Two days at Oktoberfest

What goes on tour stays on tour apparently.

However, that would make for a pretty boring blog post, so here’s my memoir/what I remember from my two days at Oktoberfest.

I remember wanting to dress up as a beer wench, until I discovered the privilege would set me back around €150 – the equivalent of about 15 steins.

I prioritised.

And, I remember our first day started out sensibly, lining our stomachs with a feed of bacon, eggs and bread before we ‘Prost!-ed’ our first litre steins at around 10am on a Thursday morning.

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Not long after I remember getting very excited as the guy selling giant pretzels came around.

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And, even more excited when I got my hands on not one but two of them.
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Clearly that was too much carb for one person, so without much convincing I got my wingman to gift it to the cute Dutchman wearing traditional lederhosen (leather shorts with H-shaped braces) and a green checkered shirt sitting in front of us.

Later that day, when I somehow managed to lose all my travel buddies, we shared a sneaky pash – I’ll come back to that later…

As for my travel buddies, a long time later I managed to find two of them – one riding shotgun while the other lay crawled up in the fetal position sleeping against a random shed outside the beer hall.

In fairness to him, his drink may well have been spiked, as I vividly recall the very seedy greasy Italians sitting next to us trying to make us drink one of their beers – something I was warned about given we’d booked to come on the so-called ‘Italian weekend.’

So at 6pm on a Thursday we were all in bed.

Thankfully Friday went a lot better and our first steins went down surprisingly well.

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Then, about a stein-and-a-half in, I remember spotting who we nicknamed ‘Big Guy,’ because he was truly a giant of a man, coming out of the toilets.

The significance of this for me was that Big Guy was friends with my dutch sneaky pash from the day before.

Call it dutch/stein courage I decided to go say hi, and, things were going swimmingly until Big Guy told one of my friends my sneaky pash had a serious girlfriend – of eight years.

Oh well, at least I got to roll out my German novelty phrase of ‘Sie sind ein Arschloch’ – ‘you’re an asshole’ on him.

As for confrontation number two of the day, it came a few hours later when a really drunk scrawny weed of a man accidentally walked into another group of dodgy Italians near us, who seemed to be at Oktoberfest for two reasons – to get laid and to start fights.

They were like a powder-keg waiting to explode, so when the weed walked into them, it was all on, and, all that seemed to be between them and the weed was my sister to another mother (ok, not quite the same ringtone as ‘brother to another mother’ but that’s what she is).

So, while she was trying to rescue him, I was trying to rescue her.

The problem was my reaction time was a bit delayed, so by the time I came in with an almighty echoing slap across the face of possibly the biggest guy in the group, the confrontation was nearly over.

The massive guy just stood there giving me this look of – ‘I can’t believe you just did that’ – my subconscious did the same.

Luckily, we were about to leave anyway, it was way too packed in the beer hall, to the point the beer wenches used whistles and had burly bodyguards to help them part the crowd, besides, there was currywurst and a carnival ride with my name on it.

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As for day three, we were too late out of bed to get into the beer halls so we opted for currywurst and people watching – such as the sleazy old drunk guy trying to pay a homeless woman for sex and a homeless man scouring the rubbish bins for leftover rotisserie chicken carcasses.

Given that and the fact I’d somehow managed to lose half a toenail during the festivities, I was well ready to bid farewell to Oktoberfest – besides I had another last-minute €120 train to catch.

This time that wasn’t my fault, my car ride to Wolfsburg fell through at the last minute.

But no ridiculously expensive domestic train trip was going to stop me from making my somewhat of a spiritual pilgrimage to the hometown of my first love.

And, when I get over what I found when I got there, I will write about it.

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