Leipzig, City of Heroes

Leipzig became a destination for me while I was trying to understand how the peaceful revolution came about which ended East Germany just as the Soviet Union collapsed.  It seemed miraculous at the time.  Those of us born not too long after World War II ended never knew a time when Germany was not divided, and hardly remembered when West Berlin was not surrounded by a wall and armed soldiers.  Word leaked out of East Germany during my early adulthood of the oppression and atrocities of the East German secret police, the Stasi.  Many desperate attempts, so often deadly, to escape into West Berlin, bore witness to the ham-fisted terror used to maintain Communist control over East Germany.

Then one night in 1989, the gates burst open, the people poured through, cheering and crying, and the wall fell.  To those of us outside Germany, it was almost unbelievable.  We didn’t know that communism was secretly failing throughout the Soviet bloc, that the funds to keep that iron fist clenched were running dry, or that the dream of freedom still lived in the hearts of those oppressed by tyranny.  One of the ways this dream of freedom found expression was in Leipzig’s Church of Saint Nikolas, where weekly prayers for peace over a period of about seven years drew increasing numbers.  In October 1989, participation at those peaceful prayers grew into the tens of thousands.  Berliners took heart from Leipzig and began demonstrating.  Even the Stasi couldn’t face the bloodbath required to shoot all those peaceful demonstrators back into submission.  Without support from Mikhail Gorbachev’s Soviet troops, the East German government simply gave up, and Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate opened in November 1989 for the first time in nearly 30 years.

And who were these people whose quiet faith broke the tyrant?  Leipzig is an old city, long known as the center of German publishing.  It was the first in Germany, and possibly in Europe, to have a coffee-shop!  Leipzig’s university is over 600 years old.  Many great talents have lived there: Leibniz (arguably the inventor of calculus), Goethe (who wrote part of Faust in his favorite watering-hole), and Johann Sebastian Bach (choir-director in two Leipzig churches including St. Nikolas for some 25 years) to name a few!  Wagner was born there, and Schumann, Mendolsohn, and Mahler all worked there.  So Leipzig has a long and deep tradition of music, literature, and philosophy.  I was pretty anxious to experience this city.

Leipzig wasn’t attacked with the incendiary bombs used by the Allies in World War II to flatten Dresden.  Ordinary bombing did plenty of damage, but the city wasn’t devastated.  The city was rebuilt under the aegis of the East German government, which is to say, lovely Baroque buildings were replaced with Soviet Bloc(k)s.  After reunification in 1990, what had been West Germany turned its attention to the decline revealed in the former East. 

When we arrived at Leipzig’s central train station, amid the construction we saw lots of evidence of the city’s revival.  Graceful 18^th-century buildings have been converted into busy shopping malls. By the Nikolaikirche, where armed Stasi once faced off against the candlelit faithful, outdoor café tables were surrounded by displays of—and stalls selling—harvest bounty.    Naturally, since it was a lovely autumn day, there was an outdoor festival in the central plaza complete with entertainment by a tuxedoed crooner.   Leipzigers did nothing to deserve the oppression they suffered during 40 years of Communist rule, and they didn’t lose their spirit.  Like all Germans, they work hard, value art and beauty, and love to sit in the sunshine on holidays enjoying the fruits of their labor.  And on any given Sunday, they can attend services at the Thomaskirche, where Johann Sebastian Bach was Organist and Choirmaster for over 25 years, and hear his music performed in the same space where Bach himself first heard it.

When the Secret Police gave up control in 1989, the citizens of Leipzig didn’t go into a destructive frenzy of the Stasi workplace.  Instead, they preserved what they found inside as a museum and a reminder of how minutely, sadistically, and mundanely the Communist government spied on and persecuted their citizens.   

The average Secret Policeman didn’t work in luxury, but he did have the very latest in miniature microphones, disguise kits, and envelope-resealing technology.  

The Stasi infiltrated every schoolroom, office, and living room.  Perhaps the only way such a cruelly invasive bureaucracy would be overthrown was by peaceful demonstration and overwhelming numbers.  Courage and faith were the only weapons Leipzigers had to stand up against armed soldiers, and their bravery inspired other East Germany citizens to do the same.  The people spoke with one voice, and November 9, 1989, the tyrannical government and its wall crumbled.  

