A Local's Oktoberfest Hangover

Miles suddenly says, “Man, I am so excited! I love the Oktoberfest!”

It’s 7:45 in the morning and we’re walking towards the subway to go to Munich’s 16-day, world-famous boozefest. It’s raining. Pondering this statement, I wonder if I agree. “What am I doing?” I think to myself. “I should definitely still be in bed.”

It’s my fourth visit of the year to the ‘Wiesn,’ as the Oktoberfest is often known in Munich. It’s Miles’ first – he’s flown in all the way from LA for a few days of drinking and good times. His excitement is palpable. My eyes are still heavy.

As a Munich resident for the last three years, the Oktoberfest is nothing new for me. Perhaps that’s why I was struggling to muster the enthusiasm for such an early start and the prospect of queuing outside a beer tent for an hour before tucking into a Maß for breakfast. Still, there’s no backing out now, I think to myself. It’s the last weekend and I can’t let the side down.

I glance over at Miles, hoping some of his insatiable enthusiasm will rub off on me. It’s not like I can’t understand the excitement. The beer, the singing, the dancing on the tables, the debauchery, the dirndl-clad, buxom young girls with heaving bosoms at every turn. Oh yes, partying at the Oktoberfest is fun, of that there is no doubt. It’s just the rest of the time, when it’s on and I’m trying to go about my everyday life. It becomes, dare I say it, a hassle almost.

Actually living in Munich has certainly influenced my opinion on the planet’s biggest drinking festival.