Olympiapark

Listen for a moment. Wind moves across open grass, a jogger's footsteps fade along the path, and somewhere ahead water laps against a concrete edge. Above you, a vast net of steel cable and clear panels stretches between tall masts, like a tent pitched for giants. The light that falls through it is soft and slightly broken into squares. This is Munich's Olympiapark, and almost everything you can see here was shaped for one summer in 1972.

Before the Games, this ground had a very different life. The area was called Oberwiesenfeld. For a long time it served the military as a parade and exercise ground. Later it became one of Munich's early airfields. It was flat, open, and practical — nobody would have called it beautiful. When Munich won the right to host the Summer Olympics, the city chose this empty plain as a blank page.

That blank page carried a heavy question. Germany had last hosted the Olympics in Berlin in 1936, under the Nazi regime. Those Games used massive stone, marching columns, and grand symbols of power. Munich's planners wanted the exact opposite. They spoke of the "cheerful Games" — open, light, democratic, and green. Every design choice you see around you answers that earlier history. The park is low where Berlin was high, and transparent where Berlin was solid.

Look up again at the roof. It was designed by the architecture firm of Günter Behnisch, working with the engineer and architect Frei Otto, who was known for lightweight tent structures. The roof hangs from masts and cables rather than resting on heavy walls. Its panels are acrylic glass, so daylight reaches the seats and the field below. In the early 1970s, the engineering was so new that much of it had to be calculated almost from scratch.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. The roof does not cover just one building. It flows over the stadium, the sports hall, and the swimming hall, and it shelters walkways in between. Seen from above, it looks like a single transparent landscape draped across the park. The stadium itself is partly sunk into the ground. That is why it feels gentle from outside — much of its bulk sits below your eye level.

Now turn toward the green hill. It looks natural, with paths, trees, and grass slopes. In fact, the Olympiaberg is built largely from rubble — the ruins of Munich buildings destroyed by bombing in the Second World War. After the war, the debris was carried here and piled up. So when you climb it, you are walking on the broken stone of the old city. A place of destruction became a place for picnics and sunsets.

The lake below the hill is also man-made. It is fed by water from a canal connected to the Nymphenburg canal system, which runs toward the palace in the west of the city. The landscape architect Günther Grzimek shaped the hills, the water, and the paths so that the buildings would sit inside a park, not in front of one. On the far shore, an open-air stage with tiered seating faces the water and hosts summer concerts.

And then there is the colour. The designer Otl Aicher created the visual identity of the 1972 Games. He chose light blues, greens, silver, and soft oranges, and he deliberately avoided strong red and black, colours linked to the Nazi era. His team also drew the simple stick-figure sports pictograms. That pictogram style spread across the world, and you can still trace its influence in airport and station signs today. Watch for those calm colours as you walk.

The cheerful Games did not stay cheerful. On September 5, 1972, members of the Palestinian militant group Black September broke into the Olympic Village, just north of here. They took members of the Israeli team hostage. Eleven Israeli athletes and coaches were killed, along with a West German police officer. The Games paused for a memorial service and then continued. For many people, that decision is still painful and debated.

The park carries this memory openly. A memorial site stands near the paths between the stadium and the former village, with information about each of the victims. Many visitors pass it without stopping. If you have a few minutes, it is worth slowing down there. It changes how the whole park feels — the open, hopeful architecture around you sits beside one of the darkest days in Olympic history.

After 1972, the park kept working. The stadium hosted the 1974 World Cup final, when West Germany beat the Netherlands. For decades it was also the home ground of FC Bayern Munich, until the club moved to a new arena in the mid-2000s. Today the halls host concerts, ice shows, and sporting events. The swimming hall is open to the public, so people still swim in an Olympic pool.

The tall concrete tower is the Olympiaturm, the Olympic Tower. It rises about 290 metres, and an observation level near the top looks out across the city. On clear days, especially with a warm wind from the south, people often see the Alps on the horizon. Just across the road to the east, you will notice the swirling glass of BMW Welt and the round tower of the BMW headquarters and museum.

So take one more look around you. The masts lean, the cables curve, and the clear roof catches the sky. Joggers, families, and students cross the grass as if this were simply a city park — and in a way, it is. As you walk away, notice how little of it tries to impress you. That quiet openness was the whole idea, and more than fifty years later, it still holds.