Bensheim 2007 Blog Part 3

A procession of many kilometers

Sunday, and not only missed breakfast, but also missed all of the morning. Rolled off the bed and into the shower, then headed off into town for some lunch. Schnitzel and potato salad did the trick, and provided the required sustenance for a 100k procession from the outskirts of Germany to the town centre of Bensheim, or that’s how it seemed on that slightly overcast Sunday morning, as I prepared to take part.

To get to our starting spot, we had to meet up at the Bacchus, at a time which I still can’t recall even now, and returning from my comestible diversion, I found everyone ready to go, with me only partially kitted. Returning within a few minutes, I was just in time to catch the tail end charlies of the group as Woodside, WAGs and other associated parties, crocodiled along the streets of Bensheim, into the northern part of the town that we only ever got to see come procession time

It was good to see that Dennis had returned to the fold, following his brief excursion in the care of the Bergstrasse’s most hospitable hospital, though he wasn’t going to take part in the parade, and planned to find a comfortable sofa in the VIP enclosure upon which he would pass the hours, whilst the rest of us would be dripping blood, sweat and schnitzel along the route. Well, I say the rest of us, but many of the Woodside accompaniments would also be joining Dennis in VIP luxury.

We continued the long walk to our starting position, somewhere along Wilhemstrasse I think it was, and the surrounding architecture was, to an unenlightened Englishman’s eye, a pleasant mix of fairytale Germany, with a sort of oldy world cottage on a mountainside thing going on, whilst remaining, very clearly, a modern urban residential street. I’m not sure how they do it, but it works very well.

Anyway, we got to our blocks and awaited the moment of departure. We had set up next to a small brass and drum band all dressed in black suites and bowlers, except for the women, who were kitted in traditional Bergstrasse country folk ware. They looked great, but sounded even better; they struck up a couple of numbers in a sort of folk jazz kind of manner that proved to be almost irresistible, and you could only speculate that whatever town or village they came from must have some pretty swinging parties. The chap who appeared to be leading them also provided a minor diversion, in that he was the image of the late lamented John Huston, legendary director of films such as ‘The African Queen’ and ‘Asphalt Jungle’. It would be nice to think he hadn’t really handed in his ticket, but had given up on Hollywood to star in his own little German oom-pah band.

Anyway, by way of a response to this band’s fine display of their wares, we decided to give them a display of good old fashioned English Morris Dancing. So, our band striking up Valentine, we strutted our stuff before the expectant throng. Now, whilst most of the crowd remained mesmerised by our exemplary display of the ancient English martial art, there was a man who did not become quite so enraptured by the performance; and he happened to be sitting on quite the biggest cart I have seen in my time (which is probably only about forty or fifty, so not much competition), being pulled by some of the biggest horses I have seen in my time. Stopping for a good two and a half seconds to enjoy the moment, and it was literally only a moment, he then flicked the horses reins and drove them on through our set - the little bugger. As a mark of respect, he didn’t get the horses to trample any of us, which was appreciated. To the credit of the dancers and musicians, they carried on as though it had been a planned part of the act; and I understand that later, when we were dancing in town, there were a few onlookers that were disappointed that the horse and cart didn’t come through the set as they thought it was an excellent tradition.

Anyway, still intact, we set off on the procession - thankfully we were a lot closer to the front this year and had less time to wait. There are not far short of 100 groups taking part in the procession, either on floats or bikes or cars or walking, or even dancing, such as our good selves, so it is always a surprise how many people are left in the town to watch the procession. There is always a massive turn out though, and they are always highly enthusiastic - possibly fuelled by the wine drinking frenzy that takes place throughout the Wintzerfest. It is a long schlep for a procession, but with the numbers involved it has to be, and frankly, there are so many people watching, and so many things going on; including the traditional game of ‘dance and dodge doo-doo’, which we play around the prolific number of horse droppings that are available along the rout, especially for such games.

That's another great thing about this festival, you see such an eclectic collection of people and horses from every generation; in fact I’m not sure whether there are more horses or more people in the procession.

Come the end of the festival I was a bit shattered, but wanted to get some more pictures of the procession, and having been close to the front of the thing, plenty to take. So, taking leave of the chaps, I set off to capture the rest of the procession for posterity. I didn’t get far before a family, who lived in a house on the procession route, insisted on me joining in with their celebration. Alas, my Morris man’s outfit disguise had singled me out for special attention, but it was attention I could handle, as it involved the imbibing of a little wine, and a pleasant word or two in broken pigeon German. There was a light hearted attempt to liberate my be-flowered hat, but a quick shake of my Morris stick brought an end to any such ideas, and we had a convivial few moments whilst I knocked back a glass of the Bergstrasse’s finest. I then attempted to move on, still intent on photographing the unfolding civic event, but was dragged back to the table to spend some time with the family patriarch, who insisted that if I sat with him, I would drink with him, and how could I refuse. Thus, refreshed, enlivened and slightly tiddly from their most generous of measures, I set off to complete my job, enheartened  by this demonstration of pan European brother and sisterhood.

All in all the procession was a most exhilarating affair, and I recommend it to anybody. No, I recommend it to everybody.

Bensheim 2007 Blog Part 1
Bensheim 2007 Blog Part 2
Bensheim 2007 Blog Part 3
Bensheim 2007 Blog Part 4
Bensheim 2007 Blog Part 5

Bensheim 2007 Homepage