Oktoberfest 2010 - New Dirndl!

Leather Pants and Heidi Hair

What Happens at Oktoberfest Stays at Oktoberfest

Last year I wrote my first and still favorite blog post about Oktoberfest .

Oktoberfest is many things to many people. For some it is a chance to eat, drink and be merry. For others it is an opportunity to explore a more outgoing side of one's personality. And for many, it is a chance to hit on someone in a really low cut bodice and perhaps stagger home with them.

For me Oktoberfest is a celebration of men in leather pants.

Seriously. There is no man on earth with at least some degree of attractiveness that embroirdered deerskin knickers, a checked shirt and an enormous glass of beer will not materially improve.

Ralf has a fine pair of Lederhosen, dark green buckskin with tasteful embroirdering and hand-carved horn buttons. On his 6'4'' physique... well, let me put it this way, ladies: Ten years ago he showed up at work in cheap off-the-rack Lederhose and I promptly broke up with my fiance and moved to Germany.

But that's another story.

You may recall that last year we had a table reserved in the Hacker-Pschorr tent through an indirect connection of friendship with Frank, the plastic surgeon. This year Toby, who is a lawyer, got a table from a grateful client for opening day. Frank joined us this year as well, as did Elke, Tommy, Dirk and several non-German colleagues.

Dirk, a successful partner in a law firm and the kind of guy whose secretary is always in love with, comes to Oktoberfest to admire 16-year-old girls in their low-cut Dirndls and drink himself under the table. He was openly skeptical of inviting Americans to join us: 'Aw, really? They always throw up so early.'

After about two beers, I joined Elke in search of a bathroom, and like last year we were gone for over an hour. Not because it took so long to find or use the facilities but because Elke wanted to visit several of the other tents and I'm the ultimate drunken side kick.

Elke is director for HR at a German company and cuts a fine figure in her dirndl. I myself was dressed like a man, albeit a curvy one, with tan leather pants and a blue and white checked shirt. Not unattractive but nowhere near as eye-catching as Elke.

Don't think Daisy Duke, think Calamity Jane.

As we strolled the grounds an enormous man with a walrus mustache in the exact same outfit as mine nodded cordially and said, 'Nice pants!' He then drooled at Elke.

Last year I had hit that perfect level of tipsiness to sail to the front of all lines with a drunkenly apologetic smile and get away with it but that was - for me - an unusual combination of circumstances. Elke has that kind of mojo all the time so again we effortlessly cut to the front of the line at two different bathrooms and three beer tents.

Elke's impressive power over others also extends to people doing her bidding, as I noticed when she sent me to buy a bottle of water while she bought coffee. On a mission from Elke, the crowds parted before me like butter.

Ultimately we made it back to our table and our leather clad men and the rest of the evening progressed in the usual fashion, with more beer, roast chicken and toasts to friendship followed by pickled fish sandwiches and roller coaster rides.

Prost!!

Was it something I said?

When we first moved back to Munich I joined an English speaking playgroup. It was one of the few in our neck of the woods that also meets in the afternoon so I felt pretty lucky to find it - most of them meet somewhere far away in the mornings.

There has been some normal attrition - a few people moved, one mother who takes a very active role is having a baby, another has decided to do gymnastics instead.

The result? Last week no one was there except me and one other German mom. Before Christmas we were packed in with a dozen moms and about 30 kids, and now we're down to just the 5 of us. . . was it something I said?

You see, this sort of thing has happened before. . . social groups fall apart when I join them.

And yet, I'm nice. Occassionally witty. My kids are fairly well-behaved and play well with others. I like people of all races, nationalities and religions, as long as they're just like me. I even pretend to like tea.

It can't be me, can it?

To add insult to injury, this playgroup has existed and thrived for over 10 years. They've had to turn people away. So, not that I'm paranoid or anything but I am starting to wonder if hanging with me is social death.

When I mentioned this to Ralf he was supportive and sympathetic as always.

"I'm sure it's not you, honey," he assured me.

"Mmmmn." I carried on flossing, not totally convinced. (I even floss, people! What's not to love???)

He tried again. "I mean, if all our friends start moving away from Munich now that we're back we can revisit this."

That man is always there for me. I really don't deserve him.

"Although. . . " he began, then hesitated.

Uh oh. I know that tone. Here it comes.

"What???"

"Well, just in case. . . maybe you shouldn't go to Oktoberfest this year."

Greetings from Oktoberfest

On Saturday Ralf and I went to Oktoberfest. Ralf had been counting on a combination of floor heating and a perfect day at Oktoberfest to once more reconcile his Southern Californian wife (that’s me, for those of you who don’t know your Schroeder history) to living in chilly Germany and the day did not disappoint. Some friends of our were going to the opening ceremony, but since that involved being there by 8AM so that a friend of a friend could let us in (the friend being a plastic surgeon who is friends with one of our other friends, and his friend being someone who knows one of the bouncers at the Hacker Pschorr tent), then sitting around with no beer until noon when the mayor taps the keg, we elected to take our chances at lunch time. To be honest, we didn’t actually expect to get in a tent on opening day, having heard that it is nearly impossible unless you camp out the night before, but we figured we could at least find a beer and a roast chicken on the grounds and maybe ride the Ferris wheel.

