Chicken Dance

Posted by piphunt on September 7, 2010 in Adventures of Pip, Where in the World is Pip? |

It’s after dinner on a school night. The bar is still filled with apre skiers, donning boots and ski pants hours after the lift has shut. Their pilsners and salavtors resting casually as they laugh about the day on the slope. The accordion tunes blaring through the speakers above the fire place as my dad pours shots of stroh and apfelschnappse for the customers. I run in, durndahl on, through the wrought iron and wood doors into the warm light of the bar. It’s chicken dance time.
Is this a real German dance? Or something my dad was telling me to pull my leg? Either one really. The reality of the tradition was that I believed it. I mimicked my mother dancing in her durnhahl in the photos lining the walls. My father in his lederhosen, the feathers in their hats waving in the air as they moved to the rhythm of the music. As my dad swung me around on his arm and we moved our arms and legs, mirroring the movements or one another, it didn’t matter if this was a ‘real’ tradition. It only mattered that we shared this tradition, in our little Bavarian haven in Colorado, with the locals cheering us on.

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