Portrait of a park: the serene splendours of Frankfurt’s Palmengarten

This article is part of FT Globetrotter’s guide to Frankfurt

Frankfurt’s Palmengarten is that most precious of places, a sanctuary from city life close to the heart of it.

This pristine 20-hectare botanical garden — replete with a music venue, conference space, places to eat and its own mini railway — is sandwiched between two of Frankfurt’s most elegant districts, Westend and Diplomatenviertel. It is a short walk north from the centre of town and the Messe, an exhibition centre that hosted major trade fairs before the pandemic. Yet, sheltered by a sea of green from the hum of the traffic and the towers for which the city’s skyline is renowned, it seems a world away. 

The space is among the city’s top attractions and has its roots in the political tumult during the second half of the 19th century that triggered the rise of Prussia. A local aristocrat, the green-fingered Duke Adolph of Nassau, found himself in financial difficulties following Prussia’s annexation of Frankfurt in 1866. This presented an opportunity for local horticulturalist Heinrich Siesmayer — keen to fulfil his ambition of building a glasshouse akin to those springing up in cities such as London, Brussels and Berlin — to take the duke’s formidable collection of exotic plants and move them from his palace in nearby Wiesbaden to a public space a short journey along the Main river to Frankfurt.

Siesmayer’s ambition bore fruit, and the first of the Palmengarten’s conservatories, the Palmenhaus, opened in November 1869. The stunning grounds opened officially in the spring of 1871 as the Franco-Prussian War began to die down, with Siesmayer serving as the first director until 1886. 

Café Siesmayer, which backs on to the Palmengarten’s south-east side, close to the main entrance, takes his name. Pre-Covid, it was a breakfast haunt for financiers living in nearby smart apartments, among them the European Central Bank’s top officials. During lockdown, the café had the look of an Edward Hopper painting, its angular, modern features and the darkness behind its floor-to-ceiling windows in keeping with the bleak mood of the times. It’s now reopened, and people are flocking back for its exquisite treats. The large terrace at the back, which juts on to the park, is a great place for Kaffee und Kuchen on a sunny day.

Despite the link to nobility and affairs of state, the founding of the Palmengarten was funded by local residents, who clubbed together to buy the duke’s plant collection through purchasing shares worth a total of 60,000 gulden. The city made the land available. 

While Frankfurt has other green spaces, including the Grüneburgpark right next door to the Palmengarten, most were originally owned by members of the city’s banking dynasties, such as the Rothschilds and the Bethmanns. The unique “by the people for the people” ethos that lies at the Palmengarten’s foundations shines through to the current day, where it continues to play an important role in the city’s cultural life. There is an entry fee, but prices are reasonable — it’s €7 for an adult for a day pass and €50 for an annual ticket — considering it’s so well maintained. 

Although the Palmengarten’s doors are now open again after closing intermittently throughout much of 2020 and 2021, some events are still postponed, including this summer’s Rose and Light Festival, when the garden’s features are beautifully illuminated, drawing crowds of young and old from the city and its surroundings. The regular business conferences that I used to attend in the Gesellschaftshaus — literally “social building” — in the south of the park are yet to return. I dislike the Gesellschaftshaus’s façade, rebuilt in an Art Deco style in the late 1920s that fits badly with the buildings from earlier periods nearby, but there is an interesting story behind it. After the second world war, American forces stationed in the area used it as a social club for the troops. Eleanor Roosevelt visited in 1946. And by the time they gave it back to the locals in 1953, “The Palmengarten Club” had featured appearances from the likes of Bob Hope, Mickey Rooney and Chico Marx. 

Concerts, held in the outdoor Musikpavillon during the summer months, have returned. The industrial tape plastered over seats to keep guests separated serves as a reminder that we remain far from normal, but it’s welcome news for gig-goers. I have seen some impressive up and coming international acts playing. 

Friends with children recommend the Palmen-Express, a train that trundles round the gardens from April until October. There are playgrounds galore, mini golf and stalls selling ice cream and basic German fast food such as sausages and chips. When I cycled past on a sunny Sunday this summer, there were queues of families outside. But except for during festivals, the scale of the place means it never feels cramped once you make it past the line. 

The gardens themselves are best enjoyed in bursts. The site is large enough that it is a fool’s errand to try to cram it all in one big go. Like eating too much rich food or trying to tackle a massive art gallery in one sitting, it would overwhelm. From alpine plants and meadows of wildflowers, to the sweet air of the rose gardens and the boating lake, there’s enough to warrant multiple visits. 

There are six glasshouses now. My favourite is the Tropicarium. From the outside, the 1980s structure looks like a spacecraft-cum-greenhouse, and once you’re through the glass doors it is like you’ve stepped on to another planet. Walking through the maze-like structure, you’re transported from humid Amazonian scenes, full of plants with gigantic bright green leaves, to arid landscapes with cacti several metres high. It’s great to visit when you’re desperate to escape the cold, grey monotony of a central European winter. 

The grandeur of the Palmenhaus, reminiscent of the conservatories of Kew, is gorgeous. Its ambitiously high ceilings, steel girders and curved glass are emblematic of the civic-mindedness that influenced the design of so many European cities in the latter half of the 19th century — a time when green spaces such as this gave respite from the increasingly industrialised air. 

The Palmenhaus takes me back to its namesake in Sefton Park, in my home town of Liverpool. In decades past, that Palm House had always seemed so exotic, gathering plants from all over the planet, yet its structure so redolent of the very English Victorian era in which its roots lie.  

I have often thought about why, among all of the green spaces that Frankfurt has to offer, I have been most drawn to the Palmengarten during my almost eight years here. Perhaps that air of familiarity best explains it. During the height of the pandemic, cut off from family, the Palmengarten — when it was open — became something of a sanctuary. It was not home, but it felt damn close. 

Photography by Evelyn Dragan

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