Our Sister City Crailsheim's Fraenkisches Volksfest

I spent the past weekend in my hometown's sister city, Crailsheim. Dieter, the director of the exchange program, invited me to see a real German fall festival.

Here at the left, I ran into the Chief Editor of the Hohenloher Stadtblatt, the local newspaper (equivalent of the Daily Globe for those Worthingtonians) and on Monday discovered my name in the paper "Rick Nonneman"--hey, close enough. Coming from Woo-town, it's really makes for a warm reception and great time in Crailsheim.

Here, the madman himself as we both sport our Lederhosen, Dieter. He insisted upon celebrating every night. It's the true "Work Hard, Play Hard" as these festivals originally celebrated the bountiful harvest season. (So I'm led to believe)





Always important is eye contact when saying cheers--hence the photo to the left as Kai and I look each other straight on. Otherwise, you might offend the other person as you won't "look 'em in the eye" and are, hence, untrustworthy.

Friendships from the past renewed, Milena on the left and Katrin in the center, both went to Worthington High School with me during my senior year and are from Crailsheim. To the right is Katrin's friend, Lucy. (To beat her to the punch, I expect Bridget to comment on this photo)







Monika, Thomas, and Uli. These are friends I met in the Frankisch Family when I marched in traditional clothing in the parades. Having done that, it really made this Volksfest superb, as if I were surrounded by friends that I had known for years--as if part of the Crailsheim Fraenkische Familie.

Eva also added to the extreme fun. She's eccentric, on Facebook, and a true fan of the Fest. Officially "friended" on Facebook, Eva and I will certainly have to exchange stories from the Volksfest.
As I mentioned, the sausage is 1/2 meter long (1 1/2 feet approx.) and the bun is never large enough. But after singing for 6 or 7 hours in the beer tent, a little bit of bread and little bit of ketchup and a hot dog hit the spot.

Here Dieter and I stand in front of the tree IN the tent. The tent is the longest one in Europe and held upwards of 7,000 people. Every night the tent was as packed as a typical bar on a Saturday night.

What an impressive sight as I walked past the stands of beer masses. Yes, these are the glasses they store and distribute for the beer. Note, they're almost exclusively 1 Liter. You're moderately a pain to the server and party pooper if you order anything less (unless, of course, you're watching your children, or having to drive, or reasonable excuses excluded.)


"Adios mein Engel" This was written on the urinal. Adios, (I assume we all know it means "goodbye" in Spanish) and "mein Engel" means "my Angel" which is the brand of beer brewed in the town and served in the beer tent. Basically in the urinal it stood, "goodbye, my beer"
Here is the beloved Uli as she and I say cheers or "Prost" in German. She's the leader of the Frankisch Family. Note, she's a Grandmother and still celebrating like every other. It's makes for a great atmosphere.

At our break by the beer stand, we ran into Lucy and Katrin again. And as seen here, the varieties of clothing completely acceptable and encouraged at the fest. Lucy sporting the Volksfest T-shirt, Dieter in the regional traditional clothing, Katrin in modern European wear (I say European because of the scarf, it's so often a dead give-away when distinguishing between Europeans and non-EUs), and me sporting the Lederhosen.

This wonderful woman works in the courthouse and is responsible for distributing the certificates. As one from Worthington, I was very very taken care of. I think I calculated it out to be almost 200 Euros gifted to me for coming, combined from the city's certificates, those from friends, and those from the Fränkische Familie. It made it far more affordable (as a min. wage intern) and far more enjoyable.



As you'll read, Guenther we met at the Bier stand/booth and was a hoot. Here, I decided to see what I look like in the traditional married woman's hat. It certainly covers up the receding hair line.




And here's me with an old friend, Katrin. Well, we're both young, but we went to High School together as she, from Crailsheim, came and spent senior year with the class I was in. The dress that women wear is called a Dirndl, and the men wear Lederhosen.

Here, two fellow Tracht Traegerer (Men in Lederhosen, more or less) Guenther and Andi. Dieter and I ran into them in the afternoon as we took a break from the beer tent to go to a beer stand, unlike the previous day where our beer tent break was at the beer garden. Keep up and don't be so confused.

These guys helped make the last day of the festival unforgettable as we were then with a great group of people, everyone friendly to meet each other. And Guenther was constantly in the best of moods--perfect company for such a festival.

Last comes the Festival Funeral. The procession marches in and a "priest" sadly closes the festival.

There should be more to come from the parade. This year was agriculture-themed--especially fitting for my father, the farmer, my sister, the future Veterinarian, and me growing up on the farm. The Germans certainly have a different way of celebrating, but one of really celebrating.

Later Days,
Rick

I was a Hamburger.

Always in the south, let's journey to the equivalent of a foreign country--the north. Philipp and I decided for a spontaneous trip to Hamburg. Heck, we had seen the "Hamburger Fish Market" in Stuttgart; better make it the real deal and see it on Sunday morning in Hamburg where it closes at 9:30 a.m. 9:30 a.m. It closes. On Sunday. Closes at 9:30 a.m. on Sunday. Despite the fact that with those hours they're basically TRYING to keep people away, the marketplace was full and in great spirits. So, in the last photo here--the one with the bun--i had my first Fischbroetchen (Fish Bun.) Typically there's a slab of what looks like raw fish thrown across a bun, which is far too small to hold the meat (similar to how Wurst (i.e. sausages) are sold--1 1/2 foot sausage on 2 inches of bun.)

