Exploring Bavaria's castles
Touristic, glorious and romantic, some of Germany's best attractions are in Bavaria. My favorites are three of King Ludwig II's castles: stocky Hohenschwangau, his boyhood home; the nearby and fanciful Neuschwanstein, his dream escape; and Linderhof, his final retreat.
Ludwig was just 19 when he became king of Bavaria in 1864. Rather than live with the frustrations of a modern constitution and a feisty parliament reining him in, he spent his years lost in Romantic literature and Wagner operas. From his bedroom in Hohenschwangau, Ludwig trained a telescope on a ridge to keep an eye on Neuschwanstein as it was being constructed.
Inspired Disney
On my last visit, I peered through that telescope at Neuschwanstein Castle (which inspired another boy, named Disney). I could relate to the teen-king Ludwig. As a kid bound by schoolwork and house rules, I, too, had built a castle: a tree house with a shiny roof. It was the envy of other little kings in my neighborhood.
Then, at age 18, I made my first independent trip to Europe. I toured Ludwig's postcard-perfect Neuschwanstein, and saw firsthand just how big, dramatic and over the top a "real" fairy-tale castle could be. Ludwig's extravagance and romanticism earned him the title Mad King Ludwig.
With towering turrets in a striking setting, these castles are a huge hit with sightseers. Every tour bus in Bavaria converges on Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau, while tourists flush in each morning by train from Munich, two hours away. Like the wave of a magic wand, a handy reservation system with set admission times sorts out the chaos for smart travelers (hohenschwangau.de).
Nice view
Ludwig put his Neuschwanstein on a hilltop not for defensive reasons, but simply because he liked the view. The castle is a textbook example of 19th century Romanticism. The lavish interior, covered with damsels in distress, dragons and knights in gleaming armor, is enchanting.
Germany didn't become a single united country until 1871. As if to bolster its legitimacy, the young nation dug deep into its murky, medieval past. These heroes and legends inspired young Ludwig in decorating his fanciful castles.
Sitting at the foot of the hill, Hohenschwangau Castle is more lived-in and historic, offering an excellent look at Ludwig's life (with fewer crowds). Built in the 12th century, it was ruined by Napoleon. Ludwig's father rebuilt it, and you'll see it as it looked in 1836. The walls of the beautifully painted rooms are slathered with epic myths and exotic decorations.
Palace envy
The homiest of Ludwig's castles is the small and comfortably exquisite Linderhof, set in the woods 15 minutes from Oberammergau, the Shirley Temple of Bavarian villages (a 45-minute drive from Hohenschwangau). Surrounded by fountains and sculpted, Italian-style gardens, it's the only place I've toured that actually had me feeling palace envy.
Ludwig lived much of his last eight years at Linderhof as a royal hermit; his dinner table -- preset with dishes and food -- rose from the kitchen below into his dining room so he could eat alone.
Beyond the palace is Ludwig's grotto, a private theater for the reclusive king to enjoy his beloved Wagnerian operas (he was usually the sole member of the audience). The grotto features a waterfall, fake stalactites and a swan boat floating on an artificial lake. The first electricity in Bavaria was generated here, to change the colors of the stage lights and to power Ludwig's fountain and wave machine.
Rent a car
My preferred home base for exploring Bavaria's castles is Reutte, actually in the Austrian district of Tirol. If you have a car, this area offers maximum charm and good value. Fussen, in Germany, is a handier base for train travelers.
Ludwig was king for 23 years. In 1886, fed up with his extravagances, royal commissioners declared him mentally unfit to rule Bavaria. Days later, he was found dead in a lake. People still debate whether it was murder or suicide. But no one complains anymore about the cost of Ludwig's castles. Within six weeks of his funeral, tourists were paying to see the castles -- and they're still coming.