Fairytale Castles & Alpine Lakes: Southern Bavaria's Magic

During our year-long stay in Munich, we found that one of the city’s greatest gifts was not just its own charm but its location; right in the heart of Southern Bavaria, a region where history, nature, and culture come together in perfect balance. With the Deutsche Bahn network reaching almost every corner of the state, it became easy to plan spontaneous weekend day trips to places that felt worlds apart from the city’s rhythm. A short train ride could take us from Munich’s bustling Marienplatz to snow-covered peaks, tranquil lakes, or towns steeped in medieval and baroque splendor.

Southern Bavaria unfolded as a landscape of endless variety; the Alps rising like a protective wall in the south, the emerald lakes scattered across gentle plains, and the historic towns that carried centuries of craftsmanship and faith in their architecture. Each destination had its own personality; from the mountain air of Garmisch-Partenkirchen to the lakeside serenity of Starnberg and Herrsching, from the royal fantasy of Neuschwanstein to the riverside elegance of Passau and Lindau.

These day trips became our window into Bavaria’s soul, journeys defined not by distance but by discovery. Trains became companions, their steady rhythm carrying us through meadows, forests, and valleys, always with the Alps somewhere on the horizon. Every return to Munich felt like coming home with a story; of places that were not far away, yet deeply unforgettable.

 

Garmisch-Partenkirchen and Mittenwald

We started early in the morning from Munich Hauptbahnhof, boarding a regional train bound for Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a journey that took us roughly two hours through some of the most beautiful alpine countryside in southern Bavaria. The train gradually left behind the suburbs and rolled into green meadows dotted with wooden chalets, cow pastures, and distant snow-capped peaks. By the time we reached Garmisch, the air had turned crisp and cool, carrying a hint of mountain freshness.

Stepping out of the station, we found ourselves in Garmisch Town, an alpine resort that perfectly captured traditional Bavarian character. The houses along the main street were decorated with Lüftlmalerei; intricate frescoes depicting religious scenes, rural life, and hunting motifs — a living art tradition unique to the region. The backdrop of the Zugspitze massif, Germany’s highest mountain, dominated every view. We walked through the cobbled lanes toward the cable car station at Alpspitzbahn, located a short bus ride from the centre.

The ascent began gently, rising above the treetops, and soon the valley unfolded beneath us. We changed at the middle station to reach Osterfelderkopf, perched high above at around 2,000 meters. From the viewing terrace, the panorama was overwhelming; steep ridges, deep valleys, and the dramatic outlines of the Wetterstein range. The Alpspitze, with its sharp pyramid-like peak, stood close enough to feel within reach. The clear alpine light made every detail of the mountain landscape vivid and sharp.

After descending, we took a short train ride further south to Mittenwald, a smaller and even more picturesque town nestled in a narrow valley at the foot of the Karwendel range. The Altstadt was compact, lined with pastel-colored houses and violin-maker workshops, a reminder of Mittenwald’s long-standing fame for string instruments since the 17th century. The air carried the faint smell of pine and resin from the nearby forests.

We strolled toward St. Peter und Paul Church, whose onion-domed tower and detailed frescoes immediately caught the eye. Inside, the baroque altar glowed in gold and marble, while the ceiling paintings illustrated scenes from the life of St. Peter. A pleasant walk led us to Lautersee, a small lake surrounded by dense forest and mountain slopes. The reflection of the Karwendel peaks on the still water created a tranquil alpine picture. On the way back, we stopped briefly at the Kneippanlage, a traditional open-air water basin where locals practiced hydrotherapy by wading barefoot through icy mountain water.

As the evening light softened, we returned to the Mittenwald station for the train back to Munich. The journey home passed quietly through the fading alpine landscape, the peaks turning pink and blue in the dusk. It had been a day filled with mountain air, wooden houses, and the timeless rhythm of Bavarian village life.

