Germany rocks ... unless you like mustard!

Kirmes … Germans, Glam Rock, Beer &Brats (without Mustard)!

Long blog today, but it’s the second last one … so deal with it!

I’m a bit late with this blog; however, I just flew in from Frankfurt yesterday and was a bit tired from a really fun weekend. Several months ago my friend Anja (see Greece, Austria & World Cup post), told me about Kirmes; a festival in her home town which is comprised of five days of music, fun, beer and food in a big tent. Every week during the summer a different town hosts the party and invites the people from the neighboring villages. It is run exclusively by the youth of the towns, and they get to keep all the profits (which I understand are in 10’s of thousands of Euros. Basically, every Thursday through Tuesday evening there is a place for the people to go and socialize. I think it’s a cool idea.

The concept of inviting people from neighboring villages is a bit alien to the U.S so let me paint a quick picture. Anja’s home town is about 75 miles north of Frankfurt in the countryside. The rolling hills are speckled by beautiful forests and fields, and along the way you pass through lots of small villages that look exactly like they did hundred’s of years ago. I am intrigued by the number of windmills we have passed, big ones small ones (they're everywhere). I find myself wondering how many of these things it takes to provide power for a village or a house … who knows? But I digress, back to the German countryside … most families have lived in the same village for generations, which makes for a strong individual identity for each town. Even today when Anja tells stories of growing up there, you hear terms like “two villages over,” which again I think is really cool.

Anja had booked me a room in her family’s Inn; I wanted to pay but she wouldn’t hear of it. I knew that her family owned a guesthouse, but I didn’t realize that in Rainrod (her town) they own the guesthouse plus the bar, the restaurant, the copy center, the conference/event center and the catering facility, the bowling alley and yes, even the rifle shooting range … suddenly the roots of Anja’s over-achieving work-ethic became obvious. In comparison, I am simply a lazy man! :-) I remember the vision in my head had been that of a small country village with Mom and Dad (wearing lederhosen) cooking a schnitzel or two for the occasional weary traveler. Wrong! Try a 300+ catering facility with a highly sophisticated menu and a full staff keeping this well oiled maching running. I remember this seemed a bit odd, catering for 300 in a town of 500 people, but sure enough there it was. :-)

Anja is a good friend but not my girlfriend, yet I was still a little nervous to meet her parents. I guess I wanted to make a good impression of myself and of course of America. Normally charming parents is a specialty of mine, I don’t know if it’s because I smile a lot or because I am not a very intimidating person. However, this meeting was going to take on a new dimension because neither of them (or their staff) spoke English, and I have never studied German. I learned how to say please and thanks (which I did a lot this weekend), but other than that … useless! I was concerned for no reason, her parents were gracious hosts always made me feel as comfortable as possible. They fed me (frequently), kept me supplied with Alsfelder (the local beer) and made sure I left with a positive impression (I also left with a bottle of house brandy and three bottles of Alsfeld beer, and a beer glass from the guesthouse). Plus they were sold out every night I was there, so my room was lost revenue for them. Somehow, saying thank you doesn’t cut it, I need think about a more tangible way to express my gratitude.

Then came Friday night! I had a great German dinner, and then at 10:30 it was time to hit Kirmes. Friday night was disco night and when I walked into the giant tent I was instantly impressed. For a town of 500 people they had a couple of thousand in attendance. The DJs were a professional looking army of about 10 people furiously controlling the lights, smoke, video and tunes. When you entered you had to buy poker-chips for beer. I bought a stack of ten (I would need more before the night was through).

I had decided to do my best not to just stick to Anja like glue, so when she would introduce me to an English speaker I would chat with them for as long as I could and allow her to go chat with old friends. I know it was difficult for some of these people to speak English, but I really appreciated the effort. It would have been easy to just say “hello” and ignore me, but quite a few people made the effort. One in particular that impressed me was a man named Robert. His kids were on the organizing committee for the event and he was there every night selling tickets, enjoying a good time and speaking English with me. As fate would have it he was very involved with wind power and even owned or worked with a couple of the windmills I had seen earlier. I kept meaning to ask him some detailed questions about them, but with thousands of partiers and rock music in the tent the conversations were more about music, beer and Germany. Anyway, he was an interesting and fun person to speak with; big thanks to him for going above and beyond to make me feel welcome!

Kirmes is a like a giant reunion for the whole town. Beer was served in 6oz glasses, so they didn’t last long. The etiquette is simple, when you finish your beer, you buy one for the whole table…I once just got a beer for me, and I was quickly counseled by Anja for my party foul. The music was good, but at one point of the evening I had a German moment as I stood there drinking my 10th or 15th glass of Alsfelder beer watching everyone dance to a David Hasselhoff video followed by a 10 minute version of the theme song from The A-Team complete with video scenes from the show :-) Later that evening a bratwurst was sounding good so I headed to the stand to buy one. I proudly said “Ein bratwurst bitte” confident that would be all that was required. Nope, he started rattling questions to me and yes/no apparently weren’t the right answer. I made a bratwurst in a bun gesture which he seemed to follow; now all I wanted was some mustard. So I said mustard, and he looked confused so I said it again louder as if that would help. I tried to point to the mustard jar but it was out of pointing distance. So I quit and just took a dry brat which was good. For your reference, German for mustard is “senf.” The evening ended about 3:30am, and since I had flown in early that morning I was ready for bed.

