An Oktoberfest addict reveals her secret identity
For 16 intense days, from September 22 to October 7, in the heart of Bavaria, the “largest folk festival in the world” will, once again, bring Munich to life. Oktoberfest, the finale to summer, is no longer the traditional annual celebration of the royal wedding of Crown Prince Ludwig to Princess Theresa of Saxe-Hildburghausen in 1810, but the celebration of beer—in really big mugs.
Many people, “foreigners” and Münchner alike, plan their lives around the big beer bash— either to attend it, to work at it or to avoid it altogether. I am a Wies’n devotee—two years running. Donning a Dirndl and going incognito as “Heidi aus Oberammergau” (no, I haven’t even been to the home of the passion plays), my alter ego is, for the most part, bought by my audience, though some detect my absent Bavarian accent. For me, I mean Heidi, pure entertainment, not intoxication, is the aim.
A crazy mix of people make their way to Oktoberfest. Whether you go to chime in on drinking songs, to inhale the sweet aroma of roasted, sugar-coated nuts, confections of marzipan and chocolate or to relish the music of clinking Masskrüge, take a look around and you’ll see innumerable smiles. Everyone is happy to be here except, as Heidi can confirm, all the ladies waiting in those never-ending restroom lines.
The best way to enjoy endless hours of song and dance into the evening, atop benches of course, is to exercise your squatter’s rights at a table. Some more organized groups of revelers send out scouts early in the day to stake claim on celebratory territory while awaiting their working friends. The very fortunate have connections to those who reserved tables about a year in advance.
It was no surprise to me to discover that Australians, New Zealanders and Americans are notoriously known as the rowdy drunkards at Oktoberfest. I suffer from embarrassment of my fellow Amis, making fools of themselves while exuding American pride. Hey, it’s just beer.
Last year I took part in a poll regarding security at Oktoberfest. This was, of course, conducted during tamer daylight hours. I must say, however, that I have never experienced anything dangerous, though many stories circulate about drug use and rapes. My advice to women is: don’t become “too merry,” go with friends and remain aware of the company you keep and your surroundings.
At night, the Wies’n is most amusing, with the glimmering midway lights, oompah-vibrating tents and laughter-permeated air. An early closing time of 11:30 pm doesn’t necessarily stop the celebrations. Cramming into subway cars filled to the brim with inebriated folks is always good for a few chuckles. The greatest danger, however, is getting bored to death by repetitious drinking songs sung at top volume—as if these small train cars were as big as beer tents. One would hope there will be a new theme song this year because, really, “Heeeeey, Hey Baby”—Heidi has heard enough.
With six million visitors, downing five million liters of beer and consuming 200,000 pairs of Würstl, this could be considered a pre-fast festival. The idea is to consume enough traditional German foods and beer to last, well, until Christmas, when you can, finally, munch out on footlongs and get tipsy on Glühwein (mulled wine) once again. Don’t let naysayers scare you. I think everyone should experience Oktoberfest at least once. But be forewarned, it could become an addiction. Heidi says, for the third time: see you auf der Wies’n!
