So I survived Oktoberfest, relatively unscathed. And that’s no small feat, given the facts at hand:
1. I am old.
2. I am not young.
3. I was drinking beers that were bigger than my head.
4. I have a really big head.
It really wasn’t all so crazy though. Sure, I tasted many of Munich’s finest beverages and crashed on a friend of a friend’s apartment floor, just like the old college days. But most of the energy Husband and I could once muster for insane all-day beer drinking antics was redirected toward perfecting our German wardrobe and eating sausages.
I’m pretty sure that means we’re getting too old for this sh*t. But that didn’t stop us from having a totally most awesome time anyway.
First, let’s discuss the sausages. I don’t think they eat anything else there. I have never seen so many kinds of roasted meats and encased animal products, and it was a little bit like heaven. Nary a fruit or vegetable to be seen, unless you count cabbage. Which you shouldn’t.
See that sandwich there? I don’t even know what that is! But we saw a bunch of people lined up to eat it, so we followed suit. I think it might be some type of really fatty ham with a chunk of cracklings on top. Cue the simultaneous Husband/wife heart attacks.
Aside from the threat of collective coronary distress, I would be concerned about a national outbreak of scurvy, were it not for the 1/2 beer, 1/2 lemonade beverages offered to the masses who needed a break from the constant flow of alcohol. Nope, no water. We’ll water down your beer with lemonade until you pull yourself together and stop acting like such a pansy.
Those Germans! They really take their festivals quite seriously. Everyone dressed to the nines in lederhosen and dirndls. Everyone singing the old German songs. People just seemed genuinely elated to be wearing funny suede pants and dancing on tables. Some of us were so excited about dancing on tables that we forgot just how slippery beer slosh can get and learned how fast a leg can swell up after blunt impact with a bench.
But in general, the atmosphere in our tent wasn’t as sloppy as I’d imagined. You know what was surprising as hell though? The disco music coming from the OomPahPah band! Abba never sounded so good.
After our day under the beer tent, we woke up (un)refreshed and ready to tackle the city. And just what do you do after a day of intense beer consumption and extreme merriment? How does one best compliment the joyous excess of oversize pretzels and the camaraderie of newfound German friends?
We weren’t quite sure. So we ate more sausages and then went to Dachau. And yes, getting directions to the concentration camp while wearing a green hat with a feather in it was one of the more awkward conversations I’ve ever had.