MZ Riders Club

South of Scotland Section

Page updated : 27/12/2005

Site designed by Mike

Trabant Treffen 2001

Adventures in Automotion

(by Stuart Forbes)

The International Trabant Treffen (ITT) takes place each June in Zwickau in the former eastern Germany. This is the largest annual gathering of Trabants, and is like an MZ rally on steroids: beer tents, Trabi competitions, live music. You name it, and the ITT has it.

Having bored people to death on the subject of my visit to the 2000 ITT, Mike decided he would like to come along. I was glad to have his company. Later I also wished he had a car license too. During my last visit to I had brought and driven back a Trabant saloon, but it was a kombi (estate) I had wanted and had been unable to get. So I decided to search again while in Germany as I had already had a buyer for the saloon.

First to Berlin, staying in a hostel in the heart of the former East Berlin. I intended to get the kombi in Berlin if possible, and have some time for sightseeing before driving down to Zwickau. An internet lead sounded promising but it was gone by the time I phoned, so I had to resort to Berlin’s equivalent of the Auto Trader. Plenty Trabants, but most advertised with faults or expired MOTs. I narrowed down the field to 6, 5 of which were already sold- mild panic- but the sixth was still for sale and I made an appointment. This was also a saloon, but I figured that the buyer could have his pick on my return.

The next day being free, Mike and I went on a walking tour of Berlin led by a former Military Intelligence officer I had met on a previous visit. Great fun and informative, but lasting 11 rather than the advertised 6 hours, so it was a very footsore pair who went to view the Trabi next day. Right outside the address we were given was a Trabant, but with a dark interior, studded leather straps everywhere and the rear seat removed to fit in a huge pair of speakers. The condition was not great either, so I was about to go when I saw another Trabant a little further up the road. This one was more promising and, thankfully, turned out to be the one for sale. It looked fairly good, and had a rebuilt motor recently installed. A poke around and a test drive and I was satisfied. Hoarding of parts was common in the former east. An old joke from the former DDR goes "Today a car crash caused 16 casualties. Both drivers were badly hurt, and 14 passers-by injured in the scramble for spare parts". So, along with the Trabant came various spares and 4 winter tyres. I refused the offer of 2 spare rear windows, alarmed at the thought that we still had to get our luggage in. Formalities completed, we returned to our hostel to try to cram in our luggage and ourselves. Then off to Zwickau with the car suddenly transformed into a low-rider.

Shortly after we hit the autobahn the heavens opened. It appeared as if we were driving on an unusually straight concrete-bedded river. The further south the worse it got, until I was sure we would be floating by the time we hit Saxony. Needless to say, the campsite was rather wet by the time we arrived and , having waited in a line for an hour to get on site, I was keen to get set up and get into the shelter of the beer tent. Tent up, and wishing we had brought our wellies, we trudged through Somme-like mud to the beer tent, passing the concert stage and an unknown British group playing to a soggy field of 4 people and a very fed-up looking dog. We and the other sensible rallyists were in the beer tent paying no attention to the band so, unhappy at the reception, the band ended with a heartfelt invitation for those assembled to F*** off.

We had agreed to meet a pal at his hotel the next morning. Ronnie had driven his trabi from Poland and was heading back to Scotland in convoy with us (a small and unusual convoy I grant you). We left the site with some difficulty, the path out having been comprehensively mashed to a quagmire during the night by would-be Trabant rally crossers. Meeting up with Ronnie, we then went to find Augustusburg, its motorcycle museum having a particularly good collection of Saxony’s finest (DKW and MZ). As had happened the previous year, we got lost in Chemnitz and stopped at a petrol station to ask directions. Ronnie had been complaining about dripping liquid coming from the car, and this turned out to be a perished fuel line. The garage owner kindly gave us directions to the museum and a car spares place, and also a model Trabant delivery lorry from his shop. Kilted Trabant drivers are not a common sight in the former east, so such generosity happens fairly regularly.

Ronnie’s car fixed, we found our way to the museum, wandered round taking photographs, and left pools of saliva round several of the bikes for the cleaners to mop up. So many great bikes, and there’s me without my shoplifter’s coat on. Could I have squeezed one of the worlds ugliest scooters, an IWL Troll, onto the back seat? Maybe if I dumped the winter tyres. Maybe next year. Mike assumed a glazed look as he stood in front of a BK350 enduro sidecar outfit, and had to be dragged away before he tried to drive it down the stairs to freedom.

Stopping to fill up with petrol on the way back, we found the garage had a wide selection of beer including, in a sight to warm the cockles of our Caledonian hearts, the local brewery’s finest at 1 mark a can. Six hours later I slunk back to my tent very tired and emotional. Between times we wandered round can in hand looking at all the restored and customised Trabants, visited the MZ sales area and Trabant museum tent, ate and drank at the many food and beer tents, and met many interesting people. It is great to see so many Trabants in various states in one place. It’s also slightly worrying that some owners spend thousands on a car they have bought for a few hundred. The results are impressive though. My favourite was a Trabant camper van. We had a good laugh with the owner, and were particularly amused at the cuckoo clock he had installed inside. The stars of the evening were a couple of brothers who we got talking to. Both had worked in the Trabant factory until the younger brother left for the West. The older one stayed behind and they were then parted until the fall of the wall some 8 years later. Great guys, and an advert for the folly of cold-war politics, they volunteered to find a good estate and provide accommodation if we returned the next year.