 

Neuschwanstein – The Fairytale Castle

We began our journey to Neuschwanstein Castle early in the morning, leaving Munich Hauptbahnhof on a regional train bound for Füssen. The ride required a change at Buchloe, where we switched to a smaller local train that carried us deep into the Allgäu countryside. The transition from the urban sprawl of Munich to rolling pastures and forested hills was gradual and calming.

Füssen is a quaint Bavarian town located near the Austrian border. From the station, it was only a short walk to the Altstadt. The Marktplatz, or town square, formed the heart of Füssen, lined with old merchant buildings and overlooked by the high white walls of the Hohes Schloss, the town’s castle.

From Füssen, we took a local bus to Hohenschwangau, a small settlement nestled between forested hills and lakes. Rising above the village stood Hohenschwangau Castle, painted a warm yellow and surrounded by dense greenery. This was where King Ludwig II spent much of his childhood, absorbing the romantic medieval legends that later inspired his own architectural fantasies. Below the castle stretched the Alpsee, a glacial lake with glass-clear waters.

From there, we began our ascent to Neuschwanstein Castle, Ludwig II’s most famous creation. The path wound steeply upward through fir and spruce trees, with occasional openings that offered glimpses of the towering white turrets above. Upon reaching the gatehouse, the castle loomed ahead like something from a dream; tall towers, arched windows, and intricately carved balconies clinging to a rugged limestone cliff. The grey rock below and the alpine meadows beyond made the structure look both majestic and solitary.

Inside, the self-guided tour revealed the immense detail and symbolism of Ludwig’s vision. The Hall of the Singers was vast and richly decorated with murals depicting Germanic legends and medieval knights. Its high vaulted ceiling and carved wooden panels gave it a solemn, almost theatrical grandeur. The Throne Hall, inspired by Byzantine architecture, was even more impressive; columns of deep blue and gold, a mosaic floor representing the earth and celestial spheres, and chandeliers shaped like crowns suspended from the domed ceiling. Interestingly, there was no throne, as Ludwig died before the hall was completed. Each room seemed to merge architecture, mythology, and fantasy into a world entirely of the king’s imagination.

After leaving the castle, we continued along a forest trail to Marienbrücke, a slender iron bridge that spanned the Pöllat Gorge. From this vantage point, Neuschwanstein revealed its most iconic view; the castle rising dramatically against the alpine backdrop, framed by cliffs and waterfalls cascading far below. The wind at the bridge was strong, and the height dizzying, but the perspective was unforgettable. We could see the entire valley stretching towards Füssen, dotted with lakes and meadows fading into the distance.

As afternoon shadows lengthened, we made our way down to Hohenschwangau and continued walking to Füssen. The evening train back to Munich was quiet. It had been a day of history, imagination, and pure Bavarian splendour; the fairytale made real on a mountain ridge.

 

Berchtesgaden National Park

We set out from Munich Hauptbahnhof early morning, taking the regional train towards Berchtesgaden, tucked deep in the southeastern corner of Bavaria near the Austrian border. The journey required a change at Freilassing, after which the train wound its way through increasingly dramatic mountain scenery. Meadows gave way to forests, and each curve of the track revealed higher peaks capped with snow.

The town of Berchtesgaden sat quietly in a deep basin surrounded by towering ridges. Its centre, with narrow cobbled lanes and frescoed houses, had an old-world charm. We began our exploration at Schloss Berchtesgaden, a sprawling complex that had evolved from a 12th-century Augustinian monastery into a residence for Bavarian dukes and kings. The building’s pale façades and arched courtyards overlooked the market square, with the onion-domed parish church beside it.

A short walk uphill brought us to the Old Cemetery, shaded by tall lime trees and bordered by wrought-iron crosses. Each grave was carefully tended with alpine flowers, and small lanterns flickered beside them. From the cemetery wall, the view opened up to the Watzmann, Bavaria’s second-highest mountain, whose sharp triple peaks dominated the skyline; a constant reminder of nature’s grandeur surrounding this quiet valley town.

