Over the years, I’ve really come to appreciate the first time I see the advertising boards go up for our local Volksfest. In spring it means that summer is just around the corner, while in autumn it signals that we’re on the path to Christmas. As I get older, the seasonal rhythms of German life, that steady beat of the seasons, has become my backing music. Though I might change as time rolls on, the Bierfests, the Kirchweih, the Volksfeste, the various markets, generally stay the same. I moved to Germany in order to change my life, but it’s often difficult to keep things in perspective. Seasonal festivals have become the constant by which I measure my life. When those signs go up, I begin to wonder what I’ll notice.

This all may seem rather abstract, so it’s probably worthwhile going back a little. My first experience of Volksfest was in Nürnberg, about a decade ago. Back then, I wasn’t interested in anything other than the beer, luckily it’s always flowing at such events. Whether you’re in Berlin, Leipzig, or Augsburg, there will always be somewhere to get a drink. Usually stands are dotted around, but for the true fest experience, you have to find a table in a crowded beer tent. In fairness, tent isn’t really the correct word, it’s more like a prefab beer hall, fronted with wood panels to make it look that little bit more traditional.

I still remember the shock of entering the tent to see hundreds of people, dressed in their finest Trachten, standing on beer benches and singing AC/DC as loud as their lungs would let them. Nothing quite prepares you, and I still get a Pavlovian thirst when I hear the first bars of TNT. That night I learned the fundamentals: hold the Maß glass by the handle, look in everyone’s eyes when saying “Prost!”, and no matter how good your balance might be, falling off of a beer bench is always a possibility.

A few years later I found myself in Mainz, and as luck would have it, our visit coincided with Johannisnacht, the summer fest that celebrates Johannes Gutenberg. The whole city seemed to be in a party mood, and we soon found ourselves standing on the banks of the Rhine, drinking beer not from Maß glasses, but from weirdly expensive plastic beakers. Despite the lack of glassware, there were many similarities from my experience in Nürnberg. There weren’t any beer tents, but there were fairground rides. As with my first taste of fest culture, I learned some valuable lessons, namely that a stomach full of beer and Wurst do not make a good cocktail once they’ve been shaken violently together by some rickety roller coaster. That night, I came to have a very healthy respect for the name Wilde Maus, a staple of nearly all fests across Germany. To this day, I’ve not dared to take another trip, even though I see these attractions two or three times a year.

At this point it might be worth mentioning Oktoberfest, since it's globally renowned as the most German event of the year. My memories are slightly hazy, for obvious reasons, but it was remarkable to me only for it being so unremarkable. Its size was certainly impressive, but it made the whole experience so much more impersonal. Frankly, it felt generic, which may seem like sacrilege to some, but that’s honestly how I felt. Perhaps if I’d not been to so many fests before I visited the Wiesn it would have had more impact, but as it was, there was little I’d not seen before. The price of a Maß also made my eyes water, but it did teach me another valuable lesson: annual inflation can be measured by the price of 2 litres of beer, and no matter what you do, it will always take you by surprise.

One of the more memorable fests I visited was in my home town of Augsburg. The Plärrer is the biggest fest in Swabia, making any trip a worthwhile experience. This particular visit sticks in my mind as it was held during the pandemic. We’d visited the Plärrer many times before, but it felt like the first time, especially after being cooped up at home for so long, worrying over mask regulations and washing our groceries under the tap. It was the first time our family had ventured into a crowd, the first time my daughter rode the carousel, and the first time I’d dared to go onto any fairground ride since the disaster in Mainz years before. Mind you, I wasn’t technically riding anything, I was simply there to comfort my daughter as she sat in a fire engine, gleefully ringing the bell non-stop for the two minutes the ride was active. I remember the walk home, the feeling that such a simple trip was a massive achievement given the circumstances. I felt normality returning, and it still resonates.

There is something I’ve come to understand about all these experiences, and the many others that I haven’t the time or necessarily the memory to write about here. It may seem overwrought, but the fests are more than just annual or bi-annual events, they’re a through line in my life. I’m not the only one to think so either. I have a friend who’s decorated one wall of their home with pictures taken at their local Volksfest. At first glance, they’re the same picture, over and over again, but look closer and you’ll see they’re actually images taken at the same shooting range, at the same fest, and often on the same day every year. They show my friend, stood next to their best friend, and it acts as a time capsule of sorts, a visual representation of the ageing process, but also of the constant I mentioned earlier. Every year, come rain or shine, they head down to the Festplatz to get their picture taken, guns held aloft like gangsters from the 1920s.

These pictures speak to the way Germany’s seasonal events connect lives together, but also how they connect the whole country. Given that Germany is far more fragmented then non-Germans may appreciate, these events can act like a glue, a common thread not just for individuals, but for the whole country. The food might differ, the beer prices may fluctuate, and the reason for celebration is hyper regional, but they all have much in common. This is what makes these events so special, not just to me, but perhaps to all 80 million-odd Germans. I think that may be the real joy of Volksfest.

Proofreader: @ScandiTina

Image Credit

Photo by Onur Emre on Unsplash

Photo by Kimia on Unsplash

Photo by Niklas Jeromin

Photo by form PxHere

Photo by Jannik on Unsplash