A TIME FOR REFLECTION
Germany’s heavy past and brilliant present allow contemplation during the holidays
Somewhere around the
300th step of the tower at St. Peter’s Church in Munich, Germany — a thigh-scorching, lung-busting corkscrew of a stairwell — I wheezed like vacuum cleaner that sucked up a ball of yarn. Having reached the top of a tower created centuries ago, I was met with the celestial sounds of a choir that floated to my ears from below.
“Well, fine,” I thought, assuming the song was imaginary — my mind easing me to the next plane. “This is a memorable way to go. And good luck getting a gurney up here.”
Once my body decided not to rebel with a degree of finality, I took note of my surroundings, which is to say the entirety of Munich. I saw a Ferris wheel in the distance. Old buildings and representations of old buildings that were leveled decades ago. Lights and people, and that choir, whose sound kept pulling my attention back to their singing of holiday songs. They took a break and a string quartet stepped into the space. They took turns performing, a pingpong of centuries-old music for voice and strings. And despite a week of rain, my view was clear in every direction.
The next day, I felt like Jack Shephard in “Lost.” I told my familial travel crew, “You won’t believe what I saw. We have to go back.” And like every other maniacal person who swears others should see what he’s seen, I was left with an empty sack and a doubting audience. The following night, there was no performance on the balcony of the Marienplatz. What I’d seen was, apparently, a singular moment — a brilliant bird that landed, perched and flew away.
That said, this time of year in Bavaria offers opportunity to relish the resources of the region. Many pull from the past and are etched in stone. Some are ephemeral.
That proved the theme of visiting in late November. This is a region with a complicated past. And one that has done its best to square the worst of its history. Art and history abound. As do opportunities to enjoy a holiday escape.
“One can run away from anything but oneself,” wrote Stefan Zweig, one of my favorite writers, who fled Austria for South America nearly a century ago.
I did my best to run away from anything. I also tried to run away from myself.
‘The hills are alive’
When my crew pulled into Mittenwald, a blizzard was on the way — evident because a salt truck slowed our progress into the town — and the sun’s beams were gently nestling behind the mountains. Unlike Garmisch-Partenkirschen a half hour away, Mittenwald is not a tourism draw for its slate of activities. That said, one would be hard-pressed to find a better place to spend 36 hours with the most mountainous of backdrops. A museum in town represents Mittenwald’s dedication to the craft of making violins, but its hours are limited during the winter. The nearby Leutasch Gorge is a gorgeous hike, especially during a blizzard. Tread its metal frame cautiously. But tread it, just the same. The view in the gorge is cinematic with a little snow.
Mittenwald, the town, boasts lovely painted building façades and an unparalleled natural backdrop. It offers much for those seeking a quiet retreat. Much of the town was closed during my visit, but Bellini was a revelatory restaurant run by a German woman and her husband, an Italian chef. And I cannot overstate the comfort and accommodating nature of the Hotel Bichlerhof. Mittenwald is a scenic launch point for the Bavarian Alps.
For those seeking a purely natural environ, this is the place.
We hit Mittenwald from Salzburg. A Friday evening flight from Houston places one in Munich midmorning on Saturday. Rather than a decompression day, we flung ourselves into a car and drove about 90 minutes to the Austrian city.
Simply put, 48 hours aren’t sufficient for Salzburg, but that spell does offer time to mill about a Christmas market unlike anything I’ve encountered. A sprawling affair, it feels like the grandest comic convention, with holiday handicrafts rather than “Doctor Who” totems. The market is nestled at the foot of a mountain that hosts the Hohensalzburg Fortress, which houses a sprawling museum, a panoramic view of the city and, if one is inclined (I’m always inclined), a minor puppetry museum. No lonely goatherd puppets preserved here, but the puppetry tradition remains intact from that which made a major appearance in “The Sound of Music.”
Worth noting, our immediate transfer from Munich to Salzburg had to do with my wife’s and daughter’s affinity for that film, which holds only a distant sway over the citizens of Salzburg. Here, I should credit Panorama tours, because I fumbled and booked a
“Sound of Music” tour a week later than we were actually in also something the nation has seemingly dealt with openly and publicly.
