Munich

This is about a city it might actually be a pleasure to live in: Munich, capital of the quondam kingdom of Bavaria. It’s not large—population 1,360, 000 at last count—but it has a lot going for it: an historic past, a prosperous present, culture by the yard, two universities, a perfect rococo theater, and the best beer in the world. The spectacular Bavarian Alps are only a half-hour away. Its inner core—quiet, clean, at once grand and intimate, beautiful and just plain pretty—might well serve as an example to those cities all over the world, large and small alike, that are grappling with the decay of their centers, for Munich’s attractions are not accidental but a matter of careful planning.

Munich’s charm creeps up on you gradually, though even day-trippers spending only a few hours there may wonder what happened to the noise, dirt, and traffic they’ve battled in Rome or Paris—for in Munich one can stroll nearly everywhere in the city’s heart without seeing a car or finding a cigarette butt on the pavement. You don’t hear anything louder than heels clipclopping or, as I did, a young man with a flute playing Papageno’s song as he strolled by. What happened to the cars is no mystery; they’re in underground garages or tree-masked lots, or parked somewhere outside the core—and the sight of people just walking, admiring the tubs of flowers that bloom so abundantly in the pollution-free air, is fine. And if your nether extremities have atrophied from lack of use, as is the case with many non-Müncheners, open-air cafés and parklike squares, furnished with flowers, fountains, and chairs that you can move around to suit yourself, are never more than a few feet away from where your feet give out. All this plus the street vendors selling Bratwurst, Hamburger amerikaner Art (with onions), Eiskrem, and, in cold weather, toasted almonds, make Munich a sitters’ and walkers’ heaven.

RB

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Ruth Berenson

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This is about a city it might actually be a pleasure to live in: Munich, capital of the quondam kingdom of Bavaria. It’s not large—population 1,360, 000 at last count—but it has a lot going for it: an historic past, a prosperous present, culture by the yard, two universities, a perfect rococo theater, and the best beer in the world. The spectacular Bavarian Alps are only a half-hour away. Its inner core—quiet, clean, at once grand and intimate, beautiful and just plain pretty—might well serve as an example to those cities all over the world, large and small alike, that are grappling with the decay of their centers, for Munich’s attractions are not accidental but a matter of careful planning.

Munich’s charm creeps up on you gradually, though even day-trippers spending only a few hours there may wonder what happened to the noise, dirt, and traffic they’ve battled in Rome or Paris—for in Munich one can stroll nearly everywhere in the city’s heart without seeing a car or finding a cigarette butt on the pavement. You don’t hear anything louder than heels clipclopping or, as I did, a young man with a flute playing Papageno’s song as he strolled by. What happened to the cars is no mystery; they’re in underground garages or tree-masked lots, or parked somewhere outside the core—and the sight of people just walking, admiring the tubs of flowers that bloom so abundantly in the pollution-free air, is fine. And if your nether extremities have atrophied from lack of use, as is the case with many non-Müncheners, open-air cafés and parklike squares, furnished with flowers, fountains, and chairs that you can move around to suit yourself, are never more than a few feet away from where your feet give out. All this plus the street vendors selling Bratwurst, Hamburger amerikaner Art (with onions), Eiskrem, and, in cold weather, toasted almonds, make Munich a sitters’ and walkers’ heaven.