Mosel Weinfest (Kat Nickola)
When my German neighbor comes over and asks if I want to secretly “sell” my husband to Bacchus, I’m all over it. Over the weekend we planned to join his family at the small-town Mosel Weinfest local to his family vineyards, and firsthand participation is always fun.
Then he tells me how Bacchus’s entourage gets kidnapped, drinks all afternoon, strips down to burlap loincloths, drinks some more, oils themselves up, rows the god of wine down the Mosel and hauls him to the fest. So, with all of that information, it was a hard pass on submitting my non-drinking husband, however, we were quite happy to watch from the sidelines!
From August to October, many of the small winegrowing towns along the Mosel host one-weekend wine festivals. They are fun, casual, local events that follow a similar pattern; you can blend in at any of them.
On Friday night, the festival opens with music and a special event like introducing the local wine queen. At the one we attend, there is a competition that finds all the men hauling buckets of water from the river into a barrel.
Saturday is the big day. There is a food booth, a carnival ride or two and plenty of local wines for sale. My neighbors and I grab a whole bottle and share it around at one of the riverside tables. There is also live music on the small stage where local performances happen. Early in the day is the perfect time to enjoy the Mosel scenery, hike around the vineyards or take a bicycle down the riverside path to the next village.
Near my neighbor’s ancestral village, we spend the day hunting mushrooms in the woods. Then his father drives us, hanging from the back of his tractor, around the old family vineyards and historical home. In the late afternoon, we walk down the road to the festival.
Wine casks in the basement. (Kat Nickola)
Vineyards along the Mosel River. (Kat Nickola)
Wine cellar (Kat Nickola)
View of the Mosel Rivre. (Kat Nickola)
Once the sun sets on Saturday night, the bacchanalia begins. Fire can be seen floating, slowly, up the river toward the festival. First, come two boats full of Roman centurions and ladies in togas.
They disembark at the tiny town dock just past the festival area. Then, we hear yelling. We can’t make it out at first until my neighbor clarifies that they are screaming “Salve,” Latin for salvation. It’s an interesting slogan for two boatloads of oiled-up “slaves of Bacchus” to be shouting as they float by. The crowd erupts in cheers, responds in kind and follows downstream to the dock. Bacchus’s entourage wear nothing but a burlap sack, but he disembarks in full regalia from the second boat, massive chalice in hand.
Bacchus is welcomed by the Roman centurions and mounts a wine-barrel cask atop a cart. Then, the whole party parades back down the street toward the festival. Out of nowhere, a band shows up to lead the way, followed by all the Romans and, finally, Bacchus’ greased-up tipsy entourage. Shouts and cheers follow.
Bacchus’ entourage arriving via boat down the Mosel River. (Kat Nickola)
Romans and villagers waiting for Bacchus at the Mosel River dock (Kat Nickola)
Bacchus being pulled by his entourage. (Kat Nickola)
A hoard has gathered in the festival tent, we stay outside content to sip from our glasses and listen to the raucous noise inside. “They just give presentations,” my neighbor says. “It is boring.” He tops up my glass and those of the Dutch family who share our table.
Suddenly, the greasy entourage has escaped. They head for the one ride at this tiny fest: the kiddy carousel. Most of the children run for their lives, except my neighbor’s eight-year-old, who confidently rides along until the wine god himself asks for her seat. She reluctantly obliges and the bacchanalia goes around and around.
Bacchus and his entourage take over the carousel. (Kat Nickola)
In some towns, the festival continues on Sunday with a local ladies’ bake sale. In this village things wind down late Saturday night. Not interested in staying up too late, my husband and I are discussing plans for walking back to the house when my neighbor starts yelling at someone behind me. Apparently, he and Bacchus are old friends and I’m being introduced. In good fun, I’m pulled off the bench and onto his lap for a photo shoot.
Weinfest tent (Kat Nickola)
This same weekend, there were Mosel wine festivals in two other small villages up and down the river. There are no fireworks or souvenirs at these local events, but there is fun and camaraderie.
If you’d like to go to a small village wine festival, visit the tourism website for the nearest regional large city, like Cochem, Bernkastel-Kues or Traben-Trarbach. Each of these big cities also host massive days-long wine festivals that cater to large tourist crowds. Those huge parties are not my favorite; I’m more a fan of small events where I can snag a table and get a hug from Bacchus.
The author and Bacchus (Kat Nickola)
