Jason and I found a great tour company here in Munich called Munich Walk Tours. Every day for the past fours days we have adventured on some unique tour—all which have captured the essence and history of Munich and Bavaria. After checking into our hostel, which is closely situated to the Haupbahnhof and also quite near the center of town, Marienplatz, the Frauenkirche, and Munich’s famous Rathaus and its Glockenspiel (where at 11am, noon, and 5pm, wooden dancers at the top of the clock tower spin around and chime music—quite the entertainment for the first time visitor ☺), we headed toward the meeting place of our Munich Walking Tour (all in English). (Whew, that was a very long sentence). Our tour guide Ralph was great. He is German, learned his English in Australia (excellent accent), and took us all to the main sights of downtown Munich-- from the historical Residenz (which housed the Wittelbach dynasty) to the fashionable Maximilianstrasse (a German ‘Champ Elysees’ equivalent). After our tour, Jason and I (or more so Jason) finally indulged in some ethnic Bavarian cuisine at Weisses Brauhaus. Jason’s five-sausage pile surrounded by potatoes and sauerkraut was anything but stomach settling. (Although he loved every last grease-processed bite.) After dinner, we headed down the street to the infamous Hofbräuhaus—the most famous beer hall in Munich, maybe even Germany for that matter. While the one liter glass mug of their house beer and leiderhosen-wearing band singing traditional Bavarian music are enough reasons for the typical tourist to venture here, Jason and I came for the history. (I promise! Ok ok, their beer is part of their history, right?) It was in this place where Hitler stood before two thousand people in 1920 and introduced his theories of a united and expanded Germany, of Jews being at fault for German war failure, and of anti-communist political thought.
The next morning in Munich was beautiful. We had a quick breakfast at Starbucks located right next to the Hofbräuhaus (I wonder if Hitler would have been a fan of caramel macchiatos, as I am once again drinking one). However, we learned in our Third Reich tour today, that Hitler took advantage of expressing his political ideologies in beer halls because so many men were drunk and willing to support his causes. I am sure that if the members of these political societies were drinking coffee instead of beer, Hitler would have faced more opposition to his Nazi party. (Alright, enough with the historical banter).
The famous Residenz was our next stop. This impressive complex was a maze of golden rooms, marble columns, and masterful works of art. Still under construction from WWII, we were only able to view “some” of the rooms. The forty or so we saw were plenty to formulate this sense of grandeur still existing despite the end of the Wittelsbach dynasty. The French gardens of the palace were beautiful as well—golden trees lined the entire walkway, with a sea green roof gazebo in the center. After the Residenz, we climbed the tower of St. Peter’s church and looked out on the bustling city. Church steeples dotted the streets every square mile or so, and on the distant horizon, the Alps were barely visible. Looking at the city from this vantage point, it is hard to believe that so much of it was destroyed by the British RAF in WWII. Reaching the bottom of the 360-step climb (the six-year-old in front of us counted every step in German—quite annoying although I do recall the dreihundertsechszig step somewhere quite near the top), we were excited about the sandwiches we had previously purchased and enjoyed our lunch at St. Mary’s Column—directly beneath the Glockenspiel. Also meeting at this locale was our Dachau tour group. Although I had researched transportation directions and was ready to commit to the emotionally-draining afternoon of visiting a former concentration camp, Jason and I decided a qualified Dachau guide would not only get us there and prevent our transportation-related arguments, he would also be quite more knowledgeable and informative.
After visiting Auschwitz two years ago and writing a serious research paper which in part dealt with the camp, I did not know what to expect visiting Dachau. I remember the void I felt as our bus drove away from Auschwitz, and I wondered if feelings of emptiness and anger would revisit me. In all, Dachau was a very different experience. It was quite educational, as I learned that Dachau was the archetype camp—the first one ever built back in 1933. Its first prisoners were only political, and Hitler and the Nazi party propagandized Dachau to simply be a reeducation facility. By the time of the Final Solution in 1941 and through the war’s end, Dachau was turned into a death camp. While the Nazis recorded only 32,000 people perishing there, that number is significantly higher since it does not include those the Soviet political prisoners who were murdered, the thousands who died on the death marches directly after leaving Dachau, nor the prisoners who died from disease and malnutrition immediately following liberation.
As we drove away, I found myself thinking more of the little town of Dachau (a settlement older than Munich) and what the concentration camp did to the identity of its people after the war. We learned that many people thought about changing the town’s name, especially since many expectant mothers still travel the twenty minutes to Munich to give birth just so their child won’t have the name ‘Dachau’ on any if his/her identification papers. Yet it was decided that changing the name could be connected with running from an undesirable past, and it was more important for them to memorialize the camp, keep their town’s name, and show the rest of Europe and the world, that they would face their past collectively and deal with the repercussions of former actions.
Returning from Dachau into Munich at nightfall led to a walk around the city, the finding of a small grocery store (which would provide for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the next several days), and a little pizza place for a quick dinner. Early night, getting ready for a big day in the morning.
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