Right, who is ready for information overload? You? Me? Us? Well, it’s only fair. It’s now been one week since we’ve ditched the U.K. and begun our three week journey back home to New Zealand. A lot has happened, a lot has been seen and photographed, and there’s already a lot to get through so hold on tight to the reigns, I’m going to get into some bitties of information starting with Munich, specifcally Oktoberfest.
It all started with an airport, sitting in a German sports bar, waiting for some of GM’s kiwi mates to show up. One of whom was on his way out of Oktoberfest, supplying GM with some pre-worn lederhosen (I’ll go into that further), and the other mate who had been cavorting about Norway and was going to be hanging out with us at the festival. The festival itself all started with a kingish bloke celebrating his wedding and wanting to perhaps ensure he always remembered the anniversary. What better way to do this than to set up an annual festival with horse racing, beer drinking and sausage eating.
It’s vaguely evolved from that into a half-month-long period heading up to the first of October where the horses have been ditched but the beer drinking and sausage eating definitely hasn’t. By all accounts, it’s become a festival so well known that there are more people that celebrate it (6 million average per year) than there are number of people living in New Zealand (4.5 million). Perhaps what we learn from this is that beer really is a community builder.
I stupidly was ill-prepared for Oktoberfest. As is my habit, I like to start a holiday getaway with being sick (I can always blame the children), so battling a serious case of the snots, stifling headaches and a severe lack of a dirndl, my Oktoberfest experience was good, but nothing legendary I’m afraid. Thank goodness for pretzels though. I blimmin’ love a good, massive, crunchy, doughy, salty pretzel (brezen). GET IN MA MOUTH!
And Oktoberfest doesn’t just have that. Germans seem to love a good saussie, a good snarler (weißwurst), with sweet mustard sauce, skin removed, herby as all get-out. That and their chickens (hendi) became staples for feeding the puku’s when the beer needs to be soaked up. Mouth-wateringly delicious food that is apparently too rich occasionally, for our poor little Britty/Kiwi tums.
The festival nature of Oktoberfest is chaotic and sometimes messy, but also equal parts amorous (sometimes grossly so) and joyful. You’d walk past some of the beer tents (semi-permanent structures built two months prior) overhearing uproarious chanting and singing, countdowns to a beer chug, and people standing on their benches hugging and swaying. It’s the ultimate pub night multiplied by about 5.999 million people.
After a six hour effort from me, and a twelve hour hard slog by GM and his mate, the next day didn’t dare repeat the first. We reentered Oktoberfest as sober, sunglasses wearing, head-clutching tourists, not a beer in hand or a sausage in mouth. GM got on the photo-taking band wagon while me and his mate tagged along, wandering behind, losing him, finding him again, moving on to the next photo opportunity.
I’ll be honest, Oktoberfest is something that can be thoroughly enjoyed by anyone, but perhaps more so the likes of GM’s mate who he borrowed the lederhosen off. This lad has been travelling Europe for the last four months and it appears that he and the gents and gentesses he’s travelling with have built up a hardy stamina that sees them growing impressive beards (even the ladies… JK, JK), rocking the jandals in all climates, attempting disgraceful acts that make for exceptional stories, all the while being holed up in a series of beacons of New Zealandishness: touring vans decked out with sweet names (Vanimal and Black Betty), living quarters that you’d be ashamed to let your mother see, with proud NZ flags billowing behind them in their wake. What a way to see Europe. The people seeing it this way is who the modern Oktoberfest is made for – people who want to be able to share a good yarn after a hard night of adventurous endeavour, people who give everything to get a smashing story to tell back.
In the meantime, Munich is a pretty cool city with plenty to nosey at. Here, nosey at our noseying.
exploring.life.with.me 