The man wore a white shirt and peculiar underwear. It was a rather tight-fitting, leather-like trouser construction that ended below the knee curve. I immediately noticed several similarly clad figures moving through Munich. Quite a few men who dress like this are accompanied, or better: supported, by a woman. The man chooses this outfit in order to stagger forward in it. Meanwhile, the companion is wrapped in a long dress and a blouse that must be too tight.
Many such duos are heading towards Grafing these days. They are drawn there because a large tent is being set up. Tent and tent roof are useful because inside there are musicians playing on a stage – and not particularly keen on having their instruments soaked by the rain. Otherwise, the participants of so-called spring festivals moisten themselves mainly from the inside. And this is where my dilemma began.
Why do you need a festival to welcome this beautiful season, the essence of which is to withdraw from the open sky and sit squashed on uncomfortable wooden benches? How can it be that people in this part of the world go there voluntarily to empty full beer mugs at completely utopian prices before starting the arduous journey home with an empty wallet and a full beet?
Well, of course I still had to take a closer look. Before entering such a tent, one encounters side effects that are definitely worth appreciating. For example the bratwurst or crêpe stands. The shooting galleries and fairground rides are also worth a mention for being an oasis of sorts. Only at a folk festival is it common to handle weapons while drunk and then to get behind the wheel.
In Syria, many families start spring with spring cleaning. Another phenomenon is widespread in Bavaria: the spring booze. The good thing is that you can also participate in this ritual if you skip the agenda items “Oana geht no”, “Beer here or i foi um”. You whisper to the waitress that she can fill the beer mug with apple spritzer, and you’re already swaying at the beer tables. And so I’ve been standing on the beer benches at the Grafinger Volksfest myself for many years now, wearing this strange leather pants construction and singing verses like “I’m still swaying”.
Next to me sits or stands my wife Hanna, of course in a Dirndl that is too tight as it should be. Everything blurs together in the tent, the music, the people, the beer vapor. It feels good to be a normal part of this tent society. My wife and I don’t get out of character – except at the very end: because we’re the only ones who don’t sway out of the tent.