Weissbeer, Currywurst, and a town called Bath Forest Lake
We left Ricardo's house around 6. I was full and happy off of German sausage with mustard. The sun was flashing on us from behind clouds, but the weather didn't threaten rain at all. Our walk into town was short. We were headed to Ricardo's Oma, a sweet grandma that never said a word of English in my presence. She still greeted me like my own grandmothers, hugging me lightly and smiling warmly. We went directly to the patio to look out over the city.
Small market tents lined the thin cobblestone streets of Bad Waldsee. The city center was building. I heard a single tuba player warming up and playing their short, groaning notes. Chest high tables, just big enough for drinks, stood next to portable bars packed with beers. Men and women stood in groups drinking and being merry. The sound of several hundred German voices mixed together sounds similar to English. I would not tell a difference, I think, without the outlying members speaking with their hard ch's and z's. Ricardo was busy speaking to his father, and his Oma stood by me to watch the business build down below.
Bad Waldsee, literally translating to baths, forest, lake, has around ten thousand occupants. It is in the Swabia region of Germany. They add a sh sound into their speech, replacing the normal s. It is about 1000 years old.
The lake was getting filled with small boats and paddle boards as the city readied itself for a weekend long festival. The festival was why I found myself in such a small city. Ricardo invited me to the festival once I told him I was in Germany. I had little expectations. My idea of a small town festival in the south of Germany was limited, but it sounded like exactly the type of party I wanted.
Ricardo was staring at our bottle of Vodka with tired glances. He was still a bit hung over from our previous night out. The first drink would not be the most pleasant one, that was certain. We sat at a small table on the patio with his Oma and his father, listening to the crowds trickle into the city center. I spoke to Ricardo, and he translated to his father and grandma. We were having a relaxing time. Ever few minutes I would stand and look over the balcony and watch the people below. Fathers carried children up on shoulders. Women and men pushed strollers for the smaller kids. Groups of teenagers yelled and joked loudly, searching around for who was watching them.
We were ready for a party, and soon we were drinking Weissbier and vodka, warming our minds. Friends of Ricardo joined us at the Flat, we taught them an American drinking game and neared the end of our booze stash. I had introduced myself to the bunch of them, and was having a grand time mispronouncing names that I was trying to remember. Ricardo's 18 year old cousin Michael had joined in. He had good fun with my American pronounciation of his name. I enjoyed it as well, and soon we were laughing and drinking some drink of mixed red wine that he called "Rabbit's Milk". We finished off our drinks and made our way, red faced, to the festival.
The party was just starting to turn in the streets, and the beer tents were full of people. The children were heading home and the parents were drinking with a freedom only they could understand. I spoke to a young man named Paul about boxing after he saw my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu shirt, and our group wove through the now packed streets Bad Waldsee.
In every direction and down every small road were tents to buy beer and drink and delicious German food. Potatoes, sausages, hot bread and thick sauces kept me sober while I drank Jaeger with the young crowd. I stepped toward the bar to buy rounds only to be handed a shot by Ricardo. He smiled and we cheersed, making eye contact for a second like you must do with a good cheers. We were now in a group of about ten people. Mixed ages from 17 to 27. A younger guy named Max was bouncing and raising his hands to the sound of house music in one big tent. He waved us in and we slid into the tight space of electronic sounds and warm bodies. I spoke to a few beautiful girls, and they were pleasently surprised to speak English. The people were not so used to English in small Bad Waldsee, but the younger generation still spoke it fine. We danced for a while to the heavy bass music. Max bounced off to the side, weaving his hands in front of his face. I was getting hungry and told Ricardo, so we skipped out of the tent quick to grab more food. The festival would end soon so we decided to take one more quick round to see what else was happening. We walked up a dark road and caught some strange glances for speaking English. I laughed and the people glanced again. It is always funny to catch attention like that. The small town folk are not as good at hiding their glances, and I often smiled or made a strange face when they stared.
As we walked next to a blue lit bar Ricardo stopped in front of a big german man. They stared at each other, then the man turned and stared at me. He was young, maybe my age, and about two meters tall. I remember thinking he didn't look particularly happy to see me, but then he let out a joyous yell and hugged Ricardo warmly. I thought he might lift Rickardo off the ground, as he easily could have, but he just squeezed hard and smiled. We introduced ourselves, and I learned that this was one of Ricardo's oldest friends. They had not planned to meet at the festival, so it was a great surprise for them both. We all decided to grab a drink together, and headed to a tent nearby.
