BootsnAll Travel Network



Oktoberfest is Crazy

Written at 4:49 PM, 9-21-06

I’ve made a realization about the kind of hostels I like. After staying at a wide variety of hostels during my time in Europe—from the very big to the very small—I’ve realized that I really don’t like the larger, so-called party hostels. Aside from being woken up in the middle of the night as your roommates stumble in, and ignoring the pile of vomit on the floor from the person who got sick from the top bunk of a bed (this actually happened in my room), it’s really just a matter of getting to know the other people in the hostel. Let me explain:

My train ride from Freiburg to Munich went smoothly, and I had a relatively easy time finding the hostel. Once again, the lack of street signs plagued me. But ultimately I managed to fumble my way through the metro system and find my hostel. I was staying at A&O Hostel. When booking online, it was one of the few hostels that was affordable and had space during Oktoberfest. (I learned later that it was possible to get rooms at the Munich hostels if you called or showed up, rather than booking online). I arrived late enough on my first night that I didn’t feel like doing much. I explored the hostel and discovered that despite its three bars, it didn’t have a refrigerator or kitchen. I suppose this makes sense, seeing as the hostel hosted somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred people, but it still irked me. I was forced to throw away half a package of perfectly good German cheese.

The hostel had a dance club below (the DJ’s equipment consisted of a DVD player and an iPod), but until Oktobferfest finished, both it and the bar on the fifth floor were relatively dead. What really got to me about this hostel—and which was the impetus for my revelation—was that there wasn’t really a “common room.” The reception had some computers and a bar, but it could only fit a small number of people and there were crowds constantly coming and going because it was the hostel’s only entrance. This didn’t exactly make for a comfortable environment, and that was assuming you could even get a chair. Once I was chased off the stairway (where I was using my computer) by the security guard who seemed way too bored for his own good. I like the smaller hostels much better because they facilitate a much closer, more intimate environment. This is the best way to meet people, at least people you’ll keep in touch with. At the “party hostels,” there’s lots of opportunities to meet people, but then the chances are that you’ll never see them for the rest of your stay.

It was not until my second day in the hostel (the day after going to Dachau) that I really got to know anyone. I met a pair of Canadians staying in my room, but I didn’t really get along with them. Then I met a couple of Australians who were staying there—Cliff and Jason—and they were pretty cool. Incidentally this was also the day that Jacob arrived. We’d coordinated over email to meet back up. He’d been having a rough few days with a stomach problem, and after recuperating at relatives (entailing be fed lots and lots of authentic German food), he headed toward Munich to meet up with me.

I’d made arrangements to go to Oktoberfest with the Australians at 6 o’clock. They’d already been there several times, though it didn’t take much to convince them to go again. Jacob and I spent the afternoon catching up and then, together with the Australians, made our way to the Oktoberfest grounds. A&O Hostel was very far from Munich’s city center, but it was conveniently close to the Oktoberfest area. It was about a ten to fifteen minute walk to get there, involving little more than walking down a street, crossing a bridge, and following the throngs of people as they headed toward the bright lights and distant rumble of crowds. (This “simple” route will come into play later on in the night).

I was immediately struck by how much Oktoberfest was not like I expected. I’d visited the website and I’d talked with people who’d been there, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to see a carnival. In my mind, there would be an enormous field filled with huge tents and hundreds upon hundreds of people filtering around, drinking beer and being raucous. There was certainly a little of beer-drinking and raucousness, but the “tents” and “field” were distinctly lacking. Before I get into describing the physical layout of Oktobefest, though, let me say a little about the people.

First of all, every self-respecting German seemed to be dressed up in lederhosen or old-fashioned dresses or some form of authentic Bavarian clothing. It was like being at a Renaissance Fair, except magnified tenfold. Everywhere I looked it was leather pants and low cut dresses. And I was definitely doing my fair share of looking. It helped that every single girl there was beautiful. I’d always had the impression that it was only Northern Europe that was known for its beautiful women, but clearly, all of those women in the North came from Germany. There was no need to eat with the bounteous supply of eye candy. And then when you got into the “tents,” it only got better.

