After two nights at the Oktoberfest halls, the campsite resembled a battlezone. The Liar's favourite memory was finding a man who had passed out star-fished on top of his tent, completely flattening it. There were, he tells me, people standing around taking photos.
We gathered our stuff and made for the Hauptbahnhof. After the most cursory of goodbyes, we left the Scoundrel and the Smile to go their own way. None of us were in the right state of mind or body for an emotional farewell. I'd like to say to both of them now; thanks for the great weekend, it wouldn't have been the same without you. Or it might, I can't remember all of it.
Our platform was full of other Australians trying to get the hell out of Munich.
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