King Ludwig II (1845-1886), absolute ruler of Bavaria, had his little ways.

To take one example, his personal motto translates as, "I am superior to everybody." To take another, he actually liked Wagner. A third? He was a bit what you might call "odd." Or "barking mad."

Despite these foibles, however, the people at the Deutsche Zentrale fur Tourismus -- not to mention every cuckoo-clock carver, decorated beer-mug maker, brewer, hotelier, wood-carver and tour guide from Munich to Salzburg -- have considerable cause to thank him.

Ludwig II left behind two of the greatest tourist attractions in southern Germany: the fairy-tale castle of Neuschwanstein and the baroque extravaganza of Linderhof Palace that stands nearby.

If "Mad Lud" (and his psychiatrist) hadn't drowned mysteriously in a meter of water in Lake Starnberg, he would have left a third, even grander structure; a castle that might have shamed even Neuschwanstein in terms of turrets and grottoes and golden ornaments.

A castle that would have afforded Bavarians an even greater tourist asset, if their ancestors had been farsighted enough to see the future importance of grotesque real-estate development. But drown Ludwig II did; the day after being arrested by his subjects on the grounds that he was suffering from four different forms of mental illness.

Ludwig II was an excellent swimmer. The local politicians were, it is rumored, fed up with paying for eccentric castle construction. The drowning was probably murder.

So we're stuck with just the two architectural extravaganzas.

The one Ludwig really liked was Linderhof. He visited the Grand Trianon of Versailles, was impressed by what he saw and decided to reproduce it on a much smaller piece of real estate in a valley gouged out from between beetling Bavarian alpine peaks.

Modern conveniences such as bus tours, replete with jolly, joke-telling tour guides make it an easy one-hour venture from Munich. Or a day trip if you want to take in more of the alpine sights or are visiting from Austria.

Back in the days of the horse and cart, the trip must have been considerably more arduous. Particularly if you were a builder laden down with Ludwig's masonry and his bits and bobs.

And Ludwig added quite a few bits and bobs to decorate the vast quantity of masonry. There are several tons of gold leaf, more mirrors than a carnival maze, and the dining table sinks through the floor and descends unto the kitchens to be piled high with victuals before heading upward and kingward again.

If you have hyperactive children, keep them in chains. Every room is full of priceless, gaudy (some might say hideous), glittering things that might fall over, given the slightest of nudges. How Ludwig managed to negotiate his way through them all is a mystery.

There's a distinctly Disneyland feel to Linderhof. Part of this is the fantasy of the palace, the grottoes, the waterfalls and the towers. Mostly, though, it's the queues. Crowd-control techniques have been applied. These will be familiar to anyone who has managed to finish the complete works of Proust while shuffling toward the Peter Pan ride in Tokyo Disneyland. At least the views offer some consolation.

The Bavarian Alps are spectacular. More than 30 percent of Bavaria is covered in forest, and it is real forest, proper German forest -- brooding, dark, Teutonic, home to wild boar and eagles and deer. In between the trees are picturesque alpine meadows and tiny, unspoiled medieval villages with flowers in window boxes and cobbled squares.

There are no wolves here anymore. Neither are there bears. It is, however, not inconceivable that these ancient residents might reappear. Wolves are already infiltrating the eastern forests of Germany from Poland. If they make it as far as Bavaria, they'll fit right in.

There is a wild, empty feel to the Bavarian Alps. American tourists see them and say things like: "I thought Europe was overcrowded. Where is everyone?"

The answer to this is, of course, "Queuing to get into Neuschwanstein." Neuschwanstein is the Ludwig building that most people know; the one with all the turrets and the dizzying views over the gorge of Poellat and Lake Forggen.

Rather oddly, Ludwig built this whole unlikely edifice in order to impress Wagner. There is even a stage on which three-day-long operas were intended to be staged, and opera buffs will recognize paintings and sculptures depicting scenes from "Tristan and Isolde," "Tannhauser" and "Die Meistersinger von Nurnburg."

Even more oddly, Wagner never bothered to visit. Perhaps he was too busy finishing off the "Ring Cycle." In any event, the Singers Hall, with its fabulous paintings of heroes and magic forests, its minstrels' galleries and chandeliers, was never once used while Ludwig was alive. It broke Ludwig's heart.

As with Linderhof, so with Neuschwanstein; the interminable wait to get in is worth it.

Although most of the castle's interior is unfinished, there is enough to bemuse the visitor. And more stairs to climb and descend than seems sensible. Those rooms that have been completed are an opulent, highly romantic mix of Byzantine, Gothic and Romanesque designs, and there is a sense of great space, unlike the cluttered Linderhof.

Again, the views of the surrounding Alps, particularly the Thannheim mountain range, are breathtaking. Mount Sauling to the rear of the castle rises to over 3,000 meters.

Behind the castle, spanning the Poellat Gorge, is the Marienbrucke (Queen Mary's bridge). This is no place for sufferers of vertigo, but if you can steel yourself to make the crossing, it leads to a path that ascends the mountains to a former hunting lodge. Like the castles, this, too, is very fairy-tale.