Somewhere in Germany's Bundesland known as Hessen, in the vicinity of the Rhein River, lies a small village called Partenheim. Of little note to the layman, Partenheim is of particular interest to me given its striking similarity to my own last name. Indeed, my mother, with her passion for genealogy, discovered that our ancestors emigrated from this very town in the 1870's. I'd been there once before in 1996, but was keen to go back.
And so, after meeting Stevie in Berlin, renting a car and seeing such towns as Hannover, Nordeich on the North Sea, Cologne and Trier, we found ourselves in German wine country on the way to Partenheim.
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| The town of Partenheim in Germany |
Partenheim, a wine village that recently celebrated its 1,250 anniversary, has a population of roughly 1,000 people, two pubs with rooms available upstairs, a church, a castle, and of course a few wineries scattered about. My goal was to obtain a few more bottles of Partenheimer wine, which my family uses for special occasions like Christmas or weddings.
As we arrived on a Sunday afternoon when everything was closed, we decided to stay the night above one of the pubs and get some wine in the morning before heading out. I was itching to tell a local my last name, but felt awkward bringing it up out of the blue. As I was paying the bill for dinner, though, a local called out that he had seen me taking pictures of the sign outside of town. That's when I rather excitedly pulled out my passport, and the man was beside himself when he learned my last name. The man, named Oliver, began calling out to the others at the bar, and yelling at the bartender, and soon all manner of gifts began appearing before us, including: a postcard, two bottles of wine, two shot glasses and two wine glasses, all bearing the name Partenheim or Partenheimer.
The night went on for three more hours as we conversed in German and Oliver's schoolbook English. Oliver kept calling out to the bartender, ("Werner! They need more wine! Werner! Someone clean those wineglasses! We can't give them dirty glasses!") and then started calling friends to see if anyone could give us a proper tour of the town the following day, as he had to work. Oliver never did find a tourguide for us, but his enthusiasm never died the whole evening. Finally around midnight we were able to say goodbye and make our way upstairs.
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| Stevie with our new friend Oliver at the bar in Partenheim |
The following morning we decided to visit one of the wineries to get a few more bottles, and upon hearing my last name, the proprietor gave us two bottles and another shot glass as presents. This prompted the joke that we should visit all the other nearby towns and claim similar names in the hopes of earning more free swag.
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ReplyDeleteI had similar experiences both visits to Partenheim where the locals were welcoming. How do you think I got all my Partenheim shot glasses? Though with the pilgrimages you, Dad and I have made over the years, I wonder if the townsfolk talk about the American Partenheimers who show up in town every decade or so.
ReplyDeleteDid you tell your host that your nephew is named Oliver?!
ReplyDeleteKirsten, I definitely told him my nephew's name is Oliver. Also, there was a woman who was describing someone who might have been mom who was there ten or so years ago.
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