In a culturally crowded city like L.A., where Little Armenia cohabits with Thai Town in East Hollywood, and the Byzantine-Latino Quarter is just a stones throw from Koreatown in Pico-Union, the existence of a neighborhood-within-a-neighborhood is hardly unusual. Except, perhaps, when that home away from home is made to look like a 365-day-a-year, Bavarian-themed ski lodge right off the 110 freeway. In 1968, German transplants Hans and Teri Rotter brought back a bit of old Deutschland into sunny Torrance (home of the German American League!) when they builtAlpine Village
(833 W. Torrance Blvd., Torrance, 310-327-4384)
, making it not only another expatriate enclave but one of L.A.s kookiest virtual tourist destinations for locals. This Little City From the Alps, as with most Little Anywheres, is an idyllic version of the mother country, like winter in a snow globe or spring carved out of a cuckoo clock thats all kitsch and fantasy. More than 20 shops sell such tchotchkes as lederhosen, brindles and glazed steins, while the Alpine Market offers all foods European and beyond, from frozen Polish pierogi to Moroccan sardines. And, if getting hitched in a Vegas drive-thru doesnt feel quaint and cozy enough for you, theres a chapel located on-site. Now that were in the midst of Oktoberfest (the
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of all SoCal celebrations), the beer garden becomes the sight and sound of oompah-pah brass bands, bratwurst platters and the villages own brewed hofbrau that flows like the Rhine. Youd have to be hammered to do that inexplicably popular chicken dance, in which drunken revelers in floppy soccer-fan hats flap their arms to polka songs. But while Alpine Villageis
that yearly autumn trip for most people, theres also a dance floor full of retirees at the Alpine Village Inn for whom this place is the senior Studio 54. Serving classier Mitteleuropean fare like schnitzel, veal and goulash, the two-level restaurant look for the giant bust of Beethoven has three bars and will no doubt be the place to shout Goooooal! at the big-screen TV come next years World Cup. And, to be sure, theres simply nothing more entertaining than watching elderly couples cha-cha, foxtrot and waltz to whatever song sounds like the Muzak version of Guantanamera, Lady of Spain or Volare. Just study the way the couples pivot and turn and dip like theyre on a bad ballroom-dancing TV special, only minus the costumes and nuclear-orange tans. Or the way the fan lady fans herself as if she were a Spanish señora, gliding along the dance floor while stray kids fleeing the 75th-birthday tables get caught under her feet. Get out of the way! Not in front of the fan lady!