Munich, a city named after Catholic Monks, traces its origins in the Benedictine monastery at Tegernsee, a destination where the beckoning chimes could bring me inscrutable comfort. All photos courtesy of the author
Only the chimes of the church bells of Munich would bring me back to the memories in which I lived again with my loved ones.
I was always intrigued with destinations where stories have been passed down over centuries. Ever since my beloved sister left, I would travel alone to those enchanting heritage sites where one could resonate with ancient reminiscences, as if I could capture some glimpse of where my sister might be. Munich, a city named after Catholic Monks, traces its origins in the Benedictine monastery at Tegernsee, a destination where the beckoning chimes could bring me inscrutable comfort.
It was a rainy afternoon when I arrived in Munich. The hotel I stayed in was close to the Isar riverside. I couldn’t resist taking a promenade amongst the mist of the rain. The sound of the water flowing was overwhelming. The weather in early September was mild and pleasant despite the moderate rain. Occasionally, a solo cyclist biked through the rain along the riverside path, leaving behind the roadside churches and haunting water sounds. No one noticed me, as if I were a piece of the tree leaves propelled there by the unintentional wind. I adored that feeling, even though I was tentative about what I was trailing until my feet felt wet from the raindrops, and I realised I was wandering around in the rain in Munich.
Waking up the following morning, when opening the window, suddenly the church bells echoed in the air. The enduring feeling from the chimes mystifyingly brought me a moment of peace, as if my soul was through the process of purification. Without dawdling, I headed for the old town, the best place to recall the melancholy. Travelling around inside Munich is made easy by tram, train, and bus. However, I would instead follow in my footsteps and let my heart sift through the feelings when wandering on the archaic traces. I first came to the Marienplatz in the heart of the old town. The building of the Town Hall in St Mary’s Square was a heritage site on its own. As anticipated, I would have caught the glockenspiel clock chimes, which was the taster of the charms of the chimes of Munich, before I longed for the sound of more church bells in this heritage city.
Over 25 churches in Munich are dotted in and around the city centre. I was strolling around, mesmerised by the historical buildings in the old town. It started to drizzle, which added a layer of enigma to the city of Munich. Without too much thinking, my foot brought me to the riverside again. This time, I walked on the other side of the river, where I could see endless green banks if I stood on one of the bridges. Munich’s misty air on a rainy day, melodied by the chimes of the church bell, is almost perfect to rest the soul of a drifting stranger.
When walking back to the hotel, the path led me to the nearby riverside away from the green woods, almost on the same horizon as the river water. Opposite the river, there was a church, and the church bell rang. There were a young couple of different races sitting on the bench. The girl had a peek at me, perhaps because I was the only similar race to her. I smiled back at her and continued along the riverside as if saying goodbye to the juvenile me.
On the third day, it was sunny in Munich. Walking on the pedestrian streets in the medieval old town, I passed the old beer pubs, wondering which one was passed down from the original settlers, the Benedictine monks. At the end of the beer street was a chic, high-end street saturated with luxury stores on both sides. After passing by the Maxmounument, on the long famed Maximillian street, the neo-gothic buildings in the English Perpendicular style are a feast to the eyes.
There was one of the Maximilian style architectures built by Friedrich Bürklein in the Gothic restoration in 1856 — 1864, Regierung von Oberbayern, the government of Upper Bavaria building on Royal Avenue Maximilianstraße was mostly strikingly eye-catching, with its arched doorways and windows, and three roof bronze statues initially made by Johann von Halligan in 1864, symbolising loyalty, justice and wisdom. While appreciating this architecture’s magnificence, a stranger interrupted the serenity. I abruptly asked her to take a photo of me. She could not communicate with me as we didn’t speak the same language, except she was from Ukraine and understood my gesture of taking a photo of me. Her photo-shooting skills from different angles astonished me, and she appeared almost professional. We then said goodbye before we looked at each other’s faces again with the warmth mirrored by the sunset, the sole travellers’ soul-sharing moment.
Adjacent to this public building are the art galleries, Galerie von Miller and Galerie der Künstler. Near the Variete-theater Muchen, I crossed the arched door and unexpectedly spotted a quiet street leading to St Anna Street, slipped into a quiet lane called St Anns. Then I noticed the monastic church of St Anne, Lehel, Munich, built between 1727 and 1733. I was struck by the stillness of the surroundings as if the cloud above it stopped moving but lingered there forever. I was sitting on the bench under the oleaginous green tree shade, facing a courtyard in a market shape, with the open entrance half blocked by an undisclosed tree, inaudibly greeting the strangers, who barged into the silence. It was so serene as if I could have halted thinking, but I noticed the ancient fountain, the fountain water still flowing ceaselessly as if nothing had changed through the ups and downs. I sat on the bench, being part of the tranquility, waiting for the chimes of the church bell. But it did not ring before the skylight dimmed, so I left to chase another unknown in the old town.
The church bell chimes again in the dusk. I walked through the marketplace as if I were already the local, heading for my familiar hotel room, where I would go through the photos I took and disregard the obscured ones. The memories framed in those photos are so motionless. Only the chimes of the church bells of Munich would bring me back to the memories in which I lived again with my loved ones.
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