We got there at around noon and made our way through the crowds to the Hacker Pschorr tent, whereupon Ralf called his best friend Tobi, who was already in the tent enjoying his first beer with the guy that knows the guy that knows the security guard. And as tenuous as this chain of relationships sounds, and as unlikely as it was that Tobi could actually hear what Ralf was saying on his cell phone, it somehow all worked out the way it does in the better sort of Eastern German movies. We made our way to the main entrance and hovered uncertainly at the edge of the sizable crowd hoping we looked cool enough to get in when suddenly the door opened and a stocky bald guy in a security uniform pointed his weapon at us. Figuring this could either be very good or very bad, we edged past him and there was Tobi grinning like he invented beer. Seeing that we weren’t under arrest or about to be shot, we followed him to a perfectly respectable table in good view of the band and began our assimilation with the rest of the tent. That is to say, we started drinking.

Oktoberfest is a logistical triumph. The same organizational genius that made horrific death camps possible in the forties has been channeled in the service of good instead of evil in order to serve more than ten thousand people beer in less than half an hour. And that’s just one tent, mind you. Wholesome looking girls with impossibly strong forearms run around with up to 12 full beer mugs at a time (and we’re talking about German Mass here, not those wimpy glasses American beer is served in), distribute them to their rightful owners and go back for more. They do this for hours, which puts the odd functional design or product demo into its proper perspective. And at the same time, these impressive Alpen gals make sure everyone pays and keep the Australians under control. This is not a job for the weak and the competition is fierce, providing an excellent example of the strategic role of compensation in attracting top talent - ten thousand drinkers, averaging about a mass every 30 minutes at 8 EUR with 1 + EUR tip… you do the math.

Hofbrauhaus, Loewenbrau and others all have their devoted fans, but I think that the Hacker Pschorr tent is one of the nicest. The ‘ceiling’ of the tent is decorated like the Bavarian sky on a perfect day, bright blue with fluffy clouds. The band sits on a rotating platform in the middle of the tent and plays all the old favorites, punctuated by the drinking song that forces you to get to know your neighbors. The clientele tends to be a nice mix of locals, foreigners and teenagers of the cute and non-gothic sort. The roast chicken is also very good. So we sat and drank and experienced the four phases of Oktoberfest.

The Four Phases of Oktoberfest

Phase I: Why is that guy staring at me?
You’ve had your first refreshing sip of ice-cold beer and you’re prepared to enjoy yourself but avoiding direct eye contact because several people are looking at you as if they’ve known you forever and really like you and it’s just a little embarrassing. So you watch the band and look at the ceiling and gulp beer whenever anyone catches your eye.


Phase II: I love you all
You’ve finished your first beer and started on a second when it hits you that we are all connected. You start waving excitedly and blowing kisses to people at other tables and most of them wave and blow kisses back, except that guy at the next table who just threw up into his beer. This is a good phase to be in when you have to go to the bathroom because the deep, genuine love you feel for everyone allows you to glide past people and obstacles without getting yelled at or arrested. Try it sometime – go to the front of the line, put your arms around the person you just displaced and tell them you love them right before you dart into the bathroom and lock the door. When you come out they probably won’t be there anymore and even if they are, chances are that they will back away from you nervously. Mind you, it helps if you’ve been drinking for a good hour and are armed with the knowledge that you are the most beautiful and powerful person on earth, not to mention surrounded by half a million of your closest friends.

Phase III: I understand everything now

Finally, the unified field theory has been solved and the fundamental nature of the universe is no longer a mystery. The nature of the universe is hilariously funny so you laugh out loud. You float over the entire tent and you can see everything in minute detail while taking in the entire picture. When you come back to earth, you share your new knowledge with the person sitting next to you and they totally get it. Now that you’ve solved the mysteries of the universe together you know that you’ll be friends forever. Unfortunately, neither of you will remember any of this tomorrow.


Phase IV: Blue

In this phase, you have moved beyond understanding everything to a quiet, content acceptance of everything exactly as it is. You are Buddha. All things are blue or maybe they are not. Either way, it’s all good. About now you realize that this is a perfect time for a Fischsemmel, which is pickled mackerel on a Kaiser roll with a slice of onion.

There are actually 5 phases but Phase V happens the next day and isn’t nearly so nice as the other phases. I won’t say much about Phase V, except that it is a lot less full of universal love, omniscience and Fischsemmel than the previous phases.