Two days have passed since I returned home from Munich and following a weekend of much beer drinking and hours of travelling, I seemed to have just about recovered. The excitement felt in the run-up to Oktoberfest stemmed of course from the prospect of visiting the world famous beer festival but more so that it was to be the first chance to reunite with many of my year abroad peers.
On Friday, like at football the previous day, I was warned by all who knew I was going to Munich that drinking a Maß was not the same as drinking a pint. Although it was already clear to me that a litre is in fact bigger than a pint – my ability to mix metric and imperial measurements wowing all before me – it was nice to know that people cared about the welfare of the little English boy entering the big bad drinking world of Oktoberfest.
I made my way down to Magdeburg to meet up with Euan and as he was arriving a bit later, felt it completely necessary to find a pub and give my insides a light pre-fest workout. After appalling directions on my part, which included telling Euan I was in ‘a Czech pub’ (I naturally assumed he would know where this was despite having never been to Magdeburg before and not even stating which particular Czech pub I was residing in), we finally met up. After a quick beer together, we dashed for the station and moved onto the next leg of our journey.
Between Magdeburg and Naumburg we sank another couple of bottles and although in England this might be seen as pitiful, in Germany you’re almost considered odd if you don’t drink whilst travelling. We re-stocked in Naumburg before making the correct decision not to enjoy a quick frame of bowling as we might miss the train. As it turns out, it was delayed by around half an hour, sparking outrage on the platform. As we were to discover, however, this was minimal in comparison to Sam’s ordeal.
The final leg of our trip down to Munich was a five hour stint where we could catch up on some sleep. This was abandoned at first as our tipsy state gelled with mass excitement meant we forgot we were in the quiet carriage. A woman reading Fifty Shades reprimanded us for carrying the potential to awaken a baby a few seats back. I’m not saying I took a dislike to her but the book she was reading is definitely the closest she’ll ever get to a Christian Grey type character.
Euan then entered his typical state of not waking for anything or anyone and as I stared wistfully out of the window listening to Karma Chameleon on repeat, trying desperately not to sing, or even hum, along so as not to disturb the dragon-lady opposite, we approached Munich. Simon was on hand to guide us to Marcus’ flat and despite the need for an early night, we couldn’t help but contain our giddiness as greetings were exchanged. We finally got to bed after sharing stories and shouting random words like ‘cranium’ and despite Sam arriving about five hours later than expected, we all, including the poor Hamburg nomad, rose just a few hours later, ready for the day.
Lederhosen on, and a dirndl-come-little-bo-peep outfit for Nonie, we headed towards Oktoberfest. After taking in the sheer size of the place and meeting up with the others from Leeds, we managed to secure some seats in the beer garden outside the Schottenhamel tent. The beautiful weather made for a great atmosphere as people from all over the world went about drinking Maß after Maß and ordering traditional Bavarian delicacies.
The general muttering amongst the crowds was only broken by either random cheering/singing or some brave soul standing on a bench attempting to down their drink. It became clear here who was from each country. The Germans would stand up, no fuss; drink their beer with consummate ease before sitting down calmly to a chorus of cheers. The Italians would get up and try to get the crowd on their side before taking several goes at their drink. Like a defeated Gladiator in the Coliseum, they would then have to accept their punishment from the audience. Fortunately this never meant death, merely a few radishes and Brötchen thrown in their direction. A Brazilian man thought he’d have a pop next but dismally failed, taking one sip before throwing up through several orifices back into his Maß. This result was so hilarious, however, that he too received a round of applause and continued throughout the day as if nothing had happened. Us English? We just appreciated the entertainment.
The strangest segment, of my day at least, came in the early afternoon when on the phone to Natalie. Just casually talking away, a fellow Lederhosen clad gentleman began rubbing me. Turning away and thinking nothing of it, he persisted, and I immediately regretted buying such a tight outfit. I asked him what he wanted and despite just answering with ‘Tobi’, which I took to be his name, he continued to feel me in inappropriate areas. By this stage I tried to walk away but Tobi was having none of it, following me like a puppy and literally begging me to stay with him for an hour and meet the others later! When he finally felt it appropriate to tell me what he wanted to do to me – which it totally wasn’t – I felt it time to either take physical action or call Simon. Obviously I called Simon.
Naturally, he was quickly on hand and after briefly explaining the situation to him, I darted off. Like Torvil and Dean I zipped through the crowds, avoiding plates of roast chicken and bowls of Weißwurst surprisingly well considering my state. I realised at this point I had merely transferred the would-be rapist over to Simon and blamed my actions on trauma. Upon reaching the others, a group of confused but laughing Canadians hid me under the table as Simon, like a Jewish Jason Bourne, led Tobi off elsewhere before playing dumb and claiming to have no idea of my existence.
After the fallout of ‘Tobigate’ was concluded and it was debated why I wasn’t more forceful and why it was always me that attracted opportunistic homosexuals, we entered the familiar state of chanting and drinking. We managed to attach ourselves to a group of Italians and attempted to learn their jovial anthems, most people appreciating our effort at European integration. However, this soon turned to mild British nationalism and as it was obvious that the War was off-limits, we opted to sing about currency, championing Sterling and fervently portraying our distaste for the Euro.
As night fell we decided to explore the rest of the festival, going on a few of the rides on offer and somehow not throwing up. Apparently Scouse and I got lost from the rest of the group causing much concern to the others, unbeknown to us. After getting thrown out of the ‘Psychedelic Fun House’ and buying a totally unnecessary glass of champagne, we decided to make our way home.
We arrived back at Marcus’ (somehow) at about 11pm and after relief filtered through the room following confirmation of our safety we all crashed out ready to evaluate the day’s events tomorrow. After a bit of throwing up in the night and a delicate walk through not-so-glorious weather into town we grabbed a bite to eat before all saying our goodbyes at the Hauptbahnhof.
The journey home was even longer, with traffic scuppering our hopes of an early night and at least the chance to feel prepared for work the next day. The girls driving Euan and me home were incredibly nice and the comfortable car made the ten hours or so we spent in it totally bearable. In my tired state I thought back to the previous day as well as the antics Marcus and the others were getting up to as we drove into the night. It was a somewhat perfect reunion with the boys and was so good to see several old faces as well as meeting some new ones. Here’s to next year.
blankenblog 
Fan. Tastic. Really detailed description of outside, too!