Political correctness has few fans in Bavaria, but nobody seems to care
The culture police would have a field day in Munich. In costume shops, amid fairy costumes and firemen’s helmets, you can make yourself the proud owner of an “Indianer” outfit. This authentic Native American get-up is illustrated by a picture of a dorky white guy holding a little axe and wearing face paint, a long black wig with feather headband and head-to-toe brown tassels. At the higher end, one jewellery shop advertised its wares by hanging a carefully sculpted “negress” necklace in its window – a black, carved head of an African woman in a tribal gold hat. Good luck to whichever dope decides to wear that out in a more cosmopolitan setting.
In the fancy Bayerischer Hof Hotel, the basement is devoted to a tired-looking tiki-themed bar called Trader Vic’s. Replete with totem poles, wicker thrones and a poster depicting a Pacific man in a loincloth, the place serves mediocre Thai food and cocktails. It’s safe to say the concept of “cultural appropriation” has yet to reach Bavaria.
Yet the locals are happiest when dressing up as “authentic” rural Bavarians at every opportunity. The shop windows are full of brightly coloured dirndls and lederhosen on mannequins, all the way from cheap high street outlets up to the €1,000 versions available in department stores.
Sophisti-cat Berliners say Munich is a “provincial” place. Maybe that’s true. But overall, the people have a healthy glow. In summer, they swim in rivers; in winter, they ski every weekend. Half of the bikes left on the street at night aren’t locked. The old stone fountains are not just turned off for the winter, but carefully protected by
The shop windows are full of brightly coloured dirndls and lederhosen
bespoke wooden covers.
The town does have its international side. English translations of signs are prevalent. And on Saturday, in one of the main squares, an Iranian diaspora group staged an orderly rally for human rights, protesting the presence of Javad Zarif, Iran’s foreign minister, in Germany. They made their point, then went home, without leaving a stream of rubbish behind. There is something to be said for “provincial” customs.