Bavaria

The enduring pathos of Wound Man

From our UK edition

‘Full of strokes and blows/ broken, pitifully wounded’, the man, naked, or almost so, stands full frontal, legs and arms parted, one limb sometimes slightly bent to signal the beginning of a movement. His body is punctured by lesions and wounds, with small depictions of their material causes attached almost as adornment – knives or weapons aimed at cutting and bruising, but also accidental instruments of damage to the skin such as thorns or nails or even living agents – a rabid puppy with sharp teeth. Scratches, buboes and insect bites are also visible.

The mystery of Werner Herzog

From our UK edition

Many movie actors are famous for their unmistakable voices – people like Sean Connery, John Wayne and Peter Lorre, who all pub comedians mimic. But how many directors are like that? Only one: the German auteur Werner Herzog, hero of the New German Cinema, who at the age of 81 has published this headspinning, free-associating memoir. Its German title, Jeder Für Sich Und Gott Gegen Alle, was also the original, anarchic title of Herzog’s 1974 film The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, based on the true story of a boy reportedly brought up in an isolated darkened cell.

The radical mob is ruining Oktoberfest

Cockburn wouldn’t be so skeptical of the radical left nearly as much if they didn’t have an insatiable need to suck the joy out of holidays. First they replaced the Christmas tree with the Kwanzaa bush. Then they told us that tofurkey tastes just as good as the real thing. Now, they are attempting to crush Oktoberfest too.   The two-century-old German tradition, which kicked-off in Munich on September 16, is under attack for its skimpy costumes and environmental impact. The man leading the charge: Luitpold Rupprecht Heinrich, the seventy-two-year-old Prince of Bavaria whose great-grandfather was the last Bavarian king.   “When I see Chinese-made folk costumes made of plastic, pseudo-costumes with tight dirndls, then the whole thing becomes a carnival.

Steins and slogan tees at the Helen Oktoberfest

I am a Party City Bavarian: wearing Doc Martens, pulled-up cotton socks, a polyester smock and pair of buttock-hugging lederhosen. Drowning men have more breathing room. My range of motion is limited to a ceremonial waddle. Thankfully, I do not have far to travel — and there is plenty of beer. Allow me to explain: this weekend I took the trip ninety or so miles north of Atlanta to Helen, a small city not far from the North Carolina state line. In the late 1960s, city officials passed a zoning regulation to turn Helen into a replica of a Bavarian alpine town (hey, it was a weird decade). The result is a unique slice of Americana: an Oktoberfest in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, as Appalachian as it is alpine.

helen oktoberfest georgia