Mayhem in Munich

I've just been on a trip, and what a fine journey it has been. I'm in the mood to start with the last place I visited, which was Munich.
           In Italy last year I made friends with a lovely German called Mel who I then got fake-engaged to. A year later, we needed an engagement party. By no coincidence, when I visited her in Munich it was the time of the Oktoberfest.

What could I expect? I had heard it was the largest beer festival in the world, and that, in all likelihood, it would get out of hand. It sounded great, so I slipped into some Lederhosen and we headed to Theresienwiese to find out.

Like a pair of happy Bavarians

As we entered, I could see that the rumours about the size are true- the area that holds the festival is 420,000 sq. meters.
        The Hacker Brewery tent we were headed for could contain 6,900 people inside and 2,400 outside. Needless to say that tent was just one of many huge placed to hang out at the Oktoberfest. There were people everywhere, most in traditional dress, and many stumbling around even though it was only 2pm. 

        Good effort, I thought.

According to Mel, this, the second weekend of the festival, is commonly known as Italian weekend as that's the time when visiting Italians concentrate their Bavarian visits. I imagined the sweet, wrinkly septuagenarians I had seen last year on the Italian isle of Ischia or (even better) the ones on the old Dolmio adverts. I pondered that they might be a bit out of place at such an event.

About 30 seconds after we entered the Oktoberfest, a tan trio of young men walked past us, leering at Mel's chest, with one of them literally smacking his lips and saying what I can only reproduce as "Ehyy!". Once they passed, she looked at me knowingly and said "Ha, Italians!". 

          Ah, I thought, those Italians.

An important part of the Oktoberfest on a Saturday is queueing. To get in to the Hacker beer garden, we had to wait in an area just in front of the tent. Trying to look at the situation positively, I thought this at least gave me a chance for some pre-fest observation time, to drink in the drinking atmosphere. 

He was on the table with maß aloft.
We made such noise 'til he saw it off.

There were numerous people walking past us with full tankards, tantalising us; a guy strolling merrily along before doing a drive-by spew on the floor, still walking, disgusting us; a man carrying a girl in his arms who looked heavily sedated, concerning us.

The bouncer was very strict and, even though we were at the front of the queue pretty quickly, we had to wait. Half an hour trudged in to an hour, and an hour kept going and going. Some people next to us slipped in when the bouncer was distracted. We didn't want to risk it.

After about an hour and twenty we got in, only because Mel kindly pointed out that we had been waiting a long time, and that there were only two of us. Had she not been German, we would have had 0% luck.

Now it was time to drink! We sat down at a table of Bavarians and got ordering.

Let's not lie, the beer there isn't cheap, and, like everything, the prices go up each year. In 2014 it was around  €9.80 a drink, but you paid €11 each time to tip the barmaid that served your table.

That sounds steep but it is worth it. Waiting in line for drinks would have been a mood breaker, especially after the entry queue (the lot we were sat with had turned up at 9 and waited until opening, just to get a decent seat). 

I was happy to pay this tip each time, and the bar maids were happy to serve me quickly because I did. That said, ~ €1.2 tip per beer served is a good effort. The amount of beer each server delivers each day must make a lot of money. (Yes I'm always thinking about money...)

One person told me that on a 16 day fest, staff could make between  €10,000-15,000 in tips. After having run some maths on that I think it looks pretty feasible. Then I put down my calculator and said, "Whoa!"

Catching up in Hacker beer garden

Here's more to prove its worth:

The beer comes in litre vessels called maß (I was informed that the well known word 'stein' is not correct for Oktoberfest). So you're not buying one pint for  €11, its 1.76 pints. Well that's better!

In addition, the the beer is strong. Yet it does not have the same, wince-worthy taste of other fiercely brewed beverages you may have tried, like Special Brew or White Lightning.
         This stuff is good, and I mean really tasty! Of the beer loving places I have been recently, including Prague, Berlin and Amsterdam, Munich has the best beer by far.

Here is a list of some key terms to use at the Oktoberfest. Please note that I did not make these up just because I like puns- everyone uses them.

Oktoberdressed. This is what you'd say when you are ready for the Oktoberfest. Either in lederhosen for men, or the dirndle for women. 

