Sketching a Twisty Path on the Globe

Munich Oktoberfest (aka “The Wiesn”): the bona fide, beer-dyed, Bavarian pride festival, clearly the more authentic prototype for all the American celebrations I’ve oommpa-pa-ed to before (…making pretzels for St. John’s in Hattiesburg; singing “Piano Man” in a huddle in Lacrosse, Wisconsin; doing the polka in a beer-sloshed train car in Alaska…)

The parade crowned German—pardon, Bavarian—as the culture of the craziest hats and silliest socks. So interesting to see centuries of history march by, reminding me what a baby America is. So interesting to see nearly as many people dressed in traditional clothes at the sidelines as in the parade. (I think I was just as fascinated with men in lederhosn in the McDonald’s line and women in drindles on bicycles as I was watching monks surf the internet in Laos.) The official site of Wiesn (akin to how Alaskans call Mt. Mckinley, “Denali”) was a colorful conglomeration of fair rides, food stalls, and 14 giant beer halls (easily holding a couple thousand people each). We stepped by the first passed-out person on the sidewalk at about 11:30am. We had our first “mass” at about noon. A maß is equal to about one liter of beer, the gargantuan thick-necked cousin of “the pint”. It is also not to be handled and sipped from carelessly. This is Germany; there are rules.

1. Do not grasp the handle. This is for tourists. A proper hold is with full palm and a thumb hook. Recommended to occasionally switch hands to avoid shoulder injury.
2. NEVER take a sip alone. Before any drink of beer must be the obligatory “Prost!” with everyone at your table. No worries though; SOMEONE will initiate the round of Clunks long before your lips are thirsty.
3. Keep your ears perked; there are many sing-a-longs that require that rapid thumb hook, a little swaying, and toasts of the English equivalent: “1, 2, 3… drink it now!”
4. When the drunken man boasts about “The Kingdom of Bavaria,” shows off his jacket buttons as proof of its excellence, and then states that Bavaria is to Germany as Canada is to the States (“Canada Good!” Fuck America!”) it is not necessary to inform him that Alaska is not actually Canadian. Good time to initiate your own “Prost!”
5. By 6pm, don’t even think about sitting on a bench in the beer hall (or you’ll be looking at everyone’s silly-socked shins). Benches are for stepping; it’s the tables that are meant for standing and dancing to the Oompah band’s rendition of “Summer of 69” and “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Needless to say, it was a fun day made dizzy with spinning rides and seasoned with salty pretzels. Also a great prologue to my “European vacation.” Now, as soon as Daniel and I recover from “The Wiesn Kretze” (Oktoberfest cooties), we will put our final bags, boards, and multi-seasonal clothing into the Volkswagen camper (our home for the next 6 weeks) and drive off……well, who knows exactly where, but somewhere. 😀

Never before has my birthday spanned 5 months. Never before have I had such unpredictable birthday presents. My family hosted the preamble in May before leaving for Sitka, where the June date was spent with chocolate-smeared smiles and phone calls. My celebration-committed coworkers were apologetic that they missed it and so invented my first “faux birthday”–July 26th to be exact–complete with fake birthday card and fantastically real cake. In August, Kristin gave me miles to fly to Anchorage for a weekend of gulping music and shaking tail. Other wishes and presents trickled into September. But Daniel’s promise of a “birthday surprise” was much more mysterious. The unhelpful clues included “it’s both inside and outside,” “it includes all the elements,” and—to my alarm—“No, they don’t do it in the States because they are much too prudish there.”

If you’ve ever had European friends maybe you’ve heard the same lecture about how prudish the Americans are. Maybe you also tried to argue that it’s not that true. I mean, what about Playboy and music videos and Victoria’s Secret? And, now you can see underwear on TV (not recommended for under 14). So, really are we that prudish?

Just to clear up any semantic confusion, we consulted German and English language resources for the official definition of the word. The German translator and German Wikipedia describe prudish as being “very easily shocked by things connected with sex” and having “extensive refusal of human nakedness.” The American Dictionary.com suggests it’s just being “proper.” And, in the English Wikipedia, “prudish” is not found; you are redirected to “modesty.” Hmm, somehow our polite definitions, void of even the word “sex,” are the first indication that maybe, maybe it might be true; maybe we are, just a pinch, prudish.

As we drove further out of town on the day of the surprise, Daniel decided it was finally time to divulge the destination. “Since you said that Americans are not so prudish,” he explains, “I booked a Tantra class for the day.” My eyes widen, all my internal organs contract. He explains simply that people can walk around “the farm” naked all day, get massages from strangers, have sex whenever and wherever they like. That’s when I decide, immediately, decisively:

I am that prudish.

As I contemplate the possible damage to my body from rolling out of a moving vehicle, a beautiful, peaceful glider flies overhead. “Oh lord why oh why oh why can’t I be doing that instead?!?” I ask in my head. Outside my head I distractedly ask Daniel if he’s ever had a ride in one. And, the words that make my heart soar in glorious, happy prudishness: “No, but we are about to.”

Life and cultures are in order once again. ; )

Sidenote:
There is little else as strikingly, flawlessly beautiful as a glider. Few other sounds as gripping as the swooshy, windy whisper as it is launched by a wench, sneaks up for a landing, or loops upside down. Few other ways to feel unbridled ecstasy than to fly in a glider, fully clothed, all those naked farm-goers shivering far, far away. 😀

Daniel is forgiven for the cruel, devilish decoy. ; )