Oktoberfest!

Ein prosit! Ein prosit! Ein prosit, der Gemütlichkeit!

The Oktoberfest toast. I don’t remember how many times I joined thousands of others in reciting that cheer. I wish I could tell you what it means. I’ll it leave to your imagination.

Yes, the infamous Oktoberfest has come and gone, and it lived up to every expectation (except, of course, competitions involving a boot-shaped liter glass, which were unexpectedly impossible to find).

I enjoyed two different instances of Oktoberfest. The first was the local incarnation in Stuttgart known as Volksfest (“Volks” is German for “people”). The second was the “real” Oktoberfest in München.

Onto the dirty details!

I celebrated Volksfest with my company. This in itself was an interesting experience. Within the first week of working for this office, I was now in a situation that would allow me to see my colleagues in a way that I’ve never seen any of my work colleagues in the past, and for them to see me in a similar light. A mutual, unspoken understanding automatically befell our group – none of us would be judged by another for the actions that would take place over the next few hours. For this, I was grateful.

For those of you who know me, you will not be surprised that I was dancing on the table even before the first liter arrived. My energy was unleashed, the full disclosure of my personality the result of a risk I decided to take in order to fully experience what I had heard about for so long. My workmates had finally seen me for who I really was, and even now I feel no regret.

But alas, the liters did started to arrive. I remember holding up my first glass, unexpectedly heavy, wobbling in my hand, yelling loudly to all my friends, new and old, “PROOOOOOST!”

It was a momentous event, one that I will never forget. Our glasses collided, their strength greater than I’d ever imagine. The liquid inside splashed from side to side, some of it overflowing onto the table and clothes below, and we all enjoyed our first few sips of authentic, German, Oktoberfest bier. For dinner, I had a delicious semmelknödel – bread dumplings drenched in a creamy mushroom sauce. It was the best meal I’ve had in Germany.

The night that followed hosted collective dancing on tabletops and bare floor, strangers becoming friends if only for that one night, and many trips to the troth they called a bathroom. In the background was a live band that split their time playing American favorites and German folk legends.

We closed the night out around 22:00 and immediately began to reminisce after having lived through one of the greatest parties of all time.

The next day was a day of rest. Three friends and I decided to visit Heidelberg, a historic city a little over an hour’s drive from Stuttgart. The city apparently is one of the few cities in Germany that was saved from the destruction of the World Wars. Thus, its architecture has been preserved and serves as a rare German beauty.

On top of a hill overlooking the center of the city rests a famous castle. It takes a few extra breaths to hike to the top of this fortress, but the view is well worth the effort. Below, Germany’s history is embedded in the streets and the surrounding buildings. I will give fair warning that outside of witnessing Heidelberg’s past, this city has little to offer. It worked in our favor though, as the day after Volksfest and before Oktoberfest needed to be one with little excitement.

We made it to München in the morning before 10:00. Only myself and two others took the train – the rest travelled by car. While the three of us waited outside of the station’s Burger King, I heard a familiar tune playing in the distance .The chord progression seemed strikingly familiar to Old Crow Medicine Show’s “Wagon Wheel.” Could it be? Was I listening to a live version of an American folk classic half-way around the world? Previously, I have only heard this song played in bars, singing along to the chorus and pretending to know the lyrics in between. I turned around and saw a tall, skinny, white, American boy, guitar in hand, backpack laying beside him, performing his own rendition. I ran up beside him and started to sing along, harmonizing where I could.

I later learned that he was from Montana, completely broke and trying to find a way home. After our introductions, we proceeded to cover “The General” by Dispatch. To our surprise, and indicative of Oktoberfest’s tourist culture, a few groups of people walking by started to join in. It still amazes me that I could be covering a Dispatch song in the middle of Germany.

When the rest of my entourage arrived, the girls in the group persuaded me to purchase a lederhosen. Yes, a lederhosen. Don’t know what that is? Picture leather overalls, pant legs cut to the knees, tightly worn across the body, and a checkered button-up underneath. The traditional Oktoberfest attire. I had been talking about how much I wanted one for days, and apparently the opportunity was right at my feet – there was a man selling lederhosen for a discounted price…. of 190€. After sitting on the decision for some time (about three minutes), I decided to do it. To hell with it. You only live once right? I entered in a booth next to the street shop wearing a Gap outfit and came out dawning the best looking lederhosen in the city. I felt like a German Superman who transformed from Clark Kent after hearing a call of distress.

Now that we were all set, we headed for the festival. I was surprised to see it packed on a Sunday before noon. At Volksfest, my company reserved a few tables for us to sit. We were not so prepared at Oktoberfest, and had to take the chance that there would be a table free upon arrival (usually without a reservation, you have to wait in long lines for hours before you can grab a seat). We entered our first tent, one that had no lines, and immediately noticed an entire table open. Though we felt it was too good to be true, it indeed was far from a lie. Talk about luck! We sat down next to a group of Frenchmen.

As we waited for our first liters, we heard them barreling through numerous French drinking songs. They asked us if we knew any American cheers, and we had nothing to offer. We then started singing classic American songs like “Louie Louie”, “American Pie”, and “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” Disappointed by our lack of repertoire, they soon left.

However, soon after I learned that the group sitting behind us was made up of college kids from Virginia Tech studying abroad in Switzerland! After a bit of dialogue, we exchanged info and agreed to rendezvous in Zurich two weeks later. I hope this still goes as planned.

My group of friends then dragged me away in pursuit of experiencing some of the rides (you see, Oktoberfest is merely a huge carnival with tents for bier and food). Before I could even get on one of the rides, I lost my group entirely. In trying to search for them, I ran into an old friend from Northeastern! She was there with her friend. No, it was not a random encounter, rather a meeting planned for weeks.

Since they had just arrived, I took them into another tent. It was much later in the day, and thus much harder to find a place to sit. We did manage to squeeze next to a few middle aged Italian men who were very interested in my female companions. The next hour was spent enjoying a liter and keeping the Italians at bay.

Before we could finish that liter, however, we were approached by an elderly German lady. In a mix of broken English and impossible-to-understand German, she told us that she saw something being kicked from underneath the table and taken away. It was one of the girls’ purse. Not the girl I knew, but the girl I had just met. The victim and I rushed down the alley way in an effort to chase down the mystery person who stole the purse, but our attempts proved to be useless. We lost him, and all of her belongings in the process. Long story short: watch yourself when you are at Oktoberfest. Trust no one.

While I’ve written at length about the festival in München, I must say I had a better time in Stuttgart. Volksfest featured mainly locals and some US military personnel and contractors. It was hard to find a German in München. Volksfest offered better beer, better beer selection, and better food. I was fortunate enough to find a stale pretzel in München, and was unable to order anything but a pils. Volkfest cost me around 25€. I spent over 100€ in München (not including the lederhosen).

Safe to say that Volksfest, the second largest Fall Festival in Deutschland, was a much better experience. It is not to say that I regret traveling to the original festival; now I can offer my comparison based on a firsthand experience. I can say I’ve been there. I can say I’ve done that. I can now choose the local celebration with no shame or regret .

While I would love to continue further with some of the more interesting parts of that weekend, I must adhere to the unspoken secrecy I subconsciously agreed to. You all must experience it for yourselves, and I hope that someday you will.

If you have made it this far, you should know that I am sitting in the lobby of a Berlin Hostel. This is the first weekend I am traveling on my recently purchased Eurail pass, and I hope the experience lives up to the anticipation. My next post will be detailing the events of this coming weekend, so please check back soon.

Until then, auf wiedersehen!