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Every day of the year, the moderately sized town of Homburg Saar is hopping. Markets, fests, rock n roll on Friday nights, jazz on Saturdays, and giant town square TV screens blaring all the big sporting events. The town government knows that the key to keeping merchants happy and the money flowing is to lure shoppers, music lovers, wine addicts, sports enthusiasts, and the tired and hungry into the town center. The lures are many. I’ve barely scratched the surface. Old, classic car clubs hold rallies here. Motorcycle clubs, too. There’s a tiny cheese shop on a side street that surpasses most big food chains. There’s Chili Coffee that breaks out on the old market square and serves as a local hangout and superb meeting point. Restaurants? Homburg’s got ‘ a profusion, and especially of the Italian variety, but also fish, Spanish, brew-pubs, Chinese, Asian fusion, etc.
The town’s many Italian restaurants sponsor an Italian Fest each year. And, suddenly the new market square comes alive with long, red and white tents, a raised stage the size of most high school gyms, beer stands, balloon sellers, and the tantalizing aromas of basil, garlic, and fresh, stone-oven pizza. The long tents are dotted with attractive stand-up tables and the walls lined with restaurant booths serving your Italian favorites, your Italian new favorites, and an almost bewildering array of wine by the glass, bottle, and case. You’ll see shrimp as big as bananas, desserts that stagger your taste buds’ imagination, and pasta tossed in huge rounds of Parmesan that will make you long for a bigger stomach. Hey, you DO have a bigger stomach! Diet starts tomorrow. Meanwhile, slosh down some more wine! Order up! The fest sprawls out onto side streets and down alleys.
The photos show a sparse crowd. That’s because I crept into the new market square mid-morning. In the evenings of this weeklong event, it’s shoulder to shoulder. But, as always, the crowds are friendly and forgiving of shoulder bumping, hip bumping, and light toe stepping. They draw the line at groping and fondling. Wine spilling lingers in that gray area.
We watched some magnificent opera one evening. The orchestra was a big one, forty to fifty pieces, with a large string section. Three singers, one woman and two men, took turns belting out the opera world’s favorite arias. The crowd cheered, whistled and stamped its feet. Although my knowledge of opera extends only to the brief, but poignant scenes from Cher and Nicolas Cage in ‘Moonstruck,’ after several flagons of wine, the Homburg highlights were some of the most beautiful and inspiring music I have ever heard. I found my Italian surprisingly improved and I could even sing along, or at least keep the beat with my tongue.
On another day, I listened to some Italian pop music, and on the final morning, as you can see in the photo, an American Air Force combo provided some vintage rock n roll.
Not all the music reached the pinnacles of rapture and in brief moments I relearned a valuable lesson. In the dark of evening, my buddy and I strolled onto the square, where on stage was an Italian pop band, with a male lead singer and a gorgeous dark haired beauty supplying the doo-wahs. We ambled over. I whispered to my buddy, “I want to get to know her and I want her to follow me home.” As we got closer, this gorgeous creature opened her mouth and out came the most discordant sounds I’ve heard since the braying of my grandfather’s mule. Even a wailing guitar couldn’t silence her and the drummer couldn’t beat it out of her.
My buddy asked if I were sure I wanted her to follow me home. Visions of waking up and hearing the croaking of the Wicked Witch of the West flitted across my mind, along with waves of unmitigated nausea. Then the band stopped playing and my former dream woman stepped off stage and walked by. Stumbled by was more like it. She had the grace of a freelance bull, hired to wreck china shops. “Cancel that order, God! I really want to go home to my loving wife!” Once again, my prayers were answered and a sinner was saved.
But, enough about me. Although I do hate to change the subject. Why so many Italian restaurants in a medium sized German town? As a personal observation, between when I lived in Germany in the early 80s and now, there have been bursts of ethnic restaurants coming on the scene. Nothing new with that. I can remember in the U.S. when you had to go to Texas or points west to get Mexican food. Now Chinese, Mexican, Thai, even Japanese are pervasive from the small town South to the Midwest and beyond. Sushi is openly and without shame now a part of the average college food court.
Back to the Italians in Germany and around the world. In the U.S. there are 18 million of Italian extraction, but countries of South America have even more. Argentina citizenry is of predominately Italian background, with over 25 million, or about 55% of the population. It’s the only country outside of Italy that is mostly Italian. Brazil also has about 25 million people with Italian DNA. The list goes on and on. As a matter of fact, there are about 130 million folks of Italian lineage on earth. Only 60 and a half million of them live in Italy.
Germany has about 700,000 people of Italian ancestry and Switzerland has 800,000. With the advent of the European Union, of which Switzerland is not a part, people are free to migrate and work wherever they wish, within the Union. Germany and Switzerland are both prosperous and don’t forget Switzerland is tri-lingual, and Italian is one of those languages.
People don’t migrate to less prosperity and Germany’s standard of living is high. Drive from Germany into France, or Spain, or Italy and you’ll rapidly get a visual on ‘lower standard of living.’ Doesn’t mean any of those places are bad places to live, they’re just not great places if you’re starting a business and looking for patrons who are wealthy enough to help you grow. Germans have money. They spend it.
Those are generalizations. Specifics? Germans who live in and near Homburg have money. They spend it. Lots of Italian restaurants and one of the very best ethnic fests around is the weeklong Italian Fest in Homburg. Mark your calendar for next year, and just remember that not everyone on stage is cute or can sing. I shudder.
