Nestled in the storybook landscapes of Bavaria lies a verdant, toylike town rife with history and culture. Named for the handful of monk settlements that buoyed its growth, Munich, called München in German, is a town unfettered by eras. The architecture waffles often between pastel Mannerist façades and stately Neo Classical symmetry as Gothic spires and Baroque steeples compete for attention along the low-slung skyline. The centuries-old markets remain time-honored forums revolving with the seasons… A place where locals chuckle at the notion that “farm-to-table” is a modern trend.

The mindset here is proudly “Old World.” God, family, nature, and conventional gender roles swirl around each other in the day-to-day pursuit of “gemütlichkeit,” or the coziness of good cheer. Native Münchners wear the Bavarian regional costume without pomp, circumstance, or second thoughts. Knee-high knitted socks, bone buttons, and hairy tufts of “Gamsbärte” atop felt hats won’t turn heads on the U-Bahn, and women still knot their dirndls in accordance with their relationship status. This thriving nostalgia for a “wholesome idyll” smacks of Garrison Keillor’s dreamy Lake Wobegone, "the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.”

This overgrown village, where every historical marker is a stones-throw from the last, also happens to be my overgrown village. At least it has been for the past two years since I yanked my suitcase off the carousel at Munich Airport. Despite the fact my Deutsch is still nicht gut, over time, Munich has come to be the place I hang my hat. I’ve walked this town’s lumpy cobblestones one thousand times over and occasionally forget it’s not where I’m from. It’s simply my home now.

While I’ve been lucky enough to live in some of the most storied cities in the world, as the new town scent wears off, inevitably so does my search for new details and weekend excursions. I am no longer a visitor or a tourist here. I am now a resident side-stepping past the tourists, “To Do” list in hand. When I remind myself to really look at the town around me, I see the hum of everyday life but also the striking architectural adornments I unwittingly pass under every morning, the steamy pretzels I crave but never buy, and the enchanted faces of tourists staring at some historical plaque I had never noticed before. If other people travel thousands of miles to Bavaria for their vacations, why shouldn’t I enjoy mini-vacations here too?

On balmy Saturdays, I plot day-trips around Munich. Grabbing our dog-eared map of Munich, I’ll make my way over to the first stop on my itinerary, often somewhere in Altstadt, Munich’s historic district. Medieval architecture and bizarre stories involving oddball Bavarian royalty (mainly the Wittelsbachs) abound at every crossroad of these small, looping streets. Just off the cusp of Marienplatz, Munich’s popular town square, I can look up at the pied-à-terre where Mozart composed two of his great musical works, then, passing through the stone archway just up the street, glance back at the former residence of the Holy Roman Emperor Louis IV, the Alter Hof.

After a good traipse around the small streets, I’ll find my way to my favorite hand-made miscellanea shop in Munich, the Manufactum Warenhaus. What better way to appreciate the regional craftsmanship than to poke around some local businesses? Window-shopping is for the weekdays. And though I want to avoid the “bussi-bussi” crowd (think air-kisses) I love to sneak a quick peek at the food display from Alois Dallmayr, the gourmet delicatessen just next door. Local markets, like the two-hundred-year-old Viktualienmarkt, offer a smorgasbord of Bavarian goodies. There I can find mushrooms hand-picked from Bavarian forests, Alpine cheeses, and bottles of Riesling and Dornfelder for evening aperitifs… at a certain price, of course. 

Bavaria’s unfaltering agricultural productivity after WWII and the fact that it was spared much of the Allied bombing ensured that the bubble around Bavaria never really popped. For this reason, Bavaria is arguably the best-preserved specimen of traditional German culture across the ages. I can visit fairytale castles, art-nouveau bathhouses, and tumble-down thatch cottages all on the same day.

Unlike many other European states where the aristocratic class reigned over the development of national tastes, the culture of Bavaria was formed heavily around the influences of the common people in the fields. The peasantry’s deep connection with the land and devotion to the Catholic Church generated a profusion of annual festivals, often marking a harvest, religious holiday - often both. As I pass the infamous Hofbräuhaus, it brings to mind Spring’s Starkbierfest. Literally meaning “strong-beer festival,” this annual event celebrates the robust ale drunk by Pauline monks during Lent and is considered a more easy-going version of its big brother, the world-renowned Oktoberfest (which swells the city by approximately seven million people temporarily each year).