I was feeling fantastic at this point, admiring the scene around me. Thousands of people were flooding the streets now, raucous and rowdy as they yelled greetings to one another. Half liter glasses cluttered every table, and older men stood at the bars speaking straightly to each other. The beer flowed from taps in a near constant stream. You had to pay a deposit for your glass, but Ricardo talked his way out of it with promises to stay nearby. A live band played Prince's "Kiss" across the road and the crowd sang the chorus with thick accents and loud notes off key. I thought about Damien, a friend thousands miles away in Japan. He would love a party like this. Every sight was fascinating. I felt like a big eyed child starting out at my first view of the world.
The older generation of Germans were heading home soon. I watched a group of men weeve their way through the crowd, smiling and shaking hands often. I drank my Weissbier in big gulps. It was sweet and easy to drink compared to the heavy liquor we were shooting earlier. Ricardo and I decided to grab one more round of sausages, truly the perfect match for German beer and street festivals, then we would head to a club for more dancing.
In front of the food tent we met a middle aged German man that could not speak English. He was very interested in me though, so Ricardo worked as translator again and we all spoke. We spoke about the EU, German politics and several comparisons between Germany and the U.S. The man seemed like he had given much of what he said some thought. After ten minutes or so he started speaking down abou the U.S. His points were less clear, and increasingly attacking, and I was losing interest in the conversation. Ricardo was obviously annoyed as well, and his translations became mere bullet points as the man mumbled random statements and uhmmed his way through his sentences. I'd had enough, and Ricardo had told the man for me several times. Ricardo had added his own opinions into the conversation, but he was limited since he was having to focus on translating so much. When I said I wanted to go Ricardo said he needed a minute. His pace of speaking quickened and he leaned forward as he spoke to the man. The man looked dumbfounded, his mouth slightly opened and his head pulled back. Ricardo stopped speaking abruptly and turned back to me, now ready to leave. The man stood silently as we said goodbye and walked away. We had a good laugh at the situation as we walked.
Good beer goes down easy. And fun times come without a worry, especially with friends. I left the next day for a new adventure involving other friends, and I have been feeling grand ever since.
Small market tents lined the thin cobblestone streets of Bad Waldsee. The city center was building. I heard a single tuba player warming up and playing their short, groaning notes. Chest high tables, just big enough for drinks, stood next to portable bars packed with beers. Men and women stood in groups drinking and being merry. The sound of several hundred German voices mixed together sounds similar to English. I would not tell a difference, I think, without the outlying members speaking with their hard ch's and z's. Ricardo was busy speaking to his father, and his Oma stood by me to watch the business build down below.
Bad Waldsee, literally translating to baths, forest, lake, has around ten thousand occupants. It is in the Swabia region of Germany. They add a sh sound into their speech, replacing the normal s. It is about 1000 years old.
The lake was getting filled with small boats and paddle boards as the city readied itself for a weekend long festival. The festival was why I found myself in such a small city. Ricardo invited me to the festival once I told him I was in Germany. I had little expectations. My idea of a small town festival in the south of Germany was limited, but it sounded like exactly the type of party I wanted.
Ricardo was staring at our bottle of Vodka with tired glances. He was still a bit hung over from our previous night out. The first drink would not be the most pleasant one, that was certain. We sat at a small table on the patio with his Oma and his father, listening to the crowds trickle into the city center. I spoke to Ricardo, and he translated to his father and grandma. We were having a relaxing time. Ever few minutes I would stand and look over the balcony and watch the people below. Fathers carried children up on shoulders. Women and men pushed strollers for the smaller kids. Groups of teenagers yelled and joked loudly, searching around for who was watching them.
We were ready for a party, and soon we were drinking Weissbier and vodka, warming our minds. Friends of Ricardo joined us at the Flat, we taught them an American drinking game and neared the end of our booze stash. I had introduced myself to the bunch of them, and was having a grand time mispronouncing names that I was trying to remember. Ricardo's 18 year old cousin Michael had joined in. He had good fun with my American pronounciation of his name. I enjoyed it as well, and soon we were laughing and drinking some drink of mixed red wine that he called "Rabbit's Milk". We finished off our drinks and made our way, red faced, to the festival.