Early Advent

When I was a child, we marked the passage of days in Advent until Christmas with a beautifully illustrated paper calendar printed in “West” Germany (that should date me).  Being a clergyman’s family, we reused the same calendar many years, each day being careful to exclaim with delight over the familiar image revealed by the opening of the day’s door (“The Candle!”  “A manger!”).  They weren’t terribly exciting pictures, but it helped us mark the time to wait to receive our gifts, which we opened on Christmas Eve in accordance with our mother’s German family customs.  (It was also more convenient for our father, the minister, who often had three services at church on Christmas Day, starting at 7:00 a.m.)

As my children grew, I looked for the modern versions of my childhood Advent calendar, and was disappointed as my modern children failed to be thrilled by the pictures of candles and gifts hidden behind the doors.  Apparently, my children were not the only ones seeking greater thrills each day of Advent.  While I wasn’t paying attention, Advent calendars have become an industry unto themselves.

In Germany, many holidays have a distinctly Christian orientation.  In addition, Germans, of necessity, do not partake in such secular American holidays as Independence Day.  This poses a problem for retailers, lacking the nearly seamless U.S. transition from Halloween, to Thanksgiving, to Christmas.  Autumn in Germany, together with Oktoberfest, permits the sale of seasonally themed decorations, but once Oktoberfest ends, German retailers have nothing but Advent to look forward to. (The first of November, All Saint’s Day is a day off, but not one you can buy decorations for.)  You need to make your Advent calendar choices no later than the end of November.

Apparently, the choice of an Advent calendar is something we have to make carefully.  Advent calendars began appearing in my local stores in mid-October, right after Oktoberfest and the New Wine Festivals ended.  The first calendars I saw had rather familiar content, such as Legos, or Kinder-Eggs.   And it seemed quite natural to see these for sale so early.  German stores must be very anxious to make some money on Christmas before the opening of the Advent-long Christmas markets in the central square of almost every city and town draws all the euros away.

But then I strayed into the largest local department store and discovered it had been converted into Gift Wonderland.  An entire aisle was devoted to chocolate-filled Advent calendars made by different chocolatiers with a variety of elegant or sentimental artistic themes.  Most are enormous, very beautiful, and extremely expensive.

Nearby, in the perfume department, I was shocked to see “make-up” and “bath luxuries” Advent calendars.

In the toy department I found that Lego had been joined by Playmobil (where have I been?), which offers Pirate and Knight themed calendars.  That’s to be expected—these are toys of European origin.  What stunned me was finding My Little Pony, and Barbie, Advent calendars.

At first, I had been delighted by this season’s Advent calendars.  I was dazzled by the beauty and variety of those in the expensive department store.   But then, Barbie, and My Little Pony!  These are no longer the fragile crutches that helped me and my sisters wait another day until we finally received our modest presents.  These are a month’s worth of gifts, to tide children over until the day they are showered with gifts!  The blatant commercialism disturbed me.  I love Germany, but it’s not immune to the same materialism that besets our culture.

I’m considering a new custom for my family.  How about if everyone has the Advent calendar of his or her choice, and we call it done?  Well, I would probably be the first to break my own rule and start buying Christmas gifts too, as soon as the Advent calendars make way for them.  Maybe I’ll do a back-to-the-land kind of thing:  make my own Advent calendars, revealing an activity to do each day that a child might actually enjoy, and learn something from about the meaning of Christmas.  For my grandchildren!

Once in a Lifetime Oktoberfest

The magic words:  Munich Oktoberfest!  I’ve been to festivals that call themselves Oktoberfest, but none can rival the real thing.  Why?

In Munich, it’s larger, and lasts longer, than anywhere else.  The Oktoberfest grounds are the “meadow” in the middle of the city, where the first such party was held about 200 years ago by the Crown Prince of Bavaria and his bride so the people of Munich could celebrate their marriage. It lasts just over two weeks.  More than a dozen enormous beer halls are temporarily built on the more than 100 acres of  a former meadow called “Wiesn”, each tent serving one of Munich’s beers along with traditional Bavarian food, and extravagantly decorated.  Each beer hall, and the adjacent grounds within its precinct, can hold from 1,000 to as many as 11,000 people.  Those in the know can reserve tables in advance.  If you’re not in the know, you can usually enter one of the big tents or their grounds if you arrive before 11 am.

