Visiting the ‘Texas of Germany’

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            Last in a series on my recent trip to Bavaria and Austria.

 

UNTERNEUKIRCHEN, BAVARIA — Famed European travel writer Rick Steves once called Bavaria the “Texas of Germany.” It is by far the largest of the 16 German states, comprising about one-fifth of the country. Just as folks in Texas often refer to themselves as Texans — a habit not practiced in most states — folks in Bavaria often call themselves Bavarians first, rather than Germans. Both Bavaria and Texas were once independent and not part of another country.

As Steves notes, many Bavarians really do wear dirndls and lederhosen on special occasions. I witnessed it during my recent trip there, especially at Oktoberfest in Munich. Daughter Mere and son-in-law Matt — two thirds of the Teutonic Trio, as we dubbed ourselves — donned theirs for the event. Bavaria has a distinctive folk culture with its beer gardens and host of festivals. In general, Bavaria is more conservative than other parts of Germany, particularly in its rural areas. At least, that is my sense after spending two weeks there.

Mere and Matt live on a quiet street in Unterneukirchen, population 3,500. The name translates to “Lower New Church.” The Upper Bavarian farming community is about a dozen miles north of the Austrian border crossing at Burghausen, a lovely city profiled last week. When I was in Bavaria in late September and early October, farmers were beginning to harvest hundreds of rows of feed corn. Mere and I walked every morning, often along gravel paths flanked by towering cornfields. In other fields where the corn had been harvested, fields were plowed and some type of root vegetable planted and growing rapidly — radishes, perhaps?

On clear days — which were not common — one can see the Bavarian Alps in the distant south. I managed to get one photo with those mountains in view far behind a self-serve pumpkin patch and rows of feed corn. A stand of pick-your-own sunflowers still holding on, though not for much longer. Already, the morning lows were in the high 30s, highs in the 50s. Having escaped 90-plus degree East Texas, I reveled in the cold weather. It’s the Yankee in me.

I stayed by myself in the house for three days, house-sitting Rudy the Cat, who had few needs beyond food and water. Rudy is an interesting kitty. One of the few other responsibilities I had with him was to allow him on the yoga mat upstairs, where he would stand and wait for me to clap him on the side several times. He would then walk to the other end of the mat for another mild spanking, purring all the while. I have never seen a cat that enjoyed such activity.

The town’s skyline was visible from my balcony, up on the third floor of the house, part of a cozy attic apartment with privacy and comfort. Past a sea of tidy houses with manicured backyards and red-tile roofs, the steeples of the two churches on the town square rose into view. I decided to walk into town to get some items from the town’s only grocery store, which is surprisingly well stocked and about the size of a Brookshire’s Spring Market. Not huge, but big enough. I bravely set out, keeping those two steeples in sight as my lodestar. Backpack on my shoulders to fill with needed provisions: wine, sparkling water, chips, crackers, and cheese. The necessities of life.

Johanneskirche Unterneukirchen (Church of St. John the Evangelist and St. Aegidius) is the older parish church, built in 1479. It is now a protected monument, well preserved but no longer used as a church. The newer parish church (both are Catholic) is Christkönigskirche Unterneukirchen (Church of Christ the King), built in 1960. It was constructed because the old church had become too small.

I filled my backpack, noted the presence of a nice restaurant — Raspl’s Steak Wirthaus — for another evening, and headed back. Finding my way back to the house was a bit trickier. I put the address in Google Maps, but the walking feature usually gives me fits. I ended up walking about twice as far, with a couple of false turns, but the weather — misty and cool — made it a fine day to be outside. Eventually I found the right street and arrived. Rudy was waiting for me just inside the door.

I became even braver over the next few days, driving the 2006 Renault with a stick shift they had left me to a biergarten in neighboring Garching, about 10 minutes away. I drove to a nearby bakery on Sunday morning for coffee and a cinnamon roll. (Thank goodness Germans drive on the “correct” side of the road or I would have never risked it.) I even ordered a pizza delivered from a DoorDash-like service. Rudy and I curled up on the couch and watched a show on Netflix, munching pizza and sipping wine. (Me, not Rudy.)

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            On my next-to-last day in Bavaria, Mere and Matt returned from their anniversary trip. We headed to nearby Altötting for another Oktoberfest, a smaller affair but certainly enjoyable. We had no trouble finding seats in the wooden hall, as a polka band played. Two volunteers dressed in their lederhosen cheerfully posed for a photograph. We again ordered too much food — Bratwurst, bread, and cheese — downing it with mugs of Altöttinger beer, brewed in this town of 13,000.

It was a fine way to end this Bavarian adventure.

See more photos on my Facebook page.

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