The party was just starting to turn in the streets, and the beer tents were full of people. The children were heading home and the parents were drinking with a freedom only they could understand. I spoke to a young man named Paul about boxing after he saw my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu shirt, and our group wove through the now packed streets Bad Waldsee.
In every direction and down every small road were tents to buy beer and drink and delicious German food. Potatoes, sausages, hot bread and thick sauces kept me sober while I drank Jaeger with the young crowd. I stepped toward the bar to buy rounds only to be handed a shot by Ricardo. He smiled and we cheersed, making eye contact for a second like you must do with a good cheers. We were now in a group of about ten people. Mixed ages from 17 to 27. A younger guy named Max was bouncing and raising his hands to the sound of house music in one big tent. He waved us in and we slid into the tight space of electronic sounds and warm bodies. I spoke to a few beautiful girls, and they were pleasently surprised to speak English. The people were not so used to English in small Bad Waldsee, but the younger generation still spoke it fine. We danced for a while to the heavy bass music. Max bounced off to the side, weaving his hands in front of his face. I was getting hungry and told Ricardo, so we skipped out of the tent quick to grab more food. The festival would end soon so we decided to take one more quick round to see what else was happening. We walked up a dark road and caught some strange glances for speaking English. I laughed and the people glanced again. It is always funny to catch attention like that. The small town folk are not as good at hiding their glances, and I often smiled or made a strange face when they stared.
As we walked next to a blue lit bar Ricardo stopped in front of a big german man. They stared at each other, then the man turned and stared at me. He was young, maybe my age, and about two meters tall. I remember thinking he didn't look particularly happy to see me, but then he let out a joyous yell and hugged Ricardo warmly. I thought he might lift Rickardo off the ground, as he easily could have, but he just squeezed hard and smiled. We introduced ourselves, and I learned that this was one of Ricardo's oldest friends. They had not planned to meet at the festival, so it was a great surprise for them both. We all decided to grab a drink together, and headed to a tent nearby.
I was feeling fantastic at this point, admiring the scene around me. Thousands of people were flooding the streets now, raucous and rowdy as they yelled greetings to one another. Half liter glasses cluttered every table, and older men stood at the bars speaking straightly to each other. The beer flowed from taps in a near constant stream. You had to pay a deposit for your glass, but Ricardo talked his way out of it with promises to stay nearby. A live band played Prince's "Kiss" across the road and the crowd sang the chorus with thick accents and loud notes off key. I thought about Damien, a friend thousands miles away in Japan. He would love a party like this. Every sight was fascinating. I felt like a big eyed child starting out at my first view of the world.
The older generation of Germans were heading home soon. I watched a group of men weeve their way through the crowd, smiling and shaking hands often. I drank my Weissbier in big gulps. It was sweet and easy to drink compared to the heavy liquor we were shooting earlier. Ricardo and I decided to grab one more round of sausages, truly the perfect match for German beer and street festivals, then we would head to a club for more dancing.
In front of the food tent we met a middle aged German man that could not speak English. He was very interested in me though, so Ricardo worked as translator again and we all spoke. We spoke about the EU, German politics and several comparisons between Germany and the U.S. The man seemed like he had given much of what he said some thought. After ten minutes or so he started speaking down abou the U.S. His points were less clear, and increasingly attacking, and I was losing interest in the conversation. Ricardo was obviously annoyed as well, and his translations became mere bullet points as the man mumbled random statements and uhmmed his way through his sentences. I'd had enough, and Ricardo had told the man for me several times. Ricardo had added his own opinions into the conversation, but he was limited since he was having to focus on translating so much. When I said I wanted to go Ricardo said he needed a minute. His pace of speaking quickened and he leaned forward as he spoke to the man. The man looked dumbfounded, his mouth slightly opened and his head pulled back. Ricardo stopped speaking abruptly and turned back to me, now ready to leave. The man stood silently as we said goodbye and walked away. We had a good laugh at the situation as we walked.
Good beer goes down easy. And fun times come without a worry, especially with friends. I left the next day for a new adventure involving other friends, and I have been feeling grand ever since.
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