If you ask people what they know about Germany, you’re likely to get some variation of beer, sausages and lederhosen. Beer and sausages are definitely unifying forces in Germany, but it’s curious that Lederhosen joins them in the German stereotype trifecta. Ask most Germans what Lederhosen represents and they’ll give you a different answer. What many believe to be the most obvious example of traditional Germany is actually connected to only one state in particular, Bavaria. Sure, some cities such as Berlin will seek to get in on the tourist magnet of Oktoberfest, but that doesn't mean they accept Bavaria as the cultural capital of Germany. It’s unlikely that the vast majority of Germans even own Trachten (Lederhosen or Dirndl). 

The traditions of Bavaria may be becoming popular countrywide, but the state itself has a mixed reputation. It’s one of the most popular domestic holiday destinations, especially for hikers, but it’s also a particularly conservative and traditional state with a reputation for backwardness. Add to the mix the fact that Bavaria is one of the richest of the Bundeländer and you have a scenario where its reputation fluctuates along a continuum between hay chewing bumpkin at one end and elitist snobs at the other. Unsurprisingly in a state as large as Bavaria, both descriptions can be accurate. If I travel into the countryside, I’ll certainly begin to hear imaginary Blasmusik music playing softly in the distance as hardy looking country folk trundle past on various forms of agricultural machinery. Should I drive to Munich, I’ll quickly be consumed with a fiery rage as I’m accosted by numerous aggressive drivers, flashing their lights and indicating for me to move out of their way. The explanation for their selfish behaviour being the letter M on their number plates indicating they reside in Bavaria’s capital.

From speaking to Germans and non-Germans living in other the other states, I get the sense that Bavarians have the reputation for being elitist or at least a bit snobbish. This is certainly something I recognise from the more urbane residents of Munich, but what I encounter more often is brusk dismissiveness of alternative ideas, especially when it comes to small differences. I remember speaking to a Bavarian bar owner who described working at an Oktoberfest event that was held in Mainz. The experience typified the difference they saw between the traditions of Bavaria and those of the rest of Germany. “They only had one tent” they laughed, indicating the fact that any self-respecting Bavarian Volksfest will have at least two. They were also surprised by the choice of colours; instead of the traditional blue and white lozenge pattern that all Germans recognise as the Bavarian flag, Mainz had instead chosen to use their cities colours of red and white. “I told them that they better hope that there are no Bavarians coming, because they would definitely complain”.

Does it really matter how many tents or what colour flag is flying? I mean, who cares? Bavarians apparently. That Bavaria is both very German for non-Germans and something of a pariah for Germans makes describing the place I live quite difficult. When I’m called upon to describe my home, I often compare Bavaria to other places, if only to give people a sense of what makes it such a separate entity. Americans will claim Texas as the obvious counterpart; fiercely independent, continued relevance of traditional costume (Bavaria = lederhosen and Dirndel, Texas = Cowboy regalia), farming, Christianity and indecipherable dialects. It also helps that Texas has an ageing population of Texan Germans, who learned German as a first language, despite being born in the USA. Interestingly, despite immigration from many different parts of Germany, Texan Germans are more likely to identify with Bavaria, again with different forms of Trachten.

Even though there are many similarities between Texas and Bavaria, in my mind Texas is only superficially similar. Should someone ask me to describe Bavaria, I’d suggest that Yorkshire in the North of England is a better example. Like Texas, Yorkshire has superficial similarities but there are certainly more concrete comparisons to be made, such as the range of dialects. Bavaria boasts not just one type of Bayrisch, but several, enough to keep any visitor on their toes when communicating. It’s even been argued that a common form of Bayrisch is a language in it’s own right. Yorkshire may not have similar linguistic claims, but it certainly has a wide range of accents and dialects that can change every ten miles which is very familiar for anyone who’s travelled around Bavaria.

What really stands out for me is the mentality of Bavarians and the people of Yorkshire, that of fierce localism. For example, I say Yorkshire like it is a coherent whole, when in reality it would be better to identify it as two places, North and South Yorkshire. Then again we could add two more versions of Yorkshire to the list, East and West. Within the Yorkshire whole, these invisible differences are vitally important. Every area of Yorkshire has its own identity. For instance the towns and cities of West Yorkshire have a lot in common, but you would be taking your life in your hands if you were to tell a person from Huddersfield that they are similar to the people of Leeds. The same can be said for Bavaria. Ask someone from Nürnberg about the difference between themselves and the people of Fürth and you’ll be provided with a fairly comprehensive list. It might be imagined that these two Bavarian cities are like chalk and cheese. In reality, to the outside observer it’s almost impossible to tell the difference between the two. Visitors may not even know which one of the cities they’re in, since the two are only divided by an invisible Stadtgrenze (city border). 

Ask the citizens of these two Franconian cities about the rest of Bavaria and they might argue that they’re nothing like their cousins in Munich. Yet all it takes to bring these supposed different Bavarian cultures together is to introduce someone from out of state, then we would see that the Bavarians are more than willing to unite, if only to take the piss out of everyone else. Yorkshire is no different. The worst part of Yorkshire will always be considered superior to the best parts of any other part of the UK or the world for that matter. 

Not all comparisons are helpful of course, Bavaria isn’t really like Yorkshire or Texas, except in order to help others understand the place I call home. Bavaria is hard to quantify because it holds the strange position of both typifying everything non-Germans know about Germany, while simultaneously not being considered very German by the Germans. Despite this, Germans from outside of Bavaria still prefer to travel and holiday here every year. Perhaps the Northern states are too proud to admit it, but to find traditional Germany, maybe you need to travel South.