Our guide at Dachau — the Munich-based work camp that, due to its design, served also as a death camp — said the nation has perhaps done more than any other to recognize the problems of its past. Dachau as a tourism destination certainly offers a sobering opportunity for contemplation.
Here, I feel some need to offer some tour advice: My crew at this stage was two seniors, two middle-aged folks and a teenager. I looked into private tours that included transit from Munich to the site. Those options often run $300$450. Instead, we bought a family ticket on the S-Bahn rail, around $15 for the group, and took a free bus transfer. We then signed up for a tour that cost 4 Euros per person.
We made the right decision. I cannot speak more reverently and admiringly about the tour led by Colinne Bartel, an American who delved deep into the history that led to the Third Reich and the history of Dachau. Her tour set a high bar for being informative and contemplative. It also came with a reading list upon conclusion.
Art and comedy
There’s a certain silliness viewing a Shepard Fairey exhibition in Germany, Fairey being a street artist in the States. But the A Gallery in Munich hosted several walls of the American artist’s work.
“Art here is free,” the woman at the desk of A Gallery said. “Art should be free for everyone.”
How does one argue with that, so long as the artists are compensated?
Museums are not hard to find in Munich — fling a stollen and you’ll hit one. The Pinakothek is a three-part art museum institution that offers art in its three locations that falls into the categories of old, less old and modern.
But outside the big institutions, I cannot overly recommend the smaller gallery Lenbauchhaus, which has a Blue Rider exhibition for a few years to come. The show pulls works by Wassily Kandinsky and some of his contemporaries, who formed the Blue Rider collective. Downstairs at the gallery was more experimental work by a variety of artists, including Gerhard Richter.
Not for everybody, but Ceal Floyer’s sound installation “’Til I get it right” was a revelation. The piece is set in an open room, painted white, with a loop of a Tammy Wynette song snippet … “What do we do here, on this rock, other than try and try again to get it right?” Certainty is the domain of future failures. The work provided space for melancholy contemplation.
Munich also offers ample oddball spaces. There’s a hunting and fishing museum. As a fan of clowns, I felt pulled to another museum honoring the great entertainer Karl Valentin. Valentin should be as renowned as Charlie Chaplin, on account of his being a writer, actor, director who projected vaudevillian comedy from stage to screen. A small space adjacent to Munich’s Altstadt offered a deep-dive history of Valentin’s life. He made a strong impression and then was forgotten. The relics and video in this space suggested a brilliant performer whose work feels ageless today.
Past and present
Germany, to its credit, presents itself as valuing a full breadth of the past, even the uncomfortable parts. The Dokumentation-zentrum Munchen offered a panoramic history of Germany’s dubious era between the end of World War I and the rise of the Third Reich. For the next few months, it offers more than a recap of what happened in a succinct timeline. “To Be Seen: Queer Lives 1900-1950” provided glimpses into the lives of entertainers during a period of brilliant art that was destroyed by the rise of the Reich.
The country has found an admirable unflinching space with its past. While also offering a path toward the present and future.
But the past resonates heavily. A few days after the trip up the tower and hearing the chorus at the Marienplatz, I dropped into the Asamkirche. The church defies easy description. Imagine an old-school version of Trump chic, but informed by a sincerity about religion rather than the cynicism of opportunism. The church was full of rococo detail, gilded snakes and skulls and cherubs. A skeleton in the entryway holds a set of scissors to cut the strings attached to a cherub. We are not, these figures suggest, in control of our fates.
Moments after my arrival, an organ pushed out sound as though it sought to announce my arrival. In actuality, it was a rehearsal for a program to come some days later. But what a pleasant surprise to enjoy deftly performed music here.
The visit was full of the past and present, of radiance and contemplation, of the lightness of snow and the heaviness of stone, magic and sadness.
Amid complicated times in a complicated world, it felt representative, historically and socially.
Know where you’ve been. And after considering that, ponder a better place to go next.