auf der Wiesn

When I was still deciding whether or not to study abroad this semester, one of my friends told me, "The highs are going to be high, and the lows are going to be low." And during a day trip to Munich with the Goethe-Institut, I experienced it all: confusion, jubilation, frustration, contentment. It was a culture-shock roller coaster, and I was happy to be on it.

(I was also happy to be on this roller coaster, at Oktoberfest.)

The day started on a sour note. We were supposed to meet at 7am to board the bus. At 7 o'clock and 30 seconds, as I rounded the corner for our meeting place, I saw thirty pairs of eyes staring at me from inside the bus. "Why isn't she running?" asked the tour leader, as the bus driver made motions that I should jump the barricade of the divided highway. I later found out that the actual meeting time was 6:50 (a message which I had never received), and that it took some cajoling from the Central College Abroad folks for them to wait for me until the posted departure time of 7am. Germans don't mess around with punctuality.

I spent the three-hour bus ride in a dreamlike state: alternating between dozing off, listening to Marshall (from Central College) talk about organic farming in Germany, and gazing at the hilly agricultural area out the window. And then we were in Munich. The outskirts of the city reminded me a bit of Chicago: wide highways; separate buildings for industry, offices, and condos; spread-out and not very walkable. Closer towards the city center, though, things began to look more European. There were even parking-protected bike lanes.

I may not have the skills to be a city-biker myself, but I know that PPBLs are essential for biker safety, and for encouraging the use of alternative means of transportation. Just another example of how Germany is leading the way in terms of environmental policy.

Because Saturday was the first day of Oktoberfest, we were able to watch the opening procession. Each brewery in Munich brings their first kegs onto the Wiesn with a horse-drawn carriage and smiling men and women dressed in traditional Bavarian outfits (Dirndl for women and Lederhose for men).

And because I had had no time to grab breakfast earlier in the day during my mad rush to conform to German norms of puntiality, I also bought a gigantic pretzel during the opening procession. German pretzels have a harder shell than American ones, and taste more like a roll on the inside than the ball of dough I'm used to. Eating an Oktoberfest Brez'n felt like eating a loaf of bread. I wrapped half of it in my purse and snacked throughout the day.

Unfortunately, the Friends of the Goethe-Institut (a group of retirees -- just like in America -- who want to "stay active" by hanging out with the foreigners) wanted us to know more about Munich than its twelve breweries. So after opening procession, we went on an hour-long city tour. This was where the problems started. The tour leader's schedule was too ambitious, but because she was German, she decided to strictly follow it anyway.

At one point, we had ten minutes free in a high-end supermarket. I bought some yoghurt to calm my stomach, and then returned to the front of the store, where I joined about seven other members of the group to wait. And wait. After ten minutes, it became increasingly clear that the tour leader had left eight people behind. And because I was the best German speaker, it was up to me to find the group. I felt a little panicky. I was responsible for these other people, lost in a strange city, and I barely speak German myself.

I used someone's cell phone to speak to the tour leader, and she told us to find our way to the Residenz (former apartments of the Bavarian court). After asking multiple people on the street and taking numerous details, we were finally in front of the imposing structure. I called the tour leader again. "We're here," I said, "where are you?" "Oh," she said, "we left the Residenz ten minutes ago and are now in front of the Hofbräuhaus" -- a Munich landmark in the direction from which we had just come. I was justifiably pissed. If you don't plan to wait for someone, don't tell them to meet you there. Tell them to meet you at your next location. A group of eight lost foreigners (including two children) is not going to be able to overtake you.

Finally, though, we found the rest of the tour group and I was able to relax. It was time to head back to the Wiesn -- to Oktoberfest -- the reason I was in this city in the first place.

I had never realized that in addition to the tents, Oktoberfest also has a full amusement park, and we decided that riding before drinking probably made more sense than drinking before riding. In all honesty, I could have gone without riding anything (I think my priorities are pretty clear). While the Oktoberfest amusement park was better than St. Elizabeth's Spring-a-Rama or the Caste Shannon fire hall carnival, for example, it was still a temporary structure, and as such, was less thrilling than your standard American amusement park. For non-Americans, though, riding was more of a big deal. Umut, my friend from Turkey, for example, had never been on a roller coaster before. And I was happy to indulge on rides like the Star Flyer, which gave wonderful views of both the Wiesn and the entire city of Munich without making me sick.

Filipe (high school exchange student from Chile), Umut (student from Turkey), Marshall (Central), me, Kathi (Central), and Nico (student from Frnace) on the Star Flyer. Kind of like the swings, but much higher off the ground. 

With about three hours left before we needed to catch a bus back to Schwäbisch Hall, we finally got around to drinking. Because it was the evening of the first day of Oktoberfest, we unfortunately couldn't find a place in any of the tents themselves. But we did find places in the outdoor Biergarten of the Paulaner tent and did what we came to Munich to do -- drink a Maß (or two and a half). And things were perfect.

After my friend Nico and I ordered our drinks in German, a British man looked at us and said (in English), "I don't know if you can sit here." "Don't worrry," I said, "we're just sitting here until we get served. Then we're going to stand up again." (That's the way it works in the beer tents. You have to be seated to place an order.) "Oh," he said, "your English is a lot better than I expected it to be." I blend in! (Or, at least, drunk Brits think I do.)

Power drinkers of our group. Me and Nico in front of signs reading "Goodbye" in Biarisch and German.