Oktoberfest is a carnival, fair, and festival in one. From Ferris Wheels to Haunted Houses, it had every kind of ride imaginable, and some not-so-imaginable. I saw one that spun people around on roughly four different axes. All the while, I was thinking that fair rides and mass quantities of beer seemed to be a recipe for disaster. Street-side vendors, crammed in between the tents and rides, sold all manner of trinkets and food. After seeing the “main” design for the Oktoberfest T-shirt, I decided I had to have one. Up until now, I’ve been good about buying souvenirs—I kind of have to be, seeing as I have a limit amount of space and even more limited quantity of tolerance for my bag’s weight. In fact, I don’t think I’ve actually bought any true souvenirs up until now (mind you, I nicked some Guinness coasters from Irish bars, but that doesn’t really count). Anything, I had to have this shirt. So now I do.

Now, about the tents. Oktoberfest is clearly a well-established tradition. I know, you’re like duh, Greg. Even so, when the Oktoberfest website claimed to have “tent,” I figured it meant large, circus-styled tents filled with benches. There were benches, but there was nothing temporary about the tents. Massive logs spanned up and across the drinking facilities, giving it an old, authentic “drinking hall” feel. One naturally wonders what these drinking halls are used for in the off-season. Well, I have no idea, but they certainly were constructed and covered in dÈcor strictly for the purpose of Oktoberfest.

The four of us walked through the festival in search of seats. We hoped to find some room outside, as it was just after sunset and people were beginning to move on or else seek seats inside. We found a place at some benches in front of the Lowenbrau Tent. There’s nothing quite like drinking a massive stein of beer with a mechanical lion looming over you occasionally roaring various phrases in German. This was our first stein of the night (it’s important to keep track) and for those who don’t quite appreciate how much beer is in a stein—it’s about a liter, roughly three American-sized cans of beer.

The Australians didn’t particularly like the Lowenbrau beer and insisted upon returning to the tent they’d been at the previous two nights. I suspect their motivation had a lot more to do with the pretty waitress who’d served them those nights. I didn’t particularly care what I drank or where, seeing as I wasn’t going to get any dark beers either way. (Bavarian is known for its ales and doesn’t produce many stouts). Jacob felt similarly, so we followed the Australians back to the Paulaner tent, which was near the entrance. We settled onto a bench outside and got another round of beers. (Steins are the only size that the beer seemed to come in, so it’s safe to assume that if I write “a beer,” I mean “a stein.”) Unfortunately for the Australians, the serving girl was attending to different tables. That didn’t stop them from trying to catch her attention, though.

It was here, at this table, during my second beer, that I had the best chicken of my life. You may laugh, but consider the circumstances. A week of eating salami and cheese sandwiches—or more recently baguettes with some honey and the occasional banana or apple. Consider also that I’d been snacking all day and had not eaten a real meal. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, beer makes all meat taste better. So all of this, combined with the delicious, slow-roasted chicken, made for the most fulfilling, delectable, life-giving chicken that I’d ever had.

That said, we finished our meals and our beer and headed inside. It was as crowded as I expected, yet without much trouble, we managed to find a table to seat all of us. It’s difficult to accurately convey the conditions inside the tent. A few words come to mind: mayhem, party, beerfest, crazy, debauchery, dancing. Oh the dancing. In the center of the tent was a large German band playing all manner of music, from the traditional songs that were completely in German, to things such as Elvis Presley’s Rock Around the Clock. What immediately demands attention is the throngs of people standing on the benches, dancing like there’s no tomorrow. Hundreds of benches surround the main stage in the center of the tent, and upon those benches are hundreds upon hundreds of people singing, dancing, and swinging around their steins. During Oktoberfest, anything constitutes a reason to toast, or perhaps it’s just that in Germany, anything constitutes a reason to drink.

We found a table, ordered a round of drinks (#3!) and immediately stood up on the benches and joined the party. Mind you, it was only about 9 o’clock, but since Oktoberfest stops serving beer at 10:30, it was important that everyone get as much partying in as possible before things closed down. We were soon joined by others at our table, none of whom seemed to speak English, though in reality, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t much speaking going on. In fact, aside from singing along to the American songs (or making up lyrics to the German songs), I’m pretty sure I didn’t say much of anything during the whole time we were standing on the benches. This went on for quite a while; another round of drinks was ordered (#4!!) and that’s where things get a bit fuzzy.

As things started to wind down inside the tent, we finished our beers and migrated outside.

This was when we lost Jacob.

I’m not quite sure how we lost him. We have some theories. The standing supposition is that when we all left, he was carrying a stein with him and got held back by the guard, who made him toss it into a box with about fifty-or-so other steins that people had attempted to carry out. Of course, we didn’t see this. The Australians and I had continued outside and seated ourselves (once again, near the cute waitress) in order to continue the festivities. Some time passed and we noticed that Jacob had inexplicably vanished. Not that there was anything we could really do about it. I don’t remember how long we sat outside, but I do remember a couple of really annoying American guys who joined us. I think it was them that drove me off. The girls had begun to clean up and pack away the benches, but the Australians and Americans remained there talking. I decided to leave.

