It rained.
For once, I was up before everyone else so was having myself a quiet cup of coffee when Lodger (plus Friend) came in and started cooking the breakfast that was to offer them sustenance throughout the day at Oktoberfest. I was leaning more towards a slice of Marmitey toast when the invitation came to join them, and as I’m not one to turn down food because it’s a luxury, I had my first ever Yemeni cooked breakfast: Fasoulia. Many yums — I shall revisit that recipe myself.
Hostess and Guest went into Gröbenzell to explore the museum and see the art of Alfred Meyer and a peat exhbition. I was enthusiastic about seeing this in a way that would not normally fall within the confines of the definition of enthusiasm, so had a shower and another cup of coffee instead and was then ready to go into Munich proper for a busy day of tourism when they returned thirty minutes later, giddy with what can’t really be described as excitement.
We made it to the Marienplatz in plenty of time to have missed the Rathaus-Glockenspiel. Perhaps, given my memories of the astronomical clock in Prague, this is not a bad thing; the square was heaving with lederhosen, but — and this is an important but, so to speak — I didn’t actually know about the Glockenspiel but would’ve loved to have seen it had I known. Next time, for I’m sure there shall be one.
We made it into the Rathaus to have a look at an exhibition of something to do with Ukraine that none of us quite understood, apart from the deliberately incessant air-raid siren and a film in Ukrainian teaching us how to smile and exercise our faces, with subtitles telling us to “embellish our face”. This imparted that it might not be an altogether happy exhibition. There were chalkboards lying around with chalk and it looked as if the best were then put up as exhibits. Perhaps. Someone had done a rather good Spongebob. I’m not sure quite how that fits into the narrative of the oppressor and the oppressed, but I’m not sure anybody was really sure what was going on.
We didn’t get to make it up the tower for the view since the man in the ticket-checking booth at the top of the stairs wasn’t selling tickets, the man in the ticket-selling booth at the bottom of the stairs simply wasn’t, and the web site suggested we’d like to wait about 40 minutes before being allowed up.
Hostess, undeterred and knowing I do like a good church, herded us unto the cathedral, officially the Münchner Dom but Frauenkirche to pretty much everyone, much to my excitement. Judging by the clouds of aromatic fog, Our Lady was recovering from a recent Mass penetration, so I sucked in a good few lungfuls of incense and had a look round while Hostess and Guest did similar things.
Outside the Frauenkirche the sun had come out, and after some selfie-taking and general touristiness, we considered climbing the tower of Saint Peter’s until we saw the queue, so set off in search of yummy food and beer instead. Hostess being of the vegan persuasion, we let her choose and were suitably sated and content with her choice when we left the restaurant an hour or two later to pursue our touristy ways. And just then it rained. Proper, heavens-open stuff, the kind reserved for people who are really regretting their choice of coat and are probably being punished for waving a finger puppet around a cathedral.
We stood and waited in a doorway until it was safe enough to make a dash for a tram.
After some abortive attempts at getting off and looking at things — Hostess’ enthusiasm a lot less dampened than her guests — we ended up at the Odeonsplatz and by chance I spied another church, Theatiner Church, which I suggested/insisted we look inside on the off-chance that the engulfing flames would at least dry my hair.
Originally built between 1663 and 1690, it’s yellow and quite unimposing from the outside, but perhaps looks better when it’s not pissing with rain. All of this is unimportant, though, as it’s utterly magnificent inside and has now set the bar very high for future church encounters.
Therein too lingered the glorious smell of recent piety; I can’t get enough of it. We spent a while ooh-ing and aah-ing sufficiently at “the simple interior” and masses (pardon the pun) of proper art that’s eveywhere. Even the pulpit is an ornate marvel.
The church was quite extensively damaged by Allied bombing, but work to rebuild it started almost afer the end of hostilities. As well as three organs, a small chapel contains the tombs of King Maximilian II (1848-1864) and his consort Queen Marie, and the crypt many members of the Bavarian Royal family.
There is a dome over the chancel that absolutely demands that you do look up.
We made some enquiries about the possibility of there being a mass (any excuse for a big organ) but it wasn’t at a time that was convenient and we had other things to see, so headed over the road and walked through the courtyard of The Residenz, with is peculiar trompe-l’œil painted-on relief, to the Hofgarten, where it rained some more.
It was a shame about the rain really, because as well as dampening the tourists it made everything look a little bit sad. The chancellery building looked quite inviting, and I think if we’d not been dashing from doorway to archway, we’d have taken time to find out the kinds of things we could see in The Residenz or elsewhere nearby.
As the light was failing, happenstance led us to a nice warm gallery with coffee and toilets, so we took refuge there until the nice man told us he was closing. From there we moseyed back to the metro and trundled home, slightly soggy but suitably touristed.
