The Ashes Tour: The (After)Life of Brian

Some of Brian’s nominated destinations are revisits for him but new for me, and while I can usually see why he chose the do-overs, the imposing Nymphenburg Palace left me flummoxed. There’s no doubting its impressive scale (the frontal width surpasses even Versailles) but it does have a history of flexing the gilded lifestyle and none of that conspicuous excess and privilege seems to align with our boy’s tastes or values at all.

My first time visiting Germany was already proving a challenge, but that was to do with timing, not architecture. I quite love the traditional Bavarian houses with their heavy oak frames and steep gabled roofs… there’s something so Brothers Grimm about those quirky windows and the intricate carved wooden balconies. But my scant knowledge of Oktoberfest (note to the National Tourist Board: not everyone knows it’s actually in September) caused some grief and I copped all the disadvantages that go with navigating a city during a major tourism event.

Despite this I’d set out from my peak priced accommodation that morning with optimism. Public transport was predictably a schmozzle so I figured I would just hike to Nymphenburg and avoid all the crowds and delays, and experience a bit more of suburban Munich along the way. The streets – many charmingly named after German classical composers – were clean and uncluttered, people were polite (though surprisingly, few I encountered spoke much English), and dogs were fastidious but friendly. I caved to the aroma of Bäkerie Müllritter and happily fed my face as I ambled along, but even after weeks in Europe I still couldn’t calibrate my brain to look left first, earning me the stinkeye from a few cyclists and bus drivers as I stepped off kerbs then had to jump back out of their way. It was a relief for all concerned when I left the city’s streets and entered the woodland area that would take me to the palace.

Internet service had been bonkers since Italy and once I hit the forest my Maps app kept losing its way. Signposts were rare and “Signal lost” would coincide with unmarked crossroads, calling for guesswork and a confidence I didn’t have. But the environment was so peaceful and unscary and I had time to backtrack and explore without anxiety as I racked up the extra kilometres. I could happily have stayed among the trees but eventually emerged into the sweeping symmetrical gardens and made my way past waterways and statues to the palace reception area to check out its tour options. My heart was not in it though and once I saw pics of the lavish rooms and all those glitzy Rococo fittings, it was easy to take a hard pass on the tour and head back outside to the swans.

Those feathered posers totally owned the setting but despite their graceful gliding and preening, they’re not arrogant. I liked how after a while they would lose interest and just plonk in a group squat on the lawn, grunting and honking agreeably, like workers on smoko. They let me sit close and would lean in and nuzzle my arm before flopping their heads on their wings for a brief kip, then reluctantly rising on cue and going back out to play the crowd.

The palace’s overwhelming aesthetics, its main attraction for tourists, had also caught the eye of a certain Führer. Hitler’s headquarters were in Berlin and East Prussia (now Poland) but Munich was the birthplace of the Nazi political party, and in the lead-up to WWII he would host major propaganda events such as Nacht der Amazonen in the palace’s Grand Park. Night of the Amazons not only showcased the military power of the SS, but through art and music, projected Nazism as culturally significant. Wealth and splendour were seen as material manifestations of Aryan superiority, and it made sense that Nymphenburg would be used to promote the “master race” ideology. The minor damage it sustained during the bombings of 1943 was duly repaired and there’s no evidence of that today.

After dropping Brian’s pebble off a little bridge where it sunk to the bottom of the lake, out of beak’s way, I poked around the shore a bit more, photographing the angular buildings and wishing my garden had a water feature bigger than a birdbath. People strolled by and the ambience was easy till a bridal party marched up to the split marble staircase at the front of the main building, intent on a romantic photo shoot. I’m not sure if this liberty was prearranged or just assumed, but the amblers were not about to be moved aside so Bridezilla and her party could reenact some dramatic Hollywood kiss with no messy tourists photobombing the moment. It did make for a bit of low-level entertainment as she stomped off her discontent but her entitlement kind of fit with the decor.

My return walk was less confusing, leaving headspace to drink in the calm of the gentle green surroundings. I followed winding paths and creeks and climbed through fairytale door-in-the-wall gates until I was back on the streets of Neuhausen. It felt good to have made it there and back and done the deed, despite the detours and patchy network coverage. I forgave Munich its issues and am open to a future visit, but was looking forward to a less hectic 24 hours in Ulm before my last Auf Wiedersehen. No ashdrop there but that little town did its share to redeem Deutschland.