Oktoberchest. Is a word described when seeing ample cleavage at the Oktoberfest. The dirndle can be very plunging and tight around the bust, which results in an abundance of Oktoberchest to see. N.B The similar word 'oktoberbreast' is only used when boobs are fully on show. It only counts if you see a nipple.

Oktoberpest. This is what you call someone who chases after girls too much or stares for too long at a lady's oktoberchest. i.e those leering Italians were, for sure, Oktoberpests.

Oktoberrest. I had to have a serious one of these after my first day at the Oktoberfest. If you don't make it home, you can have an oktoberrest in one of the bed at the Red Cross tent.

Yeah I got bored after these key four words, so you'll have to make up meanings of 'oktoberstressed', 'oktobernest', 'oktoberquest' and 'oktobermessed' yourselves.

I yelled, "Hurry up, they are playing Robbie Williams!!" 

with a genuine sense of urgency.

One of the best things about the Oktoberfest is concerning the apron that the girls wear as part of the dirndle. Bear with me.

The place that they tie the bow of the apron will tell you about a girl's relationship status. What!? Is this general knowledge? I was certainly amazed to find this out.

Usually, in life outside of the Oktoberfest, the only indicator is the presence of a ring or not. But then no ring does not translate to single, merely unmarried. Even then, you get people ruining the rules by remaining ringless despite being post nuptial or even sporting a band when they are not betrothed. Its confusing. I think we've all had nights where we have met someone new and had a very fun time, have possibly received some signals, only to hear that they aren't available. I used to do it all the time, and now that I'm single the opposite can occur quite often.
       
Its the universe favouring balance as usual.

But, back at the Oktoberfest, its in your face:

A bow tied to the right means the girl is taken;
left is single,
middle bow indicates she's a virgin;
and tied at the back means widow.

Mel reminded me just to look for left hand bows- she really was a good host. I was discussing this with the table in general, a pretty girl opposite said "My bow's on the left", and smiled at me. I did manage to say "Ich liebe deine dirndle" to her, before she disappeared! (Actually she left about an hour after we spoke, and I did mean to talk to her more, but that time passed in seconds as I was somewhat drunk.)

Drinking inside was intense. That's funny because it was 'in tents'. Actually it would be more amusing if they were tents, but they were more like beer-aircraft-hangers, rather than beer 'tents'...

Hops hanging everywhere give a great aroma to the place
....Said some pretentious wanker
Actually you cant smell them, but I think seeing them makes you more drunk...?

Puns aside, they were a lot of fun. Containing thousands of happy people, drunkards would get on tables to dance, similar to apres-ski in the Alps, just with less ski boots.
      There were also live bands playing covers of popular songs. I distinctly remember yelling to someone, outside at the loo: "Hurry up, they are playing Robbie Williams!!" with a genuine sense of urgency. And with great truth I say, no such words have been said by a sober man.

I had four drinks over about six hours and I was donkeyfaced by 9. When it was home time and Mel was saying goodbye on the train, she informed me: go two more stops on this line, then get off- the house is around the corner. Simple instructions; simple task.
          I assured her that I would get home and that I did not need her  assistance. I promised her that I could do it.

Disembarking at the correct stop and exiting the station, I was then was completely stumped. Rather than look at the map, I just started walking happily in no direction at all and, before no time, had gotten very lost. Between smashing my iPhone and wandering around in circles, I was considering sleeping rough as an easier solution to finding my way back. Forty-five minutes later and I had arrived... back at the same train station. Heh?

I did find my way home eventually, with Mel's boyfriend scolding her in the meantime, for her neglect. In her defence, I had told her that I was as sure of the way home as Adam Ant.

It had been a difficult end to an excellent day, and I guess that's what they mean when they say 'Oktoberstressed'.

I'm finishing this post with a Belgian Duvel in my hand- its tasty, but its no Bavarian creation. And it seems hardly alcoholic at 8%, compared to the Oktoberfest beers. 

Part of me feels that I should remember how good I felt when I was not drinking, but another part of me, the one I will ultimately listen to, suggests that really, I should go to the Oktoberfest again next year.

Ah yes, the next time that I went to the Oktoberfest,
I fought Jamie Oliver.

But that's a story for another day.

Next post: Coping in the Community
Previous post: Reliving Summer School I and Reliving Summer School II