Otherwise, you'll also see here the elaborate interior of the courthouse, the Bio (organic) market taking place in front of the courthouse, (I had to walk through, being basically opposed to the principle), the harbor--for which Hamburg is internationally known)--which flows through the old warehouse district and the new "Harbor City", attracting significant investment and real estate development right on the water's edge.

And there's me again on the edge of the docking area.

Well, short for a full weekend with great company in a new city, but neither of us were keen on photo taking and I've yet to get to the festival entry. There are 300 pictures from that, but I'll spare the majority.

Till then,
Rick

I was Georgian.

One might believe it's a boring American apartment as I mention my roommates from Georgia and New Ulm. But to your surprise, the New Ulm is the original, a suburb of the German Ulm, and the Georgia is that on the edge of Russia.

She's pleasant to talk with, but it was an awkward conversation as I asked my roommate about her home country and how many people live there.
Her answer came "About 5 million, but there are fewer now."
My curiosity continued, "Oh, is the population shrinking like it is here in Germany?"
A somber answer, "No. Russia bombed Georgia last August."
"Oh."
(How does one respond to that? )

Conversation aside, the Georgians are fun. Last Thursday after a Weindorf Kater, my roommate's boyfriend knocks on my door and invites me to a beer. Hesitation--thanks to the Kater. But I sit down to the table and am greeted with a full plate of salad, potatoes, and sausages. The sour Georgian form of ketchup accompanied it all, to which I certainly had to adjust.

But what was most significant was to learn the Georgian word for "Cheers", which I would spell out as "Cow'-mar-joz (with fist pump accompaniment)." Pago, Marie's boyfriend led every time we said cheers, as is Georgian tradition. There's a pre-determined order for things to cheer to. And clinking glasses is deceptive as you hold your glass up but frequently set it back down on the table without taking any gulp--Germans would not approve. However, when you finally commit to drinking it's all-out. There's no sips; simply bottoms up.
Well, I'm officially welcome with full accomodations in Georgia. (It may have been the bottle of vodka, 6-pack of beers, and bottle of wine talking that these guys drank.)

Yet, it's these types of experiences that make me really enjoy being abroad and encountering ever new cultures. It's something we never really have growing up American.

This would be Dieter on the right; the crazy man who invited me to attend the Fränkische Familie.

And again I joined the Fränkische Familie from Crailsheim as I put on the traditional garb and walked in the parade.

The city was 7,000 people (yet still had a beer tent with capacity of 1,000). The horse in the carriage behind us went berserk and ran away without any restraint, down the parade route and, hopefully, not doing any damage.

Here, the gown girls wear. Finally found out the reason for the different hats--I just knew girls wore the little bonnet thing and women the full-scale hat. Marriage is the difference. huh. Guess it makes sense.

So the week was a cultural experience. I watched Germans dance on their tables any time they enjoyed the song being played in the tent. I learned that they sleep under the table if they've had too much to drink. Heaven forbid they leave the tent; when they do that, they won't be allowed back in. Too much to drink calls for a pause, not a conclusion. I told my German colleagues about this funny discovery, "of course. Yeah, duh" was their answer.

Well onto the next week of a German adventure.

Later Days,
Rick

I was Fränkisch.

German offices have a wonderful attitude about personal life--it's important and they agree upon it. With current global influences transitioning Germany towards the American model, the climate is changing, but essentially it's still European. Take for example where I met my colleagues this past Thursday. A bunch of interns worked till and gathered around 8 p.m. to go to our Weindorf--the Stuttgart wine festival. As interns do, we went and sampled a few glasses of wine while trying local dishes such as Maultaschen, Käsespätzle, and Schnufnudeln. But what made it truly great was moving on to a bar and running into more co-workers. It's not just the interns that appreciate a beer after work or a Thursday night out on the town, it's the whole crew. Welcome to Germany.


And truly something German is the strong appreciation of regional heritage--the equivalent of saying "I'm from Maple Grove and damn those in Maplewood" or Minneapolis vs. St. Paul. Every small region has its own traditional clothing, called Tracht. This weekend the director of the exchange program between Worthington (where I grew up) to Crailsheim (our sister city in Germany) invited me to march in the parade in Augsburg in traditional fränkischen Tracht. The following photos depict me, the American, during my day as a true native.

The people in the crowd waved and applauded as we walked past. It was the easiest parade to date--no marching, no instrument, no paying strict attention to lines and beats, and unlike the Minnesota Marching Band which marched in the State Fair parade on the day following this Augsburg parade, unfortunately no crazy dancing to all the great Minnesota Gopher cadences.


Extremely simple as it was, the best part was the ending. Sure, before the parade there was a large island set up simply to hand out beer and pretzels to the parade participants (not apples and water like normal American, seriously beer and pretzels.) The best part was the end destination. The entire parade and all participants marched into a humongous beer tent. I envision the image from the sky similar to Animal House as the band turns the corner and follows the abducted drum major into an alleyway. So is it at every parade. The farther in front you are, the sooner you arrive in the beer tent to eat and drink till happiness.


So, I gladly took part!

That's the big news of the week. I'm back with the group this coming Sunday and, until then, enjoy the momentary chaos that is my current project leader. Smart and friendly, one marble still went missing.

Later Days,
Rick