We've landed into a Munich bursting with spring. Crisp mornings evolve into warm afternoons, and the direct sun feels quite strong already. It really is a lovely easy city.
We started out, as is becoming a habit, taking the tram a few stops to Karolinenplatz ...
... for the short walk along BriennerStrasse past the Nazi Museum into Königsplatz, heading for the Glyptothek.
Strangely, earlier over a welcoming coffee H had unexpectedly brought out some old newspapers he has carefully stored. He eschews the Nazi Museum (although he did come with me on my second visit last year) but now mentions that perhaps sometime he might see if they are interested in some of these records.
While the city, and here I draw attention to Königsplatz, embraced THIS ...
... the banality runs side by side.
Is it just me that's there is still a hollow impossible to fill in these places of assembled murderers, the life sucked out? Or is it simply the scale of the place, a fatuous nod to power whoever wherever. Or perhaps it was just that it was Christi Hemmelfahrt (Ascension Thursday in my childhood Catholic calendar), as ludicrous a feast as one can imagine to be taken so seriously in this day and age.
Mein Gott - a search shows I've already rabbited on about this before. Memory ain't what it used to be, if sentiment is.
The Glyptothek, with its lovely courtyard and coffee and cake to shake of some jet lag, is exactly as was with old friends, somewhat familiar
except for some current vogue to mimic these treasures in stressed wood sculpture.
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