I visited Munich last month, and there was one place that made it onto my itinerary long before I booked my train tickets or figured out where I was going to eat. That place was Asamkirche. One could even say that this church was 80% of the reason why I visited Munich.
If you've spent even a little time scrolling through travel reels, chances are you've seen it too. My Instagram feed seemed to have collectively decided that I needed to visit this church because it just kept showing up. Every other reel was someone opening a tiny wooden door to reveal what looked like the most ridiculously beautiful church I'd ever seen. Now, social media has a habit of overselling places. We've all been there. You travel hours to see something that looked magical online, only to find yourself standing there thinking, "...that's it?"
European churches, however, have developed a personal habit of proving me wrong.Every single one I've visited has somehow managed to be even more breathtaking in person than in the photos, and Asamkirche continued that winning streak. The funny thing is that if you didn't already know it existed, you'd probably walk right past it without giving it a second glance.
Unlike the grand cathedrals that dominate city skylines, Asamkirche hides in plain sight. It's squeezed between ordinary townhouses on a narrow street, and from the outside it barely looks like a church at all. There's no towering façade catching your attention, no massive square announcing its presence. It almost feels like it's keeping a secret.
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And honestly...it is. The moment I pushed open the door, it genuinely felt like stepping into another world.
Outside, you're surrounded by busy Munich streets.
Inside? Pure theatrical magic.
I actually paused for a few seconds because my brain needed time to process what I was looking at. Every surface seemed alive with carvings, sculptures, gold detailing, paintings, and dramatic lighting. My eyes didn't know where to look first. It was one of those places where you instinctively tilt your head upward and just stand there in complete silence.
For such a tiny church, it somehow feels impossibly grand. That is probably what impressed me the most.
Asamkirche isn't huge. In fact, it's surprisingly small compared to many famous European churches. Yet somehow, the space feels enormous because every single inch has been designed to create drama.
The church was built between 1733 and 1746 by two incredibly talented brothers, a sculptor and architect. What makes the church even more fascinating is that it wasn't originally built as a public church at all.
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It was their private church. Imagine having the artistic confidence to build your own church (and the money hehe)
Even more interesting, the brothers didn't have a wealthy patron funding the project. Since they were paying for it themselves, they weren't restricted by the usual artistic rules or expectations that often came with church commissions during that period. They had far more creative freedom than most artists of their time, and they clearly took full advantage of it.
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Initially, the church wasn't open to the public. The people of Munich, however, were understandably curious. Word spread about this extraordinary little church hidden within the city, and eventually public demand became so strong that the brothers opened it to everyone.
Architecturally, Asamkirche is considered one of the finest examples of Bavarian Baroque design, and after visiting, it's easy to understand why.
The exterior is surprisingly understated. The façade curves gently and blends almost seamlessly with the neighbouring buildings, making the church feel like a natural extension of the street rather than a standalone monument. It's elegant without trying to steal attention.
The interior, on the other hand, has absolutely no interest in being subtle. Everything about it is dramatic. One of the most fascinating aspects of the design is how the church tells a story through light.
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The ground floor is intentionally dark, filled with heavy shadows and deep colours. It almost feels grounded, earthly, and solemn. As your eyes move upward, the atmosphere gradually changes.
The middle section is filled with softer blue and white tones that create a lighter, calmer feeling. Then, right at the top, everything opens into brilliant light streaming through a small oval window above. The upper section almost glows, giving the illusion that heaven itself is opening above the altar.
The twisting Solomonic columns surrounding the altar immediately caught my attention too. Inspired by the work of the famous Baroque sculptor Bernini, these spiral columns create a sense of movement, almost as though the entire church is flowing upward toward the light.
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Everywhere I looked there were angels frozen mid-flight, intricate carvings, elaborate stucco work, painted ceilings disappearing into heavenly scenes, and layer upon layer of golden ornamentation. It somehow manages to be extravagant without feeling chaotic.
The more I looked around, the more tiny details I noticed hiding in corners. That's the danger of places like this. You think you'll spend ten minutes inside. An hour later you're still standing there staring at the ceiling.
After leaving Asamkirche, I made my way to Marienplatz, Munich's bustling central square and probably the city's most famous meeting point. Compared to the peaceful atmosphere inside the church, Marienplatz felt alive with energy. Street musicians were performing, tourists were looking in every direction at once, cafés were buzzing, and people seemed to be constantly flowing through the square.
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I had timed my visit carefully because I wanted to catch the famous Glockenspiel show at 11 a.m. If you've never heard of it, the Glockenspiel is built into the tower of Munich's New Town Hall, and every day crowds gather below to watch the mechanical figures come to life. A few minutes before eleven, people slowly started claiming the best viewing spots. It was actually fun watching everyone collectively stare upwards in anticipation. Right on time, the bells rang and the show began.
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Small life-sized figures emerged from the tower and started moving through scenes inspired by Munich's history. One level depicts the wedding celebration of Duke Wilhelm V complete with a traditional jousting tournament, while the lower level features the Schäfflertanz, or the Coopers' Dance, which commemorates the coopers who are said to have danced through the streets after a devastating plague to encourage people to come outside again.
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It's amazing to think that all of this happens mechanically, powered by a clock mechanism that has been entertaining visitors for well over a century.
The performance lasts around 12 to 15 minutes, but somehow it manages to hold the attention of hundreds of people standing in the square. Every time one set of figures stopped moving, another began, and everyone around me instinctively followed the action with their eyes.
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Once the show ended, the crowd slowly dispersed, and I spent some time simply soaking in the atmosphere of Marienplatz. The square is surrounded by beautiful historic buildings, colourful façades, and plenty of little details that reward anyone willing to slow down and look around.
It's the kind of place where you can sit on a bench for a while, people-watch, grab a snack, and enjoy the rhythm of the city without feeling like you have to rush to the next attraction.
Munich gave me two completely different experiences within the span of a few hours.
One was quiet, hidden, and unbelievably artistic. A tiny church tucked away between ordinary buildings that completely stole the show.
The other was lively, historic, and full of energy, with hundreds of people gathered beneath one of Germany's most famous clocks.
