Mozart in Munich #3: Sparkly, Pretty Things

Opera day. I woke and went down to breakfast, hoping to wolf something down before Danny arrived. I had a more successful conversation in German (confidence building) with the waitress, involving Apfelsaft, and got myself a bowl of cereal. When she brought the juice, along with it – on a silver tray, no less – came butter, leberwurst paste (ew), Johannisbeere jam (I had to ask Danny), Babybel and honey, accompanied by a basket with rolls and bread. How do you know you’ve been staying in a youth hostel too long? When you’re overwhelmed by breakfast!

Afterwards, I stood outside until Danny materialised beside me, as I was applying my sun cream and didn’t have my glasses on. We decided to visit the Residenz. Initially it seemed cool inside, but these things are all relative and it remained a bit humid. The first courtyard we came to had an impressive, if slightly weird, shell-encrusted fountain. I was focusing on the prettiness when Danny asked an important question - “Where did they get the shells?” We discussed issues of design and shell acquisition and decided that, well, one really just had to be a pragmatist about some things. The designer was obviously not much of a stickler for detail, as the central statue whom we eventually identified as Hermes had some wings on his helmet and one (only one) on each foot – no shoes. He looked a bit like he was ten-pin bowling, if slightly underdressed, and standing on the wind is probably cheating.

The next main room was the banqueting hall, which – along with some serious sideboarding – had statues of Roman emperors everywhere. And who doesn’t want to look at Octavian over their roast chicken? The overall effect of the paintings on the ceiling was impressive, and it was a very pleasant room in which to spend some time sitting looking up, though we agreed that we liked the decorative touches and the effect more than the individual paintings. There was one I was reasonably keen on until I went over the look at it the right way up, when it turned out to be a mean-looking angel blasting some kind of trumpet at a child’s head. Am still slightly disturbed by cherubs.

The Residenz has some fun rooms and very entertaining china, some like a tour through Art History, some on the theme of death. It was good to find out that Danny thinks death is as much fun as I do. Thematically and artistically, of course. He has pictures of preaching skeletons. That’s pretty cool. We devised an educational teatime game, in which one must guess which picture is on the bottom of one’s soup bowl, receiving extra points for the volume of soup remaining in the bowl when the correct guess is ventured. The rooms themselves were extravagant, and in some cases overpowering, with heavily embroidered wallpaper. I love the white doors with the gold decoration, however, and there were a few dappled bright red sideboards with inlaid designs of silver and enamel that I would have wanted to bring back with me were it not for my already heavy bad. There were also some lovely wooden ceilings. There was an interesting trend for ornate floor-to-ceiling mirrors with small built-in shelves, onto which were placed various small vases. This seemed odd, though no stranger than Danny’s suggestion that they put small military figurines there instead.

We emerged and explored the Schatzkammer, the Treasury. There were many pretty and shiny things, and a few that were startlingly orange. I was concerned that the King of Bavaria’s crown was sort of girly, but it turned out I had missed the “–in” in Königin – it was the queen’s. We also found another St George – now one of my favourite themes in art – aggressively bright and sparkly, with the cutest dragon yet. The horse, however, was so tall that I would question whether the saint’s diminutive sword was quite equal to the task. The horse looked like it was doing most of the work, to be honest.

Lunch next. We ended up at a sort of outdoor pub-type place, right below my window, and opposite an improbably tall tree. We had yet more wurst – me, Nürnburger rostwurstel mit Kartoffelsalat, and Danny Müchner Weisswurst, another traditional local experience.

We got our food with pretzels and sweet Bavarian mustard, actually pretty good mixed with regular German mustard, as per Danny’s suggestion, though I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that.

Danny had to go off to class then, and I managed to handle the whole bill process in German – go me! I think I was improving. The heat was becoming a bit much, but I had a mission – the Asamkirche, a pint-sized Baroque wonder church. My route took me through the Viktualienmarkt, and if I happened to come away with a new bag (very cute) and a while lot of fruit for snacking, who can blame me?

Then I passed some very modern-looking shops – this really is a proper grown-up city! Walking alone with my ears open, Munich suddenly seemed to be full of Scots, perhaps as a result of Easyjet? A clock gave the temperature - 26° in the shade. Yikes.

Asamkirche even looks ostentatious from the outside.

I was briefly distracted by Lush, though in my defense I only ever go to Lush abroad. I did need shower gel, and settled on the delightful Flying Fox – “Das Honig Duschgel mit Sex-Appeal”, if you believe the hilarious hype.

Inside Asamkirche, it was cool, at least. The small oval entrance had towering statues and stars on the ceiling.

With an ornate grill separating the entrance from the sanctuary, one of my favourite things in the world.

The sanctuary itself is narrow and high, and quite beautiful. Ornate, as one might expect from a Baroque gem, but absolutely spectacular beyond your average.

Gorgeous sunbursts. Amazing frescoes. There was a particularly excellent deathly figure, and in the Harry Potter buildup week I was excited to have found the Dark Mark lurking in a corner. Seriously:

The cherub count was mercifully low. This was my other favourite church on the trip. I sat for a long time, just gazing upwards, as someone practiced the organ not too impressively, though happily they were going over my favourite bits.

I dragged myself away, eventually, to wander some more. I poked around Marienplatz for a bit, spotting the glockenspiel – though the timing on this trip was all wrong to actually hear it play – and the famous fish fountain, in which one is meant to rinse one’s purse for good fortune.

I wanted to say I had at least seen the Hofbräuhaus, so I went in search of it. On the way I found a beautiful, quiet and air-conditioned craft shop in which I was able to buy my mother’s traditional Christmas decoration. I debated the notelets – or what I thought were notelets – but when I opened the box, loud Bavarian folk music blared out, shattering the silence. Suddenly the small group of teenagers who had just walked in all stampeded towards me, and all I could do was smile at the first one, whimper, “Es macht viel Spass, ja?” and squeak as I relinquished the card and retreated. Scary. I did manage to chatter away about my mother’s foreign Christmas ornament collection, though I couldn’t remember the German for “Latvia”, and that boosted my confidence further. I decided I quite liked this language practice, even though the evening before, listening to Danny talk about his classes, I had imagined that I would find nothing more cold-sweat inducing. It was interesting, on returning, to catch up with the articles saying that British people are most likely to go on holiday to countries where they speak a little of the language. While Scots felt the most awkward not being able to communicate well in the local language, I was amused to see that the reason given in most cases for not attempting languages they had studied was “fear of looking stupid”. That’s so typical! I can identify.

When I checked the map, I found that I was not yet lost, and was just around the corner from the Hofbräuhaus.

Having looked and photographed, I remembered I was in the general area of the Hard Rock Café and also had a shot glass buying mission (a family friend collects them and I had it on good authority that Munich was not among them). I got the map out, and was about to try the next street over when it struck me that the brass lettering opposite was not spelling out German but English, specifically, “Love all, serve all”. Inside, I couldn’t see the shot glass but I thought it was worse asking. Success! I walked back up to the English Garden before I decided it was time to go back for opera preparation.

Read On: Mozart in Munich #4: Le Nozze di Figaro