamer, no doubt about that. The location he picked for this castle is nothing strategic, although it was built on the ruins of a fortress. The castle's built on its own little mountain peak. Down below is a valley, with a thundering waterfall. I could only imagine how this would all look on a clear night under a full moon.

The castle's impressive from the outside, but only from a distance (in my opinion). It is great looking at it from different angles as you walk up. Much to my disappointment, the whole front of the castle was covered in scaffolding. Damn that scaffolding! It really did upset me. I came all this way, to see my castle like this? But I did get a good surprise. I really enjoyed the tour of the inside. It was completely over the top, but I loved it. King Ludwig never finished the castle. In fact only a fraction of the space is used. Only six weeks after his death the castle was made into a museum. Chris found the castle to lack substance, especially because Ludwig had only spent something like sixteen days there. But I loved it. I loved the theatrics of it. I think I understand what Ludwig was trying to achieve, and how a place like this would swell in the mind of a dreamer. As a fellow dreamer, I say well done, Ludwig. Well done.

The weather was about to turn nasty. We hurried onto a bridge behind the castle to catch the grand view, the money shot if you will. We had had the whole bridge to ourselves, but then suddenly a whole bus of Asians had unloaded somewhere, and we couldn't take a step on the bridge without a camera lens in our face. I really wanted to get off the bridge. How many Asians can a wooden bridge take?

We took the long way down through the woods. Then passing by Hohenschwangau once again, we took a trail leading in the direction of Swan Lake. It sounds romantic, but Swan Lake isn't much to look at. There aren't even any swans on it. But the mountain setting is magnificent. As we were rounding the lake we saw someone coming our way, and to our surprise it was Sam. He had finally gotten out of bed. He was heading towards the castles, but the weather was turning nasty. I'm glad Chris and I had gone as early as we did.

Chris and I returned to the hostel and took naps. Outside the window Neuschwanstein was shrouded in fog. Sam was to tell us later that it was hailing up there. He met us for a drink that night at the bar by the river. We sat and had some good conversation. When it was time to go, we decided on getting some kebab. We had seen some advertized along the way. When we showed up at the take-away, they were fresh out of kebab. We were so disappointed, having a real hankering for it, but they suggested we try the Turkish pizza. It went down really well after the beers. In fact, why is Turkish pizza not more well known? It was spicy, it was dripping with kebab filling goodness--Britain could be making a fortune with this kind of take-away fare. Filled, and happy to be in such a wonderful place, we headed back to the hostel and tried to be quiet as we stumbled to bed.

We had to leave the next day. We hadn't scheduled enough time for Bavaria. I must return some day to see this corner of the world. It's not just the mountain setting, but the villages and the history and the stories and exist in these kinds of places. Plus I am Bavarian. At least a part of me is, from somewhere down the line. Beer and sausage are in my blood.