From the center, a local bus took us to Schönau am Königssee, the gateway to Berchtesgaden National Park. As we approached, the peaks seemed to rise straight out of the water. The Königssee, meaning “King’s Lake,” was long and narrow, enclosed by steep cliffs that dropped almost vertically into its emerald waters. At the boat dock, we boarded one of the electric boats that silently glided across the lake, the only type of vessel allowed here to preserve the pristine environment.

Our first stop was the Malerwinkel overlook, accessible by a short trail along the lake’s edge. The path wound through dense pine and beech woods before opening up to a stunning viewpoint. From there, the lake stretched into the distance, enclosed by massive cliffs and glimmering under the midday sun; an image that had inspired painters for centuries, hence its name, the “Painter’s Corner.”

We reboarded the boat and continued to the most famous landmark on the lake, the Church of St. Bartholomew. The small pilgrimage church, with its red onion domes and whitewashed walls, stood on a narrow peninsula backed by the sheer east wall of the Watzmann. The scene was almost surreal; the reflection of the church and mountains in the calm water looked like a painting brought to life. Behind the church, a trail led to the Eiskapelle, an ice cave formed by a glacier-fed stream.

As the afternoon wore on, we returned to Schönau and spent some quiet time at the lakeshore, watching the sunlight fade over the still surface of Königssee. The return journey to Munich was long but restful, passing once more through rolling foothills and silent mountain valleys.

 

Herrenchiemsee

We left Munich on a clear morning, boarding a regional train bound for Prien am Chiemsee, about an hour southeast of the city. The train sped past green farmlands and small Bavarian villages, their church spires piercing the horizon. As we neared Prien, glimpses of Chiemsee, Bavaria’s largest lake, began to appear; a broad expanse of water ringed by distant alpine peaks.

From Prien station, a short walk led us to the harbour where boats departed regularly for the lake’s islands. We boarded one of the white passenger ferries that plied between Prien, Herreninsel, and Fraueninsel. The cool breeze off the lake carried the scent of water and pine. As the boat moved away from the shore, the Chiemsee opened wide around us, dotted with sails and bordered by reed-lined coves. The faint outline of the Kampenwand Mountains framed the southern horizon, their rugged shapes mirrored on the calm water.

After about fifteen minutes, the ferry reached Herreninsel, the largest island in the lake. Disembarking at the pier, we followed the shaded avenue that led through dense beech woods toward the palace grounds. Near the jetty, carriages waited to take visitors along the long gravel road to the castle, and we opted for the horse-drawn ride. The rhythmic sound of hooves and the jingle of harness bells set a gentle pace as we rolled through leafy paths until the trees opened to reveal the immense façade of Herrenchiemsee New Palace.

The New Palace, built by King Ludwig II of Bavaria in the late 19th century, was inspired directly by the Palace of Versailles. Standing before it, the resemblance was unmistakable; an immense Baroque structure with sculpted balustrades, fountains, and ornamental gardens arranged in perfect symmetry. We joined a guided tour through a series of grand halls that glowed with gilded ornamentation, mirrors, and crystal chandeliers. The Hall of Mirrors stretched endlessly, lined with seventeen arches of glass reflecting one another in a seemingly infinite play of light. It was slightly shorter than its French counterpart but even more lavish.

Other rooms revealed the king’s extravagant yet reclusive character: his State Bedroom, never slept in, decorated in crimson and gold; his Blue Salon, filled with porcelain and velvet furnishings; and his Dining Room, with a mechanical table designed to rise through the floor from the kitchen below so the king could dine unseen by servants. The Ludwig II Museum, located in one wing, displayed his personal possessions; ornate furniture, silverware, portraits, and models of his other castles, including Neuschwanstein and Linderhof. Together, they told the story of a visionary ruler whose imagination outgrew his world.

