So, what are you up to this summer? Going to Germany, right? I mean, with both England and Scotland having qualified for the Uefa 2024 Euros (and with Wales still in with a chance via the play-offs) 14 June to 14 July is surely blocked off in your diary? It certainly is in mine. And with four matches being played in Munich, I know exactly where I plan to be when it comes to kick-off: in Italy’s northernmost city.
I did have something of a Where Eagles Dare moment, trying to blend in as I drank my fill and listened to the oompah band
Oh, do keep up! That’s what locals and regular visitors call Munich. It’s a fabulous city and, yes, rather Italianate with its cafes, bars, parks and open spaces for promenading. And it’s where hotshot former Hotspur, Harry Kane, the England captain, is now plying his trade to excellent effect, having netted 24 goals in his first 21 games for Bayern Munich.
Having done a recce the other week, I can’t wait to go back and fret not, if footie ain’t your thing (it’s certainly not Mrs Ray’s: she’s got her eye on July’s Munich Opera Festival), there’s much else to do in this bewitching city. And plenty of places to stay, too, with my pick of the pops being the Hotel Bayerischer Hof, despite what Rocco Forte, the Mandarin or the new Rosewood will tell you.
The HBH is slap dab in the middle of town in Promenadeplatz and hard to miss thanks to the six-metre-high aluminium statue of the late 18th-century Bavarian statesman Maximilian von Montgelas outside, next to the bizarre, regularly-tended, tat-laden ‘shrine’ to the late Michael Jackson, who used to stay here (in room 32).
The hotel opened in 1841 (allowing King Ludwig I to wander over for a bath, a facility that the nearby royal apartments lacked) and has been owned by the same family since 1897. It’s a swanky spot much favoured by visiting slebs (see above), opera lovers (the Bayerischer Staatsoper is round the corner), skiers (the nearest ski lift is barely 40 mins away), gourmands (there are 24 Michelin stars in Munich and 63 in Bavaria) and the well-heeled (nearby Maximilianstrasse is known as ‘credit card-killer street’).
There are 337 rooms (including 74 suites) a cinema, a gym, a spa, a swimming pool, a night club, a fine dining restaurant, a Trader Vic’s, an art deco ballroom and a gorgeous, wonderfully well-stocked bar with stucco ceiling and mirrored walls. I tried to catch the barman out by going off menu and ordering my new favourite (and rather obscure) cocktail – a Corn ‘n’ Oil – and to my delight he didn’t blink an eye, producing the best I’ve had. I ordered a second and took stock.
Never having been to Munich before and with only 48 hours in town, I had made a checklist from friends’ recommendations and did my best to take them all in, starting, of course, with a beer or so in the vast Hofbrauhaus am Platz, built in 1589 and beloved of locals and tourists alike.
Hitler founded the Nazi party here in 1920 and I did have something of a Where Eagles Dare moment, trying to blend in as I drank my fill and listened to the oompah band play ‘Lili Marleen’ while dirndl-clad waitresses dashed about, laden with frothy steins of lager.
I walked my socks off with visits to the Pinakothek der Moderne – cleverly divided into art, architecture, works on paper and design – and its flipside, the Altes Pinakothek, with hundreds of Old Masters, my favourites being the modest scenes of 17th century Dutch tavern life by Brouwer, Teniers and Van Ostade.
I saw the Devil’s footprint in the Frauenkirche and Mad King Ludwig’s sarcophagus in St. Michael’s. I shuddered at the Feldernhalle in Odeonsplatz – a replica of the Loggia dei Lanzi in Florence and site of the fracas that ended the 1923 Beer Hall Putsch – and gawped at the glorious Bavarian crown jewels in the Treasury of the Residenz. I spent a few minutes in the Haus der Kunst (too modern for me) and saw surfer dudes strut their stuff on the Eisbach Wave in the Englischer Garten. I had negronis in Schumann’s and Pusser’s, oh, and a whisky sour in Brenner Grill.
Finally, I went to Spatenhaus opposite the Staatsoper for a shirt-popping Bavarian supper which, just for the record, comprised two types of sausage, two types of sauerkraut, roast duck, bacon, pork and potato dumplings washed down with excellent German Pinot Noir. I was pooped. I can’t remember when I last saw so much art, ate so much pork, drank so much beer, slept so well and felt so happy.
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