We took Willem to Oktoberfest in Munich this past Monday
after school, because we thought it would be mellow and less crowded on a
weekday. (We soon found out that “mellow” and “less crowded” are not really a
concept at any time during the most famous 16-day kegger in the world.) I had never been to Oktoberfest, and had no idea what it would be
like. But here we are living in Bavaria, and, according to the unwritten laws
of the land, going to the Wiesn is one of those things that you just HAVE to do,
much like painstakingly separating your trash and recycling into about eight
different categories, and getting the hell out of the left lane of the autobahn
when you see a Porsche Carrera coming up behind you in the rear view mirror.
I suspected that Oktoberfest would be crowded and loud and
beer soaked (which it is), a bit like spring break in lederhosen (kind of), and
that I would be by far the oldest person there (I wasn’t, by a longshot). I
thought I would have some fun but in a “Thank God that’s over!” kind of way, and
emerge with some insights along the lines of, “How to survive Oktoberfest when
you’re a 42-year old mom who is not a big beer drinker and is apprehensive
about large crowds and costumes.”
But who knew you could have so much fun on a Monday night
with your family and a few thousand of your new best friends?
David, Willem and I made our way into the Augustiner tent,
which was absolutely packed. It was a veritable sea of people in dirndls and
lederhosen at long tables and benches. These tents, by the way, are massive,
and most hold several thousand people. The militant-looking security guards had
let us in even though we didn’t have a reservation, but we had to try to find a
place to sit. We learned quickly to avoid the old, grumpy-looking Germans,
several of whom shook their heads and issued us that deep frown you sometimes
get here when doing things that don’t fit into the social order, like backing
into certain parking spaces, or trying to order the famous Bavarian delicacy
weisswurst any time after noon (mein Gott!) We had better luck with a table
full of young Germans who let us squeeze in. They turned out to be a group of
friends from the Black Forest, all university students, for whom Oktoberfest
was their annual reunion.
Knowing I’m not the biggest beer drinker in the world, David
tried to order me a kleine bier (small bier) from our server Michael, a bearded,
pony-tailed, mountain of a guy who was a dead ringer for Robert Baratheon. We
figured out right away that at Oktoberfest there’s no such thing as a small beer:
it’s sold by the liter only, go big or go home. Well, ok then. So we got our
beers, and ordered a few of those delicious roasted half-chickens that are such
a nice break from all the sausage one tends to eat in this part of the world. Robert Baratheon brought us our food, and we ordered a round of beers for our
new college student friends who had been nice enough to let us crash their
table, and proceeded to have the time of our lives.
Across the aisle from us was a table full of young Korean
tourists who immediately began photographing and videoing David and Willem,
even though we told them right away that, full disclosure, we weren’t even
German. We pointed out that the place was full of actual Germans that they
could photograph, but David and Willem looked so good in their lederhosen and sang
the drinking songs with such gusto that the Koreans didn’t seem to care.
We tried out the few conversational German phrases we’ve
learned on our table mates, but the three of us are complete beginners and the
Black Forest boys all spoke English really well, so for their sake and ours, we
switched to English. They taught us some typical German toasts and asked us for
some typical American toasts, and we were stumped. ARE there any typical
American toasts? We couldn’t really think of any and said we’d have to get back
to them.
The guy next to me—I’ll call him Hans, because I know at
least one of them was named Hans—explained to me that he loved to practice
speaking English because he thought it was a beautiful language, which gave me
some pause because I’ve never really thought about it before. I countered that
German was a fun language, with so many sounds that we just don’t have in
English, and I love how the Germans squish several words together to make
really long words. At which point he said, “But listen to this,” and right then
and there amidst the noise of the band and the clinking of glasses and Robert
Baratheon barreling by with six beers in each hand, Hans launched into the
balcony scene from Shakespeare’s Romeo
and Juliet:
“But, soft! what light through yonder window
breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.”
It was damned impressive. “Hans!” I said. “Well
done. That was beautiful!”
“That’s why I love English!” he shouted, only it
sounded like “That’s why I LUFF English!” and raised his glass.
When the band started in on a Rolling Stones medley (there’s
always a band on a stage in these tents), everyone in the place got on the
benches and tables to dance. Willem was rocking out with the Koreans and David
was up on one of the tables and a couple of 60ish ladies in dirndls were
boogying on the next table over, and then we did a high-velocity “Prost!” and
Willem’s glass shattered but no one was hurt and it was mostly empty so it was
ok. The security guards looked on benevolently and even Robert Baratheon
cracked a smile.
It’s hard to describe how much fun it was. Though
Oktoberfest is a festival organized around beer drinking, the communal nature
of it, and the mix of people, and the festive traditional clothing make it feel
more like a giant, dressy block party or a wedding than a kegger.
So…Oktoberfest. I’m officially a fan, and can’t wait to go
back this week.
P.S. Just one word of advice, if you go: The spinning
carnival rides are best attempted BEFORE any beer is consumed, not after.
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