There's more to Munich than the Oktoberfest, says William Cook: classy art galleries, posh shops and in summer a Mediterranean feel
People get the wrong idea about Munich and I blame the Oktoberfest. Every autumn several million sweaty backpackers come here to swig vast quantities of Bavarian lager and gawp at buxom Fräuleins in skimpy dirndls, the papers are full of pictures of oompah bands and jolly fat men in Lederhosen, and so naturally the whole world assumes this is what Munich is all about.
Thankfully, the Oktoberfest lasts only a fortnight. For the rest of the year Munich is completely different – a stylish metropolis full of lush gardens, posh shops and classy galleries. I’ve been there more times than I can count, and I’ve dreamed of living there. Sadly it looks as if I’ll never manage it, but I can’t think of a nicer city in which to spend a long weekend.
Until 1918 Munich was the capital of the Kingdom of Bavaria, and despite the vicissitudes of the 20th century, it has retained a good deal of its old regal pomp. The antique city centre is dominated by the Residenz, a cluster of baroque palaces where Bavaria’s eccentric royal family, the Wittelsbachs, used to live. Today Bavaria is just one of the sixteen Federal Länder that make up the German Bundesrepublik, but for patriotic Bavarians, Munich is still the state capital, not Berlin: the blue and white flag of Bavaria flutters from its flagpoles and its grand boulevards are adorned with ornate statues of obscure Bavarian kings. It’s all slightly absurd, and all the better for it. These quaint Ruritanian curios are part of what makes Munich such a charming place.
As Bavarians never tire of telling you, Munich is nearer Milan than Berlin, and in summertime the city acquires an almost Mediterranean air: its leafy biergartens are full of revellers, its idyllic park, the Englischer Garten, fills up with sunbathers. It’s a beguiling blend of Teutonic gemütlichkeit and Catholic joie de vivre. In winter the city is draped with snow, sultry women in fur coats conspire over mugs of Glühwein, and the train station is full of skiers. One of Munich’s chief delights is that its seasons are so diverse.
Painting probably isn’t the first thing that springs to mind when someone mentions Munich, but the city has always been a bastion of fine art. The three massive Pinakothek museums (all on the same site) contain a wonderful array of artworks, from Old Masters in the Alte Pinakothek to modern artists in the Pinakothek der Moderne. All the big names are here, from the Renaissance to Post-Impressionism. It’s a special treat to see so many German Expressionists, whose haunting paintings we see so rarely in the UK.
Hitler purged Munich of these ‘degenerate’ artists, and his long shadow still hangs over his adopted home town. Carefully restored after the Second World War, the city is a pleasant blend of Biedermeier and modern buildings, but every so often you turn a corner and come face to face with a neoclassical relic of the Third Reich. Munich has tried its best to find liberal uses for these bombastic buildings. Hitler’s Haus der Kunst, built to house his favourite ‘Aryan’ paintings, is now a modern art museum, devoted to the artworks he despised.
The Bürgerbräukeller, where Hitler launched his beer hall putsch, was demolished in 1979 and replaced with a cultural centre, but there are plenty of other bierkellers where you can sample traditional Bavarian fare. Avoid the Hofbräuhaus – it’s overrun with tourists. Try the Paulaner Bräuhaus or the Augustiner Keller instead. The carnivorous cuisine in these beer halls is pretty robust (to put it mildly) but it’s good quality and good value. The boozy ambience is exhilarating, and the beer is superb, of course.
However the thing that makes Munich more than just another city break is the proximity of the Bavarian Alps. On a clear day their snow-capped peaks are clearly visible from the city centre, and the foothills are only a short train ride away. Within half an hour, you can be glugging down a cold beer beside one of Bavaria’s beautiful Alpine lakes. When my father’s German family fled from East Germany after the Second World War, my rich German cousins ended up in Munich, while my father ended up in Cricklewood. It’s something I often reflect on as I pass through this handsome city, on my way back to the airport, and my budget flight back to the Big Smoke.
