I didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself: 2,500 people at a fairly authentic 
German biergarten in a shady Ann Arbor park. Mr. TravelerWrites had told me about this phenomenon some time ago, both the event and the place known as “German Park,” but I was skeptical. Honestly, I figured he was overestimating–by about ten times–the size of the crowd as well as the authenticity, despite his German heritage.
But Mr. TravelerWrites was spot on. On just three Saturdays each summer, the German Park Recreation Club opens up the park to the public. A gentleman who looks like he just stepped off a hiking trail through the Black Forest nods and alternately greets the queue with “Welcome” and “Willkommen.” With a smile, he gently chides a recent smoking ban, while directing smokers to the designated area. For $5 at the gate, you can join the other 2,499 guests for for brats, knockwurst, spaetzle, homemade potato salad, and, big surprise, beer sold by the bucket.
It’s a huge but tame event, with plenty of people in their lederhosen and dirndls and plenty of others in shorts, sundresses, jeans and t-shirts. A band plays traditional, polka-style oompah music, with Jimmy Buffet and Achy Breaky Heart thrown into the mix. People dance.
The whole thing has a bit of a surprising you-have-to-know-someone-to-get-in vibe to it, and in a way it feels more authentic than a trip to the Hofbrauhaus in Munchen. It also draws a fairly diverse crowd–diverse being relative, and this being Michigan.
According to the artwork on said beer buckets, the club’s been putting on the event for 72 years. It appears to be quite the well-oiled machine: volunteers strike just the right level of friendliness (polite, semi-warm but no hovering o
r forced chit-chat); picnic tables fill with families and friends playing Yahtzee and Kniffel; the music brings line and schuhplattler dancers alike to their feet.
A couple on their way out declines cashing in their unused food tickets (when was the last time you went to a festival where you could sell ‘em back??) and instead presses them into our hands with a smile. “Put it toward a beer.” Even the mosquitoes apparently have been sequestered for the night and a breeze dries the muggy, late June air. As we leave, Mr. TravelerWrites has to be restrained from inquiring about a lifetime membership to the club.
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