Circus Macksimus

An old fairy tale park, a boulevard with old trees, a shining redWestern Railroad, a paddlewheel steamboat, plus a mini-golf course and a track with little, rattling race cars that could be driven around. I must have been four or five years old the first time we visited Europa-Park. It was at its very beginning. From then on, like many other families from the area, we were there at least once a year. And we were always excited to see what new surprises the Park had to offer. There were reports in the newspaper about theWhite Water Flume, the new Italian quarter, the amazing magic show given by an internationally famous magician in the Baroque theatre. At the time, Europa-Park was the park of my dreams, as it was for many others. Steering the paddlewheel steamer while wearing a captain’s hat, being pulled through the water by dolphins while sitting in an inflatable raft: these are experiences that belong to my childhood just as much as my first football, the caves and forts built in the forest or the first time sleeping alone in a tent.

At the Park in Rust, I once had the chance to assist a dog trainer on the open air stage. The dog didn’t follow my instructions; instead, it pretty much did whatever it wanted and I had to follow him with my commands. That was the first time that I realized that show business works with a series of little tricks. There I saw my first real variety show which we would otherwise only see on New Year’s Eve on one of the two television channels and, as a teenager, was mesmerized by the skimpy outfits worn by the ladies of the Maxim ballet show.

Las Vegas in the Rhine Valley? Amusement instead of culture? My family was thankfully undogmatic about the question of whether or not it was all just consumerism and meaningless entertainment or if it was all actually culturally valuable. My parents had season tickets to the chamber orchestra, classical music played during our Sunday morning breakfast and books were important. But we also visited the Park once or twice a year with excitement, laughed at the parrot show and happily munched on cotton candy. At the time, not every family shared the same opinion. Many educated people, and the teachers at our school in particular, crinkled their noses at so much commerce and pure escapism.

Despite this, the Park grew from season to season, and I grew along with it. When I went away to college, I lost track of the development in Rust. And when I went back to visit it ten years later, the tranquil Park had become an entertainment empire with its own hotels and almost too many attractions to count.

Of course I had long known that the Park was the work of a single family from the same little town that I grew up in. The Mack company grounds in Waldkirch on the banks of the Elz River had been a mystical place for us as children. It was there that roller coasters and bumper cars came out of the workshops piece by piece. I ca