At first glance, Blumenau looked a hell of a lot more like Florianópolis than Bavaria—same hot and humid weather, the same dark clouds clinging to the lush hills and threatening rain at any moment, or maybe never, the same flowers, and overall the same kind of streets and people.

But hey, what do I know? I’ve never been to Germany, maybe they’re all super tan and walk around in Havaianas, a coxinha in hand.

I left Curitiba, the state of Paraná, to step into the state of Santa Catarina again. We’ve spent a lot of time in Santa Catarina over the years, but always close to the beach.

There’s not a single beach in sight in Blumenau.

I traded the beach for a shot of German culture—think linguiça de Blumenau, dirndls and lederhosen, strudels, and beer.

Too bad I don’t drink, prefer chicken to sausage, and I’m quite happy in my usual “Brazilian” uniform of sandals, shorts, and a tank top.

Blumenau’s history goes back to 1850, when Hermann Bruno Otto Blumenau, along with 17 German farmers, started developing an agricultural colony for European migrants. The city still carries the influence of its German settlers in the architecture today, and it’s famous for the annual Oktoberfest celebration (yes, beer and sausage again).

At least, this is what all the travel websites said.

I’m no stranger to seeing German-looking Brazilians in southern Brazil, much like you’ll meet plenty of Brazilians of Japanese descent in São Paulo. However, I rarely spot true pieces of German culture—except beer, I suppose. It’s actually more common in Chile, home of tasty kuchen sold alongside empanadas, and Patagonia can look like Germany.

I was curious. But from my lovely Airbnb, all I could see was the valley and the 24/7 Shell posto, which, again, felt very oh-so-Brazilian to me.

“Start with the feira!” my Airbnb host recommended. “Today, until 4 p.m.”

So I headed to the market. I quickly realized that I was ideally located between the two German sides of Blumenau—the Vila Germânica west and the historic center south, along the river.

The feira, with predictably a lot of sausages and cheese, was next to Vila Germânica, so I dived right into German culture.

Well, “fake” German culture. Vila Germânica is a park, a glorified beer garden, and an old-fashioned, German-looking main street. The green plastic grass made it look even weirder—but I guess I’m talking as a French person who expects old buildings to actually be old.

I didn’t spend much time in Vila Germânica.

I didn’t need a beer.

I went back at night for the annual Sommerfest, featuring plenty of very, very German-looking Brazilians singing in German and dressed in traditional clothes—it was both entertaining and a bit strange, but again, I wasn’t drunk, so…

My biggest culture shock was the local bakeries, full of creamy German cakes and other pastries I had never seen anywhere else. That’s probably the most German feature in town.

I spent the rest of the time exploring the actual historic center, with the biggest cathedral ever and a few real old buildings. The walk along the river is also very nice.

Nice. That’s how Blumenau felt. There wasn’t that much to do, and it wasn’t very big, but it’s pleasant and quite unique after all.