After touring the palace, we stepped into the formal gardens. The fountains and sculptures reflected the same sense of royal extravagance, especially the Latona Fountain and the long water axis that stretched toward the forest. Beyond the manicured lawns lay quieter trails through the park, where birdsong and the rustle of leaves replaced the grandeur of marble and gold.

Walking back through the trees, we reached the Old Palace, once an Augustinian Monastery. Its plain white cloisters contrasted starkly with the New Palace’s extravagance. Inside, vaulted corridors led to rooms displaying religious art and historical exhibits about the monastery’s past. The monastery church, with its tall gothic windows and simple stone altar, retained a peaceful solemnity.

We spent our remaining time wandering through the Palace Park, watching sunlight filter through the trees, before walking back to the pier for the return boat to Prien. The lake was calm now, its surface glowing orange in the late afternoon light. From the deck, we looked back to see Herrenchiemsee’s distant silhouette fading into the trees.

 

Starnberg

We set out from Munich on a bright morning, taking the S-Bahn Line S6 from the Hauptbahnhof toward Starnberg, a town located only about 25 kilometres southwest of the city. The journey was short, barely 40 minutes, but the transformation in landscape was remarkable. As the train approached Starnberg, the view suddenly opened to reveal the wide expanse of Lake Starnberg, stretching calm and silver beneath the horizon.

Stepping off at Starnberg See Station, we found the lake right beside the platform. The waterfront promenade was peaceful, lined with benches, boathouses, and flowering trees. On clear days, the snowy outline of the Alps was visible across the southern horizon, but even under a soft haze, the lake’s scale was impressive.

We began our day with a boat tour across Lake Starnberg, boarding one of the white passenger ferries that circled its major stops. Along the shoreline stood elegant villas, old boathouses, and small private jetties. Our first stop was Possenhofen, a small lakeside village known for its connection to Empress Elisabeth of Austria, who spent her youth at Possenhofen Castle. From the boat, we could see the castle’s pale towers peeking through dense trees along the shore. The lake here was narrower, and the opposite bank appeared close enough to touch.

Continuing further, we sailed past Tutzing, a larger town surrounded by wooded hills and gardens, where the ferry paused briefly before heading south. The lake widened again as we approached Seeshaupt, the southernmost point, where the Alps loomed faintly in the distance. The journey took us across nearly the entire lake, about 20 kilometers, offering a serene, uninterrupted view of Bavarian countryside and water merging into sky.

Returning to Starnberg by the afternoon, we spent time exploring the upper part of town. A short walk led us to Starnberg Castle (Schloss Starnberg), perched on a hill overlooking the water. The original castle dated back to the Middle Ages, though it was later transformed into a more residential estate by the Bavarian dukes. Its white walls and simple architecture contrasted beautifully with the green of the surrounding park.

As evening approached, we boarded the S-Bahn back to Munich. The train traced the same route through green meadows, the view from the windows fading into twilight.

 

Herrsching

We began the day with a short suburban journey, taking the S-Bahn Line S8 from Munich Hauptbahnhof to Herrsching, a small lakeside town at the western end of the line. The entire trip took about fifty minutes, and as the train slowed into Herrsching station, we could already see signs pointing toward Ammersee, one of the largest and most scenic lakes in southern Bavaria.

A short walk led us from the station to the lakefront promenade, where the landscape opened suddenly and dramatically. The Ammersee stretched out before us in vast, gleaming blue, its far shore barely visible through a soft haze. The promenade ran along the edge of the lake, lined with wooden piers, sailboats, and shady trees.

We started with a walk along the Herrsching lakeside promenade, one of the most pleasant in all of Bavaria. The path curved gently along the shore, passing small boathouses and jetties. Here and there, benches overlooked the lake, inviting visitors to pause and take in the view of sailboats gliding across the horizon. On clear days, the snow-covered Alps could be seen faintly to the south.

Our next stop was Scheuermann Castle (Schloss Scheuermann), located close to the lake. Built in the late 19th century, the castle stood modest in scale but rich in character; a neo-Gothic residence of red brick and pointed towers, partly hidden behind tall trees. Once a private villa, it now served cultural purposes for the community.