And this was when Greg lost Greg.

I’m not sure exactly how Greg lost Greg, but it was some combination of not knowing where he was going and drinking about 4 liters of beer. That simple path that I mentioned earlier was now like the Minotaur’s Maze on Minos. And I had no Theseus and no ball of string to lead me back to the hostel. Fortunately, I didn’t have any Minotaurs to deal with either. I knew that if I could find the train tracks we crossed on the way to the festival, then I would be okay. Well, I’ll tell you now: I never found them.

It was dark and getting colder and I had no clue where I was. To make matters worse, I had no cash. I tried to catch a cab, but when I told the taxi driver that I needed her to take me to an ATM first, she drove off. I’m sure she was muttering something in German about stupid, drunk tourists. The area of the city in which I found myself didn’t seem particularly dangerous. There were a lot of people on the streets and I was surrounded by mostly tall office buildings and apartment buildings. Unfortunately, this did nothing to help me locate myself or find an ATM. I even had a map back to the hostel, but it was something printed off the computer and had been worn from being crumpled in my pocket all night. I was completely and utterly stranded.

I wandered for maybe half an hour or an hour. I’m not really sure. Eventually my salvation came in the form of a taxi driver who spoke English well and knew where both an ATM was, as well as A&O Hostel. It cost me ten euros, but I made it back to the hostel without being mugged, arrested, or having to sleep in a park (which crossed my mind more than you know.)

For what it’s worth, Jacob faired no better. He had assumed that we’d all gone back to the hostel and he spent many more hours wandering. And as opposed to considering sleeping in a park, he actually did for a while. Apparently it got too cold, though, so he resigned to find a cab back as well. He had more trouble finding one who would take him where he wanted and was saved only by the fact that he remembered the street that our hostel was on. The Australians and I had already returned and were sound asleep when he got back, which leads me to the conclusion that he must not have arrived home until 2 or 3 in the morning.

I don’t get hungover often, but I definitely was in the morning. I missed the hostels breakfast for the third time in a row, simply because I couldn’t be bothered to get up before 10AM. Jacob and I roused, like zombies from a graveyard, at about 11:00. I’d made an attempt at getting up earlier, but instead just ended up drinking a lot of water and taking some Alleve. Fortunately, this meant that by the time I actually got up, most of my headache was gone. Jacob was not so lucky. We hissed as sunlight broke in through the curtains and I found myself vaguely wishing some of that overcast from two days ago would return.

This wish didn’t last long though, for soon we were packed up and heading back to Oktoberfest. We left our stuff in the hostel and decided to go explore the festival grounds in the light. The crowds were sparser and the people less rowdy, but there were still thousands of people milling about the festival’s grounds. We returned to the tent from the day before, where each of us indulged in another half a chicken (though it was not nearly as good as from the night before). Jacob bought a stein (the glass and the beer), but I refrained. He’s heading home at the end of this month, whereas I have another whole month to go and didn’t want to carry the weight. I wanted to head to the Hofbrau tent because I’d heard a lot about it. There wasn’t anything really special about it, but I ordered a stein of beer anyway and ate a really big pretzel. It was a great pretzel—and roughly the size of my chest.

We wandered the rest of the festival grounds, but neither of us were feeling in any condition to try any of the rides. Jacob bought a shirt and then we headed back to the hostel where we picked up our bags and made for the train station. We had decided to take a night train to Venice in order to save ourselves a night’s accommodation and to get more time to spend in the city. Unfortunately the night train doesn’t leave until 11:40 PM, so we’re stuck burning a lot of time before our departure. I don’t mind so much, though. I needed a couple hours just to write this blog. And maybe, just maybe, I can actually get some work in on one of my novels.

So to sum up the next step in our travels, we’re going to Venice for a couple days before continuing on to the Greek Island of Corfu. Jacob is craving warm, sandy beaches (who can blame him after Ireland), and I have an extra few days of travel time I haven’t accounted for, so I figure, “why not?” It was part of our original plan, and it’ll be nice to have the company for a while before setting off for Rome and Florence.

As a side note, internet is very expensive in Italy and Greece, so my blogs will be more sporadic, though the entries will probably be longer and include several days. Thanks to those of you who have left comments and been writing emails; it’s great hearing from people back home. Cheers.



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