Sunday in the Altstadt

I stashed my Gepäck at the hotel desk, relieved not to be rolling a heavy suitcase across das Kopfsteinpflaster. I don't understand how anyone manages to do that. With just a light rucksack on my shoulders, and my roughed up Reisenotizbuch, I stepped out into Munich's Altstadt on a bright Sonntagmorgen (Sunday Morning). The city felt hushed, ruhig, almost asleep. Is it always this quiet?

My brain felt like mush. Jet lag was creeping in around the edges, making everything feel slightly dreamlike. Was I really here? Was I really doing this?

I pulled out my notebook and checked today's plan. Wander the Altstadt. See the Glockenspiel at noon. Maybe find the oldest building if I didn't get lost first. And most importantly: stay awake until at least 10pm. No giving in to jet lag. No naps.

The plan was deliberately light. After twelve hours of flying, I wasn't exactly in tour-guide mode.

I passed under the old city gate of Karlstor and tucked the notebook back in my rucksack. Time to look around.

A massive pedestrian only Straße (street) stretched out in front of me like an arrow toward the heart of the city. A sign noted it was only 1km to the central square of Marienplatz and my date with the famous Glockenspiel (playing clock). The only problem, the next chime wouldn't be until 12pm, and it was currently...10am. Zwei Stunden (two hours) to make a 10 minute walk? What was I going to do? Luckily, this is perhaps my favorite part of exploring any new place. Time to wander.

Munich is gorgeous! Pastel buildings with carved stone faces. Hand painted murals, with intricate ornemantation. And everywhere, those Kopfsteinpflaster, a word I still wasn't going to try pronouncing. But what really caught my attention was what wasn't there. No noise, no bustle, no open doors. Shop after Geschäft stood shuttered. Even the Apotheke (pharmacy) was dark and closed.

The Germans take their Ladenöffnungszeiten und Ruhezeit (store hours and quiet time) seriously. Most shops close by early evening and stay geschlossen (closed) all day Sonntag. The idea is to give people consistent time off to rest, be with family, or just live.

Which suited me just fine. Shopping could wait. I had exploring to do.

With so much time to kill, I did my favorite thing on ein Spaziergang: I threw away my Karte (map) and let myself get verloren in the side streets. This is the easiest way to turn a boring walking tour into an adventure, or to get completely lost. Probably inevitable when your German consists of only forty words and a whole lot of hope. I passed down narrow Gassen (alleys) branching off the main streets, quiet as secret corridors.

Little Passagen (passageways) kept appearing, leading to hidden Innenhöfe (inner courtyards). Cafes, beer gardens, fountains tucked away from the streets. Every ten steps revealed something new.

My favorite was the Asamhofe, a passage between worlds. Shops and cafes nestled between pastel residences. I stopped to sit and take it all in.

But then my cute adventure hit a snag.

I'd been turning down Gassen for what, fifteen minutes? Twenty? And now I had absolutely no idea where I was. The Passagen all looked the same. Pastel walls, cobblestones, more pastel walls. Which way was Marienplatz? Where was Karlstor?

I pulled out my phone. No data. Of course. My Karte was somewhere in my bag. I looked for a street sign. Found one. Sendlinger Straße. Great. Where the hell was I supposed to be again?

An older Frau walked past with a small Hund. I should ask. I knew how to ask. I'd practiced this.

"Entschuldigung?" I tried. She stopped. "Uh... wo ist... Marienplatz?"

She smiled, pointed down the Gasse, and launched into rapid German. I caught maybe two words. "Links... geradeaus..."

Links. Left, I was pretty sure. And geradeaus? Straight? Straight ahead? Why didn't I write these down?

"Danke," I said, probably too loud. She nodded and kept walking.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the alley in front of me. Left. Then straight. Probably. I turned links and hoped for the best.

A minute later, I emerged onto a larger street and there, blessedly, was a sign pointing toward Marienplatz. Relief. I'd understood correctly.

Links. Geradeaus. I really was learning.

My peace and navigational victory was interrupted by the heavy Geläut (ringing) erupting from a nearby Kirche (church). 11am. Only one hour left until the big performance on Marienplatz. Time was flying by.

I'd found so many little churches already. Most people gravitate to the massive Frauenkirche, but my wanderings brought me to the Asamkirche instead. Connected to the Asamhofe, it's the true ornate king of the city. I had to investigate.

Arriving only a moment after an English/German tour had begun, I slipped through the magnificent time-worn Holztür to join the group. A woman in front of me whispered something in German. I caught "Barockkunst," baroque art. And though I didn't understand her other words, her tone said everything. Awe.

The guide gestured to the entrance we'd come through: "Das Kirchenportal, durch das Sie gekommen sind, versetzt Sie zurück in die Blütezeit des Barock. Im Inneren ist eine Welt aus Fresken, vergoldeten Figuren und dramatischem Lichteinfall." She paused, then switched to English. "The Kirchenportal (church entrance) that you came through transports you back to the golden age of Baroque. Inside is a Welt (world) of Fresken (frescoes), gilded figures, and dramatic light. Created by the Brüder Asam in the 18th century."

I looked up. Every surface was gold or marble or both. Angels frozen mid-flight. Saints gazing down. It was overwhelming, honestly. Like standing inside a jewelry box designed by someone with unlimited budget and zero chill.

I liked that word: Kirchenportal. Not merely a church's creaky wooden door. A church portal. Because that's what it felt like. The second I stepped through, I'd left the 21st century behind.

I donated a few Euro, lit a candle, and finally turned back towards Sendlinger Straße. Time to find Marienplatz.

At last the towers of the Neues Rathaus (The New City Hall) rose into view. Imposing neo-gothic stone, intricate and dark against the spring sky. The square spread out around me, vast and bustling despite the Sunday quiet. Marienplatz. The heart of Munich.

Cafés spilled across the plaza. A large crowd had gathered in the center, phones ready. I joined them just as the clock struck noon.

The Glockenspiel figures danced, and the chimes rang out. It was charming. Cute. And a little underwhelming, if I'm being totally honest. My feet hurt, I was hungry, and the jet lag was creeping in. But I'm glad I came.

What really captured my attention though was the Altes Rathaus (Old City Hall) forming the eastern edge of the square. That tower had stood here for 800 years, watching over Munich since medieval times. Of all the buildings in this grand city, this one had seen it all. It might even be the oldest, checkbox ticked.

My stomach growled. A sweet yeasty smell drifted from the corner, where a bayerisch Bäckerei had its doors wide offen. Everything was indeed closed, but not quite everything! Bakeries can stay open on Sundays as long as they take their Ruhetag another day. Bread and pastries stacked in the window. Sunday in Munich might be quiet, but the bakeries understood what mattered.

And so I turned towards the smell of fresh bread. It was Mahlzeit!