Germany, Jayne and the beer garden

PETER BUFFA

I’m back. Not tan, not fit, not rested ... but back nonetheless. Then

again, I wasn’t tan or fit before I left, and who cares if I’m

rested? Nobody, that’s who.

Ever been to Germany? It’s a fascinating place, especially if you

go there after spending some time in Italy. Talk about polar

opposites. The Irish have a wonderful expression -- “life is a merry

brawl.” They must have just gotten back from Italy when they said it.

Italy is all energy and anarchy and excess, where anything goes

except no one is quite sure how or where. Germany is all efficiency

and order and quiet competence, where 2:55 should never be confused

with three o’clock. My only experience with Germany before this foray

was in the far north -- Berlin, Hamburg and Bremen. But we were in

Stuttgart, in the southwestern corner of Bavaria, which is called

Schwabia, and I was bowled over by what a beautiful, green, pastoral

place it is compared to the north.

Stuttgart and nearby Ludwigsburg are part of the realm of the 19th

century Bavarian king, Ludwig II, known as Ludwig Friedrich Wilhelm

to his friends. He was also known as “The Swan King,” “The Dream

King” and “Mad King Ludwig.” I guess it just depended on the day.

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t. Ludwig II is

perhaps best known for his three jaw-dropping castles, which he

called his “fantasies in stone.” The most jaw-dropping of all is the

Neuschwanstein Castle, which would definitely ring a bell if you saw

it, because it was the model for Sleeping Beauty’s castle at

Disneyland, a.k.a. the Happiest Place on Earth.

A model of precision

Today’s Stuttgart is very user-friendly, squeaky clean, and boy do

the trains run on time. Every metro station has an electronic display

overhead that tells you when the next train will arrive, which is

usually no more than a few minutes, and where it’s headed. If you’re

into cars with prices that make you say, “Ach du lieber!” Stuttgart

is home to both Mercedes-Benz and Porsche. This is a company town,

though, and there’s little doubt that the nummer-eine company in this

town is Mercedes Benz, which rolled out its first motorcar in Dec.

22, 1900, which was something like 104 years ago. In case anyone is

confused about whose calls get returned first at Stuttgart City Hall,

the spire atop the Stuttgart train station is topped by an enormous

Mercedes-Benz logo.

Our hotel, the Steigenberger Graf Zeppelin, was top-notch, with

great service, and, of course, everything was neat as a pin and had

been folded, ironed, refolded, then laid out just so. The food? I was

afraid you’d bring that up. Under normal circumstances, I have the

self-control of a newborn baby in the arms of Jayne Mansfield. But

with food like this -- veal you can cut with a fork, and an endless

supply of pommes frites, which means, “fried potatoes you never knew

existed” -- it’s a lost cause. And the bread -- my god, man, the

bread. Let me ask you something. We have flour, right? We have salt.

We have eggs, and I know we have water. Why can’t we make bread like

that? I don’t get it. Worried about carbs? You better be. After I

finish the book I mentioned last week, “Italy on a Thousand Dollars a

Day: You Can Do It If You Try,” I’m doing a sequel called “Germany on

10,000 Grams of Carbs a Day: You Can Do It If You Try.”

Retracing some footsteps

Italy was just for fun, but we were in Germany on a mission. As I

mentioned, my wife, Sharyn, is an Army brat who grew up in Germany,

and we were there to find her old haunts. Her dad was a U.S. Army

chief warrant officer and they lived in a sprawling military housing

area just outside Stuttgart called Pattonville. Can you guess whom

they named it for? You are very smart. Her alma mater was the high

school at Pattonville, “Ludwigsburg American High School,” proud home

of the Ludwigsburg Stallions, which is a type of horse. Much to my

surprise, with just a few wrong turns, there it was, Pattonville,

sitting pretty just off the main road. It’s no longer a military

facility and it’s been redeveloped as apartments and condominiums,

but with just a few more circles, two U-turns and one brake slam, she

found it -- Ludwigsburg High -- still standing and still serving as a

school, only now under a different name. It was exciting to peer

through the windows (it was Sunday), walk the grounds and the track

and the football field -- now a soccer field, of course -- and see

all the places where she and her friends did all those wonderful,

wild things we all do in the wonder years. You may only live once,

but it sure is fun to go back to the places where it all happened.

A walk in the ‘garden’

That only left my personal quest, which was to get to Oktoberfest,

which we did, that night, on the metro of course. If you walk out of

Oktoberfest and you are in any condition to drive, you’re doing it

wrong. Stuttgart’s version of Oktoberfest is called Canstatter Volk

Fest and frankly, when we first got there, I was worried. It could

have passed easily for the Orange County Fair -- a huge midway, with

carnival games and rides and food booths. But with a little

exploring, we found exactly what I was after -- a beer garden -- a

massive tent with long tables of beer-stein waving revelers who have

only a vague idea of where they are or what their name is, all trying

to sing along with a band that is playing everything from traditional

German songs to schlock rock. What is the largest beer you’ve ever

seen? These are bigger. The steins are about the size of a propane

tank and after the second one you’d be hard-pressed to tell people

what country you’re from. I had heard that “Macho Man” was a big

favorite, but it actually turned out to be “Hey, Jude,” since

everyone from Dusseldorf to Des Moines to Uzbekistan can manage “nah,

nah, nah, na-na-na-na ... na-na-na-na, hey-eh, Jude” even in a

seriously deteriorated state, which we were.

So there you have it. If you’re planning a trip to Italy and

Germany, let me know if you want any hot tips, other than drink

bottled water, and if you’re watching your diet -- try not to eat any

solid food for 90 days before you leave.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].