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Oktoberfest (liquor fest)

Oktoberfest sounded like a good idea at the time. Ya know, go check out the world’s biggest beer festival, in a country I had never been to. Little did I know that spending four days in Munich with five Scandinavians, all with the intention of getting absolutely obliterated, would be more work than leisure.

The trip began normal enough, with me making my way from London to Munich by train, high on mushrooms, arriving in Munich at 5am with no one’s contact details. Despite a rather sluggish sunrise tour of Munich, I actually managed to find the flat without much trouble. I hadn’t slept in at least 24hours, maybe longer, and the guys had obviously sent it pretty hard the night before. Regardless, I managed to rouse them, as I explained the absolute necessity for us all finding lederhosen: authentic German beer drinking outfits.

After a few massive beers and sloppy pizza (at an Italian place across the street. We would end up eating pizza for breakfast there every morning) we tracked down a department store. Several minutes and hundreds of euros later, we were all kitted like authentic Bavarian arseholes.

From there on out it was a total shit show. Munich during Oktoberfest is fucked. People drinking, sleeping and pissing everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. And everyone is absolutely shit faced. The thing about it though, is that Oktoberfest is actually like a real carnival with rides and stuff, so there are kids and families all over the place, while giant American grease bags are barfing all over themselves.

On our last night there we FINALLY managed to score tickets into one of the beer houses (this is actually an incredibly difficult task if you haven’t reserved them years in advance). The place was like a giant university frat house common area, only with more beer and an orchestra, playing weirdo German drinking music. Well I must have been on fire that night because next thing I knew I was making-out with a German babe, straight high school style: middle of the place on top of a table. Her name was Susie and she was a total babe. But it should be noted that EVERY girl in lederhosen is a babe, especially when they are crushing steins of strong German beer and singing “Ein Prosit (Eyn Proz-it) Der Gemütlichkeit (Dar Gay-mute-lish-kite)”. Translated means: I Salute Our Friendship & Good Times. After that you countdown to G'suffa (zuffa) and a take a big fuck-off drink from your big fuck-off mug of fuck-off strong German beer. Lastly the band asks you if you are having fun (which obviously you are when you’re wasted making out with a hot Bavarian babe) with either Zicke Zacke Zicke Zacke or Ticke Tacke Ticke Tacke and you respond Hoi Hoi Hoi.

If Susie had asked me to go anywhere with her that night I would have gone. Fortunately she was staying with family way outside the city, and I didn’t have a phone that would work on this side of the Atlantic. Thus, that night concluded as all the rest had: with the whole lot of us planning to go “out-out” (Norwegian for “night club”) but getting too hammered and staying at the flat. Fortunately the owner of the flat, “Pedro” a Spanish German kid, was staying down below us. Once he heard the racket he rushed upstairs and insisted we get into his home-made brandy. We drank all the brandy, and freestyle rap battled until the sun came up. When finally Pedro left, he assured all of us that next time we came to Oktoberfest, we were staying with him, free of charge. But here’s the thing about Oktoberfest: nothing is “free of charge”. Even if you had free accommodation, free beer house passes, and even free beer, there would be a dire toll to pay. This toll of course is the damage to your liver and brain and probably a bit to your soul, as no one escapes Oktoberfest without some form of sin. Mine of course was telling Susie I loved her and would meet her in the city the next day. Before our date ever came and went I was miles down the track, heading to Vienna with an extinction level hangover. THAT is what Oktoberfest is all about.

About this blog

This blog is intended to be a unfiltered, unadulterated, narrative non-fiction of my experiences. The opinions and stories expressed here may not always be tasteful or even fair, but they will always be true. If it's a greasy story I will make an attempt to hide someone's identity. But be fairly warned: if we are getting greased together, then everything that goes down is fair game for this blog. Everything else will depend on how well I remember it and how, or if, I can tie it back into a decent enough story worth writing about. Whatever happens I promise to try and keep this blog interesting, relevant and up to date.


"If I go, I'm going out shameless"

 - Gregory Alan Isakov

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