The next day Mike and I took part in the Trabi parade. Many of Zwickau’s roads were closed for the event, as perhaps as many as 3,000 trabants happily polluted all parts of the town, cheered on by wheezing soot-covered locals. It ended at the Trabant museum which had been turned into a venue for the day, complete with live bands and food and drink. The museum is great fun for trabi enthusiasts, the guides were helpful and you could tell they too were enthusiasts rather than just employees. Some of the prototype trabants were great, and it was a shame that none made it into production. Again there was live music and interesting vehicles outside, including a lovely 1960 Framo truck which I want for Christmas.

The holiday over, we took the autobahn to Amsterdam to catch the ferry home. This is no problem, even with a trabi’s 50 mph cruising speed. It helps, of course, if you can find a slow lorry to tailgate or attach a grappling iron to. The drive was notable for two things. A big bit of the tread on one of Ronnie’s tyres peeled off the carcass but, miraculously, the old DDR Pneumant tyre was still inflated. You don’t hear the phrase " Good old Pneumant" much, but in this case it was deserved. Also, the 12 hour drive followed several days of revelry and little sleep so that, by the time we had reached Holland, I was almost hallucinating through fatigue (Mike kept poking me with a pointy stick till he fell asleep). We had to arrive at the terminal early as I had not booked the ferry back early enough to get a space on the Monday sailing. I had been forced to take a later sailing, but the girl at the UK DFDS offices informed me that I could transfer in the event of a cancellation, so I wanted to be first in line.

The girl in DFDS’ UK call-centre was great. I don’t know who I offended in a past life to be faced with her Amsterdam counterpart. She seemed to take pleasure in being unhelpful, so I resorted to phoning the UK call-centre again and got a cancellation no trouble at all. However, we had to fork out more money as there were only luxury cabins available. Returning to the Amsterdam terminal the DFDS woman refused to believe that we now had a place on the ferry so I lost my temper slightly, and with visions of knotted rope and blunt instruments, told her in no uncertain terms to check her computer. She was forced to apologise, although she did so half-heartedly.

The crossing was no problem. In spite of our fatigue and intention to get an early night (after all we had been forced to fork out for the luxury accommodation), we met a group of Austin A35 enthusiasts returning from a Rally in Holland, and we were forced to consume more beer. The trip back from Newcastle was broken only to drop off Mike’s stuff and, now having a bit of room, replacing it with the winter tyres that Ronnie had kindly carried for from Zwickau. and so the trip ended. The car did 800 trouble free miles, and passed its MOT with only a wiper blade, passenger handle and windscreen washer motor needed. Total cost of parts £30, and great service from David Milne who runs Trabi UK. Then off it went to its new owner Jim Leddy.

Thinking back, one of the surprising things encountered was the number of former East Germans who were really interested in Scotland- and not just what we wear under our kilts, although we encountered a fair number of these- but ones who had either visited or were hoping to visit Scotland, who knew its history and geography and, in a couple of cases, had saltire and celtic tattoos. Many considered the Scots and those from around the Saxony area to be of similar character and even close cousins. True or not, I found those we met hospitable, warm and friendly, and pleased and surprised that we foreigners were interested in Trabants and MZs. Would I go back next year for that elusive estate version? Just hand me that hammer and piggy bank.

International Trabant Treffen 2001

(by Mike)

At the end of June Stuart Forbes and myself found ourselves in Berlin in search of a Trabant with the intention of then driving it down to Chemnitz for the Trabi Tref. Stuart had been over the previous year and had returned to regale us all with tales of bizarre cars, mad Germans and cheap beer. How could you not want to go?

The big problem when we got there was that the car we were supposed to be buying had been sold by the time we arrived. Bugger! So, off to a newsagent to buy the Berlin equivalent of ‘Auto Trader’ magazine and search for something else. Quick. In the end we found a very tidy saloon model with a reconditioned engine. Worries over. Now all we had to do was drive to the Tref, drink lots of beer, stare at all the funny people/cars, and then drive it the xxx miles home. How difficult could that be? As it turned out, not too difficult at all (with the exception of the most unhelpful ferry company staff we encountered in Amsterdam on the way home).

What can you say about the event itself? It’s difficult to put into words. Imagine, if you will, the biggest lunatic that you’ve ever met. This person is a paragon of sanity compared to the average Trabi owner. You would not believe the care, attention and above all money that they lavish on the humble Trabant. They chop them, they stretch them, they soup them up and they customise the hell out of them until the end result bears little resemblance to what drove out the factory gates. And, there are thousands of them! It’s quite something.

While we were there we took a daytrip out to the motorcycle museum at Augustusburg.  This was more my cup of tea. Loads of bikes to drool over. My personal favourite was an ISDT BK350 sidecar outfit in trials trim. Unfortunately, Stuart steadfastly refused to distract the guard long enough for me to push it out the door and ride off into the German hills astride this piece of MZ motorcycling history. Maybe next time?