Making Friends in Germany

This is the backstory to my visit to Germany last September, but it is much more than that. This is a story I have intended to tell ever since I started this blog. It is the story of how a gay man was able to make friends with a group of guys, and especially with one of them. In the context of my blog, I think it illustrates my position that it is possible for us to have satisfying friendships without sexual involvement (attraction, but not sexual activity).

In 1984 I was on a tour in Germany. On June 6 (or possibly 5), the day after we attended the Passion Play in Oberammergau, we went by stages to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, where we stayed overnight. After dinner, I walked around the city smoking my cigar (so as not to stink up the hotel bedroom). About 9:30, as it was beginning to get dark and my cigar was about finished, I found myself outside the Brauhaus Rothenburg; and I decided to go in and sample the local product.

I was the only person there, and when I finished my pint (0,5l) I decided to leave. I was opening the door when several guys came up the steps form the sidewalk. The first greeted me with the south German greeting, "Grüss Gott," and they went in. Pleased at the greeting, I decided to stay a bit longer to see if the place would liven up and got another beer.

The others took seats at another table, and others trickled in and joined them, until there were probably 24 people at the long table. After a while, a couple of them started beating on drums and a couple played flutes, while the rest sang a song. At the end, I made a gesture of applauding, and they waved me over to their table and made room for me in the middle of one side.

The person to my right explained that they were members of a group called the "Junge Schar," the "young troop" or "band," and that they took part in the local festival. But his English was not very extensive and my German nearly nonexistent, so conversation didn't get very far. Meanwhile they continued to sing from time to time, and I noticed that in addition to their individual mugs of beer they passed around a boot-shaped glass, from which each person drank. Diagonally across from me was a young good-looking guy who seemed to be constantly smiling.

Eventually, a trip to the rest room was needed, and when I got back the good-looking, smiling guy was in the seat to my left. His name was "Stefan" and he was in high school (Gymnasium). His English was quite good. He explained more about the Junge Schar, which included members from 18 to about 30 years of age. They had been at a rehearsal for the festival play. He was surprised to learn that I was 41. He urged me to stay and see the Pentecost Festival the following weekend, and I explained that it would unfortunately be impossible, as I was with a tour group, including family members, and we had to leave Rothenburg the next day. He invited me to write. "If you will write to us, we will write to you." And he gave me his address.

Meanwhile, the boot continued to make its rounds, getting refilled a couple of times, and I enjoyed being included in the sharing. At one point, it came to the guy on my right, and after he had a sip he looked carefully at it, and handed it to me very carefully, just so. I took a swig, and when I did so, a cheer went up around the table. Stefan explained that when I drank, air had bubbled into the foot of the boot, and whoever lets air into the foot has to buy the next boot. He hastened to assure me that it was not expensive, and it wasn't — it was only a liter, and it cost less than 5 marks, maybe 3,50. But anyway, I was delighted, because it was obvious that they were all in on it and to me it seemed like a way of including me in the group and their activity which went even beyond having me sit at their table and talk to them. I was buying their beer, providing for them. Okay, it's also playing a trick on the newcomer, but it was a trick I was happy to have played on me.

Eventually, after 1:00 a.m., people started to drift away, and I had to go back to the hotel, which was a couple of blocks outside the city walls. Stefan walked with me, and I began to fantasize that he might invite me home with him. But at an intersection about a block from the hotel he said here was where he had to go a different way, and we said our good nights.

I sent him a postcard when we reached Heidelberg (for people who know Germany, the tour actually stayed in a hotel in Frankenthal). After I got home I wrote and told him a bit more about myself, and he responded with information about himself and the Junge Schar. The story of ongoing contact I'll tell in a subsequent post or posts. And I'll also provide some links to photos and videos that can illustrate the Junge Schar and the festival.