A Taste of Germany

Blumenau City Hall in All its Glory
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This will across as totally absurd, but the biggest Oktoberfest outside of Germany is not in another Germanic country, like say Austria, but in Southern Brazil. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. So reading tidbits from the Lonely Planet that told of German towns, stuck in the hills of Santa Catarina, some of which still hold German as their first language, I felt compelled to see this phenomenon for myself. I chose as my specimen, the town of Blumenau.

I arrived at the Grun Garten Hostel and was immediately confused by the accent. Granted, by Portuguese is feeble at best, but I could get by in Rio. Maybe it was my Carioca accent. After checking in, I decided to check out the town. Bizarre and wonderful. It is kinda like a dream after coming from a typically Brazilian beach to stumble into a German town nestled in the low mountains.

It is kinda like a dream after coming from a typically Brazilian beach to stumble into a German town nestled in the low mountains.

Typical House in Blumenau
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The pictures more or less tell it all. Just look at the town hall. The people are also a bit taller and more slender. Their skin is also light and you find Brazilians with freckles. Taking stock in the mall food court I noticed a variety of food from sushi, to home made pasta, to strudel. Yum!

There is not actually much to do here save marvel at the scene and eat. After a movie I found a German style restaurant that also had live music. To my delight the musician was playing a Pink Floyd set. Amidst the noise of a party at a table nearby, I sang along and provided encouragement to the man with his guitar. To make my stay in a German village official, I ordered red and white sausages and a glass of weizen. Mmm…weizen! The sausages were not quite the Germanic fare I expected, but they were fine with a bit of mustard. The weizen was excellent. As it turned out it was a product of the local brewery, Eisenbahn.

My beer tour guides.
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After a bit of journaling in the morning, I decided to check out the cervejaria. A bus ride into the countryside took me to the beloved Eisenbahn. Apparently they don’t get many English-speaking visitors. Their main audience is Brazilian or German. In fact they weren’t even set up for an English tour. Asking nicely always seems to help and to my good fortune a lady who’d just started that week became my translator for the tour.

Apparently the brewery is quite new, but has quickly earned a reputation for having excellent beer. The story goes that the area has always been known for having good beer but there wasn’t a brewery. This dilemma was solved with this new cervejaria. Named after the railroad and starting small, it has expanded from only a couple beverages to include such things as bocks, IPA’s, and Belgian ales. We even had a short chat with a German beer consultant. At the conclusion of the tour I received a complementary beverage straight from the tank and nibbled on chorizos.

Does this remind you of Brazil?
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The scene was rendered a bit more surreal as a man in lederhosen walked in with a drum. Unfortunately I didn’t get to hear any Germanic, folkloric, drumming. I was curious as to what that might have sounded like. I guess he needed a few brews to get into the spirit. Since I had a bus to catch I thanked Germany for inspiring good beer and hit the old dusty trail. It was back to Floripa to meet Han and continue south.