Saturday was a great lazy day of walking around town, reading, drinking beer and just puttering around the guest house. I would share the odd word with Herr. Graulich, who would look at me say something I didn’t understand; then I’d smile say something he didn’t understand and we’d go about our business. However, I had no problem understanding when he was offering a beer :-) Anja’s father knows the neighboring forest very well and picks his own rare mushrooms that sell for almost a Euro a gram. He was trying to invite me to go pick mushrooms with him the next morning (normally I would jump at the chance for a new experience). However, the German word for mushroom is Pilz, and the word for Lager (beer) is Pils. And since I had drank way too much the previous evening I waved my hand no and made a drinking to much gesture with my hand. So put this in English “James would you like to come pick mushrooms with me in the morning? … no thanks, I’ve been drinking way too much!” I’m sure I made a great impression on him. Once we clarified the language issue, everybody had a great laugh (the first of many that weekend). :-) That night the tent had a rock band! The lead singer looked like every heavy metal singer you have seen, long hair leather vest etc. I liked the band; they played some harder edged stuff that reminded me of High School. Anja didn’t think they did a good job of engaging the crowd, but I still had fun. After the show, I walked up to the band and asked if any of them spoke English. One of the singers (a black guy who sings Ozzy better than Ozzy), answered me in an American accent. Turns out he was from Fort Worth (small world). I asked him what he was doing in Germany, he said “I’m a f*cking ambassador baby!! Then high-fived the entire band … I smiled and walked away. I kept drinking beer, chatting with my new friend Robert and his English speaking colleagues which was an interesting experience. Then I decided to go and get my nightly bratwurst. Armed with “senf” my new word for mustard, I confidently approached the stand and said “Ein bratwurst und Senf bitte” He then asked me a question that totally threw me … more blank stares … more frustration on his part … more laughter from Anja and her friends … dammit! He wanted to know if I wanted the sausage by itself or on a bread roll. After the beer we moved on to Jagermeister and Red Bull, but I maintained control. Saturday was a bit later night; it was 6:30am before I got to bed and there was hundreds left in the tent when I left.

Sunday, I went for a walk and did some more reading; I hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time. I had found a quiet place to read that afternoon. I forgot about the Sunday concert, which was a German brass band playing some good old fashioned oompah-pah music. All day long people kept telling me that I missed the best concert. Anja was looking for me, but because I had changed reading locations and didn’t tell her she couldn’t find me … she won’t admit it, but I think she was irritated with me about that. I’m pissed at myself; that would have been awesome. That afternoon Anja told me to sit down and they were going to get me some lunch. Her Mom and her friends were sitting around a large round booth, and motioned me to sit with them. So I sat there with the German ladies drinking their coffee and eating some amazing looking cakes and pies left over from a wedding dinner they had catered the night before. I reached for a piece and I don’t know what they said, but there was scolding tone to it, so I took my hand back to my side and sat there. They all kept chatting looking at me and laughing, it was a little awkward but a really unique experience. Turns out I wasn’t’ supposed to have my desert before I ate my lunch … I guess that makes sense. Sunday night was back to the tent for more. I kept meeting the most interesting people, a guy who works with wind-power (lots of windmills in the area), an ex German army guy, a local girl who works a German internet site. But since it was a work night the crowd was thinning by 1:00am. Before I left though, I walked proudly the brat counter and ordered “Ein bratwurst und Senf auf Brot bitte!” I finally got what I wanted, to the joy of the few who had followed my bratwurst adventure. Anja and I went back to the “Gasthaus” decided to have one more drink before bed. Anja, like me is at a crossroads in life and is trying to decide the best path for her … so it was one of those deep late-night conversations that ended about 5:00am. I’m getting too old for these late nights :-)

Monday Anja took me to Hertzberg, a really cool castle on a hilltop that dates back to the twelfth century. We wandered around that for awhile then visited her Grandmother and aunt in a nearby village. Aunt Heidi makes bread for everyone using an old bread oven heated by a wood fire (very traditional method). Her Grandma is 84 years old and still sharp as a knife; I honestly wish I could have communicated with her. The walls were covered with pictures from generations of their family; how many Americans can honestly tell stories about their Great, Great grandparents and back them up with portraits and pictures. It was an enjoyable experience. Before we returned to the city, Anja’s dad presented me with a bottle of brandy that has the family logo on it and also three bottles of the local beer (Alsfelder) … good stuff, I like these people and I could learn a lot from them about hard work. Monday night Anja and I went out to dinner in Wiesbaden and I was asleep before the early hour of 1am. All in all a great experience … Anja if you are still reading this far … I had a great weekend, you rock!

As the clock ticks through the final days of my European quest, I find myself sitting at home this morning waiting for my friend Donna to arrive from Dallas. It looks like her flight is several hours late, but at least she’s sitting in first class which ‘might’ make it easier. On Friday we’re heading to Edinburgh for the annual military tattoo. No I’m not getting a new tattoo (four is enough). It’s an annual gathering of pipe and drum bands, with a dose of fireworks, beer and fun. I’ll tell you all about it in a couple of days.

One more blog to go in this series … have a great week!

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