In the afternoon, we decided to explore the opposite side of the lake and took a boat across the Ammersee. The ferry glided smoothly over the still water, passing quiet coves and stretches of reed-lined shore. The boat made its way toward Dießen am Ammersee, a town known for its historic monastery church.

A short walk from the pier led us uphill through narrow streets to the Marienmünster (Dießen Marienmünster), a baroque church that dominated the skyline. Its white façade and twin towers gleamed in the sunlight. Inside, the ceilings were covered in frescoes depicting scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by intricate stucco work and gilded moldings.

After visiting the church, we walked back down to the lakeshore. The ferry ride back to Herrsching was slower, almost meditative. Along the way, we passed small sailing schools, wooden docks, and quiet forested stretches where the water met the trees without a ripple. We lingered a while longer in Herrsching, before taking the S-Bahn back to Munich.

 

Passau – The City of Three Rivers

We set out early from Munich Hauptbahnhof on a regional train heading east toward Passau, the city where three rivers – the Danube, the Inn, and the Ilz – come together. The journey itself was scenic, lasting a little over two hours. The train passed through the rolling landscapes of Lower Bavaria. As we approached Passau, the terrain grew more dramatic; the train ran parallel to the Danube, which wound gracefully between forested hills.

Stepping out of Passau Hauptbahnhof, we immediately sensed a different rhythm. The city felt older, quieter, and more compact than Munich. From the station, we followed signs leading toward the Altstadt, the old town, which lay at the confluence of the rivers. The route passed narrow streets lined with pastel-colored façades, wrought-iron balconies, and ornate signs that revealed traces of Passau’s Baroque heritage.

Our first stop was the Three Rivers Confluence (Dreiflüsseeck), the very point where the Danube, Inn, and Ilz meet. Walking along the Danube promenade, we reached the narrow tip of the old town, where the stone walkway opened to a panoramic view. The merging of the rivers was surprisingly visible; the greenish-blue of the Inn, the dark tone of the Ilz, and the brownish hue of the Danube flowed side by side before blending downstream.

From there, we climbed the steep path leading up to the Veste Oberhaus, the fortress that towered above the city on the opposite bank of the Danube. The walk was steep but rewarding, with stone steps winding through forested slopes and occasional viewpoints overlooking the rooftops below. The Fortress Veste Oberhaus, founded in the 13th century, stood massive and intact; a stronghold of white and ochre walls, fortified towers, and arched gateways.

Inside, a museum detailed the history of Passau, its bishops, and the long rivalry with Bavarian dukes. From the observation terrace, the view was unforgettable: the entire old town lay below like a map; a narrow peninsula flanked by shining rivers, the spire of St. Stephan’s Cathedral rising in the center, and beyond it, the gentle curve of the Danube disappearing into the east. It was easy to understand why Passau was often called the “Venice of Bavaria.”

Descending back into the old town, we walked toward the Old Town Hall (Altes Rathaus) on Rathausplatz. Its façade, painted in soft yellow and decorated with a clock tower, reflected the grandeur of Passau’s trading past. The square around it, Residence Square (Residenzplatz), was surrounded by elegant baroque buildings with arcaded walkways. A stone fountain stood in the center, and the gentle sound of water echoed off the walls.

Not far from there rose the majestic St. Stephan’s Cathedral (Dom St. Stephan), Passau’s architectural centerpiece. The cathedral’s twin white towers dominated the skyline. Inside, the vast baroque interior overwhelmed us with light and ornamentation; frescoed ceilings, gilded altars, marble columns, and cherub-filled stucco. But what truly set it apart was its organ, one of the largest in the world, with more than 17,000 pipes.

