Bavarian Adventure

I stumbled across a fest tent up on a knobby green hill in a small town I can neither remember the location nor the name of. Music mixed with loud cheers and huzzahs lured me to slow and eventually stop.

I pulled my car over, determining the best route, and found myself entering a fest tent. This wasn’t Octoberfest, nothing like it, it was the fest tent of a small community keeping alive traditions passed down for generations before them.

Young and old sat mixed enjoying the band blaring from the stage, natives dancing, beer sloshing, and I found myself instantly transported to a Bavarian heaven. There is nothing quite like being able to glimpse a piece of a culture that isn’t advertised or splashed across a brochure. Immersing yourself within the traditions of old, talking to people, and being treated as an honored guest, it’s indescribable.

I ordered a rattler (beer and sprite), a plate of schnitzel and spaetzle hunter style (smothered in a brown mushroom gravy), and took my seat towards the back, content to be an observer. I sat amongst a group of people who spoke broken English and teased me with American jokes and banter. They tried desperately to explain their traditions to me, I was mesmerized by. Every. Broken. Word.

I gazed on at the people dancing and singing, toasting and talking, and dancing some more. German folk dance is a series of claps and stomps, whirls and twirls, and loud shouts of excitement all combined to tell a story I didn’t know the name of, but could vaguely understand. It wasn’t long before I was pulled onto the makeshift dance floor, whirled around here and there, patiently being taught a series of moves that incorporated both German storytelling and tradition.

I stayed well into the night, drinking, laughing, dancing.

As I drove away I realized I left a piece of me in the fest tent and it was replaced with an authentic bit of German culture, one I couldn’t get from Octoberfest, or Berlin, or any of the other tourist traps scattered across the country.

To this day, when I travel, I always stop off the beaten path, I seek out mom and pop restaurants, search for festivals and town treasures. I learned from that very experience the gift of meandering through countrysides in search of experiences that will forever change the way I see a place and interact with its culture. As for now I draw upon the memory of the white tent on the knobby green hill beckoning me to pull over and dance.