Bavarian cuisine also grew under the influence of rustic life. Generous portions of carbohydrates and calories carry the hardworking farmer (and hard-walking tourist) through the day. Weißwurst, a pale veal sausage, is a great way to start the day, while lunch and dinner often consist of semmelknödeln (wheat dumplings) and dishes of meat like schweinshaxe (roast pork knuckle covered in beer gravy). 

After an afternoon of ogling historical monuments around Altstadt, I often seek the greenery of Munich’s Englischer Garten where I can watch surfers riding the Eisbach’s perpetual waves and rest in my favorite biergarten. Curved gracefully along the emerald edge of lake Kleinhesselohersee, this sunny terrace is the perfect place to sip Bavaria’s typical shandy for tired cyclists, the Radler, and watch colorful paddle boats putt around in leisurely circles. Children scramble between tables, the boys often sporting lederhosen scuffed with the patina of playground memories. Benches groan under the weight of locals passing dishes of cold meats, Obatzda cheese, and sliced radish, while brassy strains of oompah music waft up from the Chinese Tower further south. These outdoor spaces offer a more charming environment to meet friends or visiting family for a “halbe” (half-pint of beer) than the kitschy restaurants near touristic centers.

Life here seems to have been built in accordance with nature rather than over it. Canopies of hundred-year-old Chestnut trees shade you as you drink in the biergartens, their shallow, widespread roots pulling double-duty as they cool the bier cellars below. Walking along the River Isar, I barely feel the city around me. Instead, I see the same sort of wild growth you might find in a forest, while clear water courses along strands of accessible river beaches. Locals, just off work, convene at the sunbaked riverbanks and stay until well after the sun sets. Every possible moment that can be spent outside is.

When we have time, my husband and I grab croissants from Alof and hop on one of Deutsche Bahn’s eco-friendly trains for excursions into the countryside. These railways extend to the most popular destinations such as the Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a gorgeous set of mountain slopes starring Zugspitze, Germany’s highest peak. There a convenient, if unnerving, funicular lifts visitors up to the top where they can admire the view and enjoy Bavarian snacks at the lodge.

For more remote getaways, we take a car. The most popular holiday routes in Germany are the Alpenstraße and the Romantische Straße. These stunning routes weave through all the different iterations of Bavaria’s landscapes with stops at medieval villages, glacier lakes, vineyards, and breath-taking castles. Würzburg is a popular stop for wine lovers, while history buffs gravitate towards medieval towns like Rothenburg ob der Tauber and Nördlingen. Though many people are drawn to the fairytale castle Neuschwanstein, the buzzing crowds make it more pleasant to look at from afar than to actually visit.

The most beautiful weekend trip we’ve taken was to the Berchtesgaden region, home to Kehlstein, a striking mountain with gorgeous panoramic views of the lakes and valleys below. After taking in the view from the top, we spent the night at a gasthof that was rather (humorously) heavy-handed when it came to all things Bavarian. Queue memories of a traditional breakfast served in a wood-paneled room beneath the gaze of countless crucifixes and taxidermy forest creatures. Still, the natural beauty of the region makes all sorts of kitsch tolerable. 

After breakfast, we drove to the village of Schönau and boarded a boat to the far side of its pristine lake, the Königssee. Perhaps the most beautiful boat ride I’ve ever taken, the water changes color and transparency according to the light, a liquid mood ring reflecting the sky’s shifting humor. While most passengers disembark at the charming St. Bartholomew's Church, we continued to the furthest end of the lake to pick up the hiking trail around Obersee, the lesser-travelled lake above Königssee. Much more quiet and just as beautiful, the hike around Obersee is exquisite. The wood-shingled chalet on the remote side of the lake offers pastoral brotzeit snacks, locally brewed beer, and mini-steins of raw milk from the dairy next door. Travellers interested in experiencing real mountain herding can volunteer for their open cattle drive. Sitting at heavy wooden benches, we gazed out over the lake listening to the tinny clunking of collar-bells as Alpine cows grazed the hillsides. In my opinion, this one weekend alone was on par with any other trip I’ve ever taken abroad.

These treks through the countryside exemplify Bavaria’s widespread protection of its natural beauty. Undulating hills and valleys tumble at the feet of mountain slopes, occasionally revealing a red-roofed village or turreted castle barely nudged by modernity. Guarding the south, the Alps’ snowy limestone peaks forever tug at the pearly clouds as the warm Italian air, föhn, pushes them across the azure firmament. Quite fittingly, the long-ruling Wittelsbach family chose a diamond pattern of sky blue and cloud white for Bavaria’s state flag, an overhead symbol that, once again, brings nature and culture into harmony. How could anyone pass up a vacation in their own backyard, when it is this beautiful?