On the day we arrived in Munich, we followed the crowds to the Wiesn, just to see what was there.  The carnival portion, which occupies at least as much land area as the beer tents, large and small, is the largest such I have ever seen, and I’ve been to the Sandwich Fair in New Hampshire!  At night the lights of the rides and booths selling food and junk were dazzling.  We quickly learned that many of the large beer tents get closed completely to new entrants, both indoors and out.  Some tents still allowed people to enter their outdoor area, and we found seats with a table of nice folks outside the Ochsenbraterei.   Beef was the main dish, and Spaten was the beer served.

Sitting and watching the crowd go by, we were amazed at the sheer numbers of people wearing traditional Bavarian folk costumes (“Trachtl”).  I was reminded of the advice given to me by some nice American young people I’d met earlier in the week:  lederhosen and dirndls are almost mandatory!  This is one of the many things which distinguish the Munich festival from its imitators:  it celebrates the folk heritage of Bavaria.  The beer, the music, the food, and the clothing are all integral parts of this heritage.

At our table that first night, we met half a dozen twenty or thirty-somethings, all either originally or currently from Munich, who would never consider missing Oktoberfest.  They kindly spoke English with us, advised us what to eat, and answered all our probing questions about the event and their country.  We stayed long enough to finish a “Mass” (the one-liter mug of Oktoberfest beer), which when properly sipped can last a couple of hours.  (If you drink it much faster than that, you’re likelier to become a “beer corpse” because the alcohol content is higher than that of regular beer.) 

When we returned the next day, we’d stopped at one of the dozens of temporary “Trachtl” shops opened in every niche between downtown Munich and the Wiesn, and bought a dirndl for me.  Instantly, I looked like a native, and not just because of my Bavarian ancestry!  We consequently arrived at the Wiesn later than we’d intended, and the first few beer tents we came to were already closed to new entrants.  When we came to the tent called “Kafers Wiesn Schanke”, the guards assured us it was closed, but then turned their backs to us.  A few people strode confidently past us into the Kafers’ grounds, and we followed.  We stayed there for the next ten hours.

At first, after realizing that even the outdoor tables were packed full, we stood and perched against railings, just watching the crowd.  After a while we realized that some waitresses were tasked with serving the people standing where we stood, and got hold of a Mass of Paulaner Oktoberfestbier each.  With that in our hands, we fit right in.  Nearby tables of people got used to our presence, and included us in their toasts.  Just when standing was really getting old, seats became open at an adjacent table, and we sat down there as fast as we could. As the hours passed, we found seats in different parts of the Kafers’ outdoor tables, made friends and talked for a long time, and then moved along, making yet more new friends in our new location.  In fact, everywhere we went, people were very friendly to us, introduced us to their friends, and made us feel welcome.

We enjoyed people watching as much as interacting with them.  For one thing, the festive clothing was endlessly interesting.  The only identical dirndls I saw were worn by employees as a uniform.  Otherwise, the range of dirndls was just amazing.  Cottons and brocades, modest and skimpy, old and new, each one pretty in itself and becoming to its wearer.  Menswear was, while oriented around lederhosen, also widely varied:  gingham or homespun cotton shirts, different lengths of pants, sweaters of dark wools, vests of printed velvets, and tailored collarless wool jackets along with thick knitted knee socks made each guy look a little different.  The overall impression was that everyone had worn their best party clothes to the city’s biggest party.  If I hadn’t been in traditional garb myself, I would have felt out of place, but as it was, I fit right in.

Sure, lots of unpleasant things happen at Oktoberfest, whether in Munich or not: dead-drunkenness, fights, robberies, health incidents…of course.  Still, millions of visitors come every year to enjoy the party with no personal experience of the downsides.  Most attendees in Munich are Germans; the statistics I found, which are over ten years old, are 85% Germans, 15% foreign visitors.  Certainly, Americans love Oktoberfest!  But for Bavarians, it’s the best party of the year, a chance to see and be seen by old friends and new, and to be glad to be Bavarian.  I sometimes think many Americans long for that sort of social identity, that sense of belonging to something persistent over time, as well as that ability to have fun together.  I’m pretty sure we don’t allow ourselves to have real Oktoberfests in the US, possibly because we don’t trust our social fabric to be strong enough to withstand all that fun outside our own homes.   Bavarians know, however, that their social fabric is run through with steel threads.  Time and tradition will do that for you.