We continued wandering through the cobbled lanes of the Old Town, each corner revealing something unexpected; hidden courtyards, painted facades, or small archways leading to the riverbanks. We stopped briefly at the Schiabling Tower, a round medieval tower that once formed part of the city’s fortifications. From there, we walked along the Inn promenade, where the pastel colors of the houses reflected on the river’s surface in the afternoon light.

As the day drew to a close, we crossed one of the bridges over the Inn and turned for a final look back at Passau. The view was striking; the peninsula of the old town surrounded by shimmering water, the cathedral glowing softly in the setting sun, and the fortress watching protectively from its hilltop. We returned to Munich by the evening train. Passau had been a perfect day trip; compact enough to explore on foot, rich in history, and framed by the beauty of the rivers that defined its existence.

 

Lindau – The Jewel of Lake Constance

We took an early morning train from Munich Hauptbahnhof bound for Lindau, the Bavarian island town on the shores of Lake Constance (Bodensee). The journey, lasting a little over two hours, ran southwest through rolling meadows and gentle hills, dotted with traditional Bavarian villages. As the train approached its destination, the scenery changed dramatically; the vast expanse of the Bodensee appeared on the horizon, stretching endlessly toward Switzerland and Austria. The train finally crossed a narrow causeway and arrived at Lindau-Insel station, located right on the island’s edge.

Stepping out, we were greeted by cobbled streets, historic facades, and the glimmer of blue water visible between the buildings. The entire old town of Lindau sat on a small island connected to the mainland by a bridge, giving it an intimate, self-contained charm. We began our exploration at the Harbor (Hafen); the heart of Lindau and its most photographed spot. The harbor opened like a stage before us, framed by the Bavarian Lion statue on one side and the Lighthouse (Neuer Leuchtturm) on the other, both standing guard at the entrance to the port.

The Bavarian Lion, a massive stone sculpture over six meters high, faced the lake proudly, its gaze fixed on the distant Alps. Opposite it rose the Lighthouse, built in the mid-19th century, its white cylindrical tower topped with a red roof and viewing balcony. We climbed the spiral staircase to the top; a slightly strenuous ascent rewarded with one of the most spectacular views in Bavaria. From above, the Bodensee spread out in shimmering shades of blue and silver, the Austrian and Swiss shores faintly visible across the water, and the Alps formed a grand backdrop.

Descending again, we wandered along the waterfront promenade. Colourful boats lined the quay, and old buildings with frescoed facades framed the harbour’s edge. The promenade curved gently around the island, leading us into the narrow lanes of the Altstadt (Old Town). We soon reached the Old Town Hall (Altes Rathaus), one of Lindau’s finest architectural landmarks. Built in the late Gothic style, its stepped gable façade was covered in colorful frescoes depicting scenes from the city’s history, trade, and maritime heritage.

Just beside it stood the newer Town Hall, a baroque structure contrasting beautifully with the older Gothic one. From there, we walked to the Münster Unserer Lieben Frau, the town’s main church. Its white baroque towers rose gracefully above the rooftops. Inside, the calm and bright interior was adorned with delicate stucco and pastel frescoes. A short walk away stood the St. Stephan’s Church, older and simpler, offering a glimpse into the earlier Gothic period. Together, the two churches reflected the town’s deep-rooted spiritual and artistic heritage.

Continuing through the narrow alleys, we reached the Mangturm, the medieval watchtower that once guarded Lindau’s old harbor entrance. Its pointed roof and ivy-covered stone walls made it look almost like something from a storybook. A little further stood the Diebsturm, the “Thieves’ Tower,” another remnant of Lindau’s medieval fortifications. With its octagonal structure and turrets, it looked both imposing and oddly picturesque, recalling the town’s fortified past. We followed the lakeside paths around the edge of the island, where gardens and benches overlooked the water.

As the train carried us back toward Munich, the lights of the lakeside towns flickered briefly outside the window before vanishing into darkness. The day in Lindau had been unforgettable; a meeting point of cultures, borders, and landscapes, where Bavarian craftsmanship met the vast serenity of Lake Constance.