Human detritus

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.

The train would take us to Frankfurt, our last stop on the German leg of the world domination tour.

Munchen without Oktoberfest

Munich had other attractions than Oktoberfest.  After our first night the Scoundrel and I were joined by honorary club member the Smile for a very hungover exploration of the city.  I just finished writing this post and Blogger helpfully told me they had lost it, and I would need to start again.  I cannot be bothered.  I'm going to put in the names of the statues without witty commentary, and you can make up your own mind about Munich.

Orlande de Lassus.  With a shrine to Michael Jackson on his plinth.  Dunno why.

Maximillian, Prince of Hornes.

Christoph Willibald Gluck.

Lorenz von Westenrieder.

We saw a parade.

And bridges.

The Bavaria statue.

I might come back to this post and edit in some wit.

"Well, they don't call it Oksoberfest."

I'm working on a more literary version of our events; for now, here are some cold hard facts about Oktoberfest.

We arrived left our campsite so early in the morning it was technically late at night.  The site was a walk, train ride and another walk from the halls.  During the day there would be shuttles running, but not early enough. We arrived at the fairgrounds just as the sun rose.

We had picked out the Augustina tent, as we had tried their beer the night before and it was good.  With all the other overly keen, we stood outside a door and waited for two hours until it opened at 9.  At that stage a small German man emerged and began marshalling us in, shouting directions.  He had a whistle to blow when he was not obeyed.

Once inside we had to wait until 12 for the first beers to be poured.  This was accompanied by great ceremony; a parade around the hall, the striking up of the band, the tapping of the first keg.  We had been strategically befriending (read; tipping) our waitress throughout the morning.  We were the first table served in the hall.  It was an incomparable feeling.

You would be amazed how quickly you adapt to 1L glasses.  I have sent some home, so feel free to come over and try it some time.

While not as bad as the Lowenbrau or Hofbrauhaus tents, there were still plenty of Australians.  We were particularly taken with Tony, sitting at the table next to ours, who had come to Oktoberfest in his VB tshirt.

Our waitress, Jenni, was a goddamn warrior.  Carrying up to eleven 1L steins in a haul, she worked tirelessly throughout the day, pausing only to smoke with the Liar out the side of the hall, or join us for a sneaky schnapps.

The whole festival was packed to the brim with amazing people.  The atmosphere was astounding; in Australia, the aggression at an event like this would have been through the roof.  Throughout the entire weekend, we didn't see one fight, one blue.  Everyone was friends, everyone was looking to have a good time. People were even willing to put up with the Scoundrel's nonsense.

Both our days in the halls were amazing fun.  Being in Munich for the 200th Oktoberfest was special, but now that I've done it I cannot wait to go back and do it again.

I've never spent as much time dancing on benches in my life.