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Oktoberfest Report

September 19th, 2011 · No Comments · Culture, Germany

As stated in the constitution of Bavaria, when I married Conny View definition in a new window, I legally became a Bavarian citizen. With Oktoberfest soon to be upon us, it was my duty, as a new citizen, to get myself some traditional apparel, called “Tracht.” Tracht for Bavarian men centers around Lederhosen, and for the ladies, it involves a Dirndl.

Mr. NosuchhosenLuckily, with the help of Conny and my mother-in-law, it didn’t take long to put together the whole outfit. I have three suitable shirts, and the proper socks and shoes, and of course, the Lederhose. I had some concerns initially about getting the traditional short Lederhose, because my skinny, pasty legs might frighten small children and those with weaker dispositions. The socks solved that problem nicely. I might wear them all the time.

I made sure to figure out how to work the Lederhose flap in front before filling up with beer and staggering to the pissoir, lest I have some sort of horrible accident. This was prudent, and my concerns were well founded, as I saw a fellow stumble out of the beer tent toilet on Sunday night with his front rather soaked. Lederhosen-noob!

On opening day, I didn’t go for the whole outfit, though, as we were doing the big gathering of family and friends on Sunday. I wore one of my special shirts and the right shoes to honor the occasion.

One tradition of Oktoberfest is the giving and wearing of Lebkuchenherzen. These are hearts made out of Lebkuchen, which is sort of like a gingerbread cookie. Available in several sizes and decorated with various usually nice sayings, they are conveniently sold shrink wrapped in plastic so you can wear them without making a mess. People often keep them for a long time as a souvenir.

Conny snuck off and bought one for each of the gents at our table. Here’s the one she got for our friend Peter, who was the reason we had such an awesome table on opening day in the first place.

You Bazi!

It says “Bozi” which is a city in Côte d’Ivoire. Strange, I know. Perhaps they went there together once. Though maybe it’s supposed to be “Bazi”, which is a Bavarian word for “rascal.”

For our Italian friend Tiziano, who drove over seven hours to make it to the opening, and who was rocking the Tracht nicely, she appropriately got him one that said “Oktoberfest”:

Looking sharp!

I guess she was running low on euros when it came to getting mine, because she had to settle for a defective one.

Half off?

At some point, it must have said “Ich liebe dich”, which means “I love you.” It’s the thought that counts, though.

Mmm. Cookie.

These cookies are delicious when they are fresh! It’s a shame to let them get stale and hard all entombed in plastic wrap. It’s also a good idea to have something to eat with all that beer.

Have I mentioned that Oktoberfest beer is stronger than usual? This is a really bad marketing idea. Here’s a free tip: people can’t buy more beer when they are unconscious in a pool of vomit. After just two of these gigantic beers, things can get out of hand fast.

I don’t remember much after this.

Germans pair a lot of interesting things with heavy beer drinking. Like rides that spin like crazy, or fast conveyor belts up an incline, or shooting.

It’s only pellets. I think.

Something was wrong with my rifle because it simply would not point straight. I think I hit seven targets with my eleven shots. Who says video games don’t teach you anything?

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