Oktoberfest: Day seven
We made it!
Hostess was absolutely right; today was the best day to go to the Oktoberfest.
I had worked myself into a frenzy of concern that we weren't going to get to the Oktoberfest or that the visit was going to be fleeting, but Hostess had insisted on the basis of the weather forecast that we go today, and not any other so I was practically dragging her and Guest to the train station in the morning.
Oktoberfest is held over a two-week period, ending on the first Sunday in October. The festival originated on October 12th 1810, in celebration of the marriage of the crown prince of Bavaria, who later became King Louis I, to Princess Therese von Sachsen-Hildburghausen (try saying those vows after a couple of maß).
This year the last day of the festival is the first Monday in October because today, the 3rd October, is German Unity Day (Tag der Deutschen Einheit) and the country's national holiday. It commemorates German reunification in 1990 when east and west formed the first single German state since 1945. The friend I stay with in the Netherlands once suggested that the Dutch government somehow manipulate the weather for King's Day because he's not known a day of bad weather; perhaps the Germans do too, because today's weather was glorious.
We should be told.
As Guest was travelling home today we first made a little detour to somewhere bags could be stored before a short walk to the entrance on the Esperantoplatz for quick selfies and queuing to get in. This was a mostly frictionless affair but Hostess was told her fabric bag was too big by someone with a walkie-talkie and a hi-vis jacket, a judgment we circumvented by taking the bottle of water out, putting the bag in her pocket and joining different queue.
I was on a mission to find tourist tat, of course, but Hostess was determined we'd see the 'authentic' stuff – despite my coming expressly for tat and spinny vomit-makers – and despite my protestations nudged us towards the Oidn Wiesn, the old part of the festival, where we found quiet refuge in a tent and had a healthy breakfast of bretzel and a Maß of Augustiner Braü Lagerbier Hell, all while a brass band belted out Bavarian oompah music. Hostess has been desperately searching for a translation of Deutsch Blasmusik all week but it was only when I heard it that I knew exactly what she meant. That people were able to sit right next to the band and conduct normal conversations was quite astonishing.
By the time we left the tent, crowds were everywhere and I contemplated finding a German translation for "would you mind if my finger puppet slipped into your bosom?" but thought it best not go get arrested on the last day of my trip. Instead, the mission was simple: try not to become distracted by wave after tormentuous wave of callipygian leather and sturdy calves in thick socks, and instead see as much as possible in the short time available before work in the afternoon.
An unexpected mission was to see the Mother Bavaria statue because she's quite big and I wasn't planning to go on any spinny things and, well, she was there. The statue is 18.5 metres high and weighs about 87 tonnes. It has overlooked the Oktoberfest on the Theresienwiese since 1850 and stands in front of the Bavarian hall of fame, a patriotic celebration of "great Bavarians" commissioned in 1833 by Crown Prince Ludwig.
It is possible to enter her with ease from behind and climb the spiral staircase to four windows in her helmet for a view over the Theresienwiese and the the city. Sadly, a dearth of functioning cash machines meant I didn't have the five euros needed to do this – I was genuinely surprised at the quasi-nonexistent acceptance of card payments – so she'll have endure that pleasure another time.
I had a look around some of the various tents and purveyors of tat while Hostess looked at things in the quieter sections, then we joined forces for the final few hours and wandered about the Oidn Wiesn, had some freshly-cooked crisps (not Tornado-Kartoffoleln but instead a huge paper cone with ketchup), watched people ride wonky bikes round a wooden ring to more Blasmusik, listened to various barrel organs (yay!), looked at the museum tent – all sorts.
I had originally been rather panicked we wouldn't have enough time for looking around, but in the end it was about right and I had to apologise profusely to Hostess for trying to drag her around like an excited yet petulant child yelling "come on!" and stamping my feet when thwarted with logic.
It would have been nice to go on the ferris wheel but the queue was long and it was quite expensive, perhaps because of the fine weather. It's worth bearing in mind that entrance to the site is free and that therefore you shouldn't begrude a few centimes for some fun. My fun was 16€ for a litre of beer and some of Guest's bretzel, which seemed an absolute bargain given the musical joy that accompanied it.
Some people will simply spend the day gently supping on beers, something I'd have probably enjoyed in my youth or if I hadn't been working in the afternoon, before heading onto some spinning vomit-comets in the name of fun. I only saw one person being sick, which was perhaps because we didn't stay into the evening, although I'd have liked to – stay longer, that is, not watch people ejecting their contents.
I'm glad Hostess insisted we wait until today; fighting through the crowds can't have been much fun in the rain and the umbrella situation would have been both torturous and tortuous. We were there for about five hours and without going on rides, that was probably long enough. Un-chaperoned and without time constraints I would probably have started with some food early-afternoon, then run wild and wasted more time there, some of it potentially vomiting, until the evening.
On the way out of the site at the P2 gate there's a memorial to the twelve people who were killed and the hundreds who were injured in 1980 by a bomb detonated at the entrance. The death toll is thirteen, because the far-right perpetrator's bomb went off prematurely, but for reasons obvious he is not among those remembered.
We took the S-Bahn back to Gröbenzell where I got myself together for my return trip and did some cooking for Hostess.
If I am to take one thing home from this adventure, it is the realisation that, tanned thighs aside, there really is such a thing as too much gingham.
