A declaration of love for the Oktoberfest

I have been going to the Wiesn since I could walk. In my parents' photo albums, there are photos of me in front of the “Jumbo Flight”: dressed in a mini dirndl and a tiny janker (traditional Bavarian fulled woolen jacket), holding a huge cotton candy in my hand. Back then, this was my favourite ride, even though the talking elephant statue with its wide-open eyes always scared me to death. Later, the “Wilde Maus” and giant gingerbread hearts became part of the fun. The hearts would hang in my room for months and I only ate them when there were no other sweets left in the house. Even if they were rock hard by then – I didn't care!

You have to distract yourself from all the hustle and bustle, because then the Wiesn can become magical – it transports you to another world and does the same for you: it distracts you.

As a child, the Wiesn was always exciting for me – riding the carousels, throwing cans, shooting roses. But I also remember that even then, it quickly became too loud and too crowded for me. There is another photo in the album that shows me sitting bored in a beer tent my head resting on my arm, with an expression that says: “When are we finally going home?” And to be honest, as an adult, I always felt the same way sitting in the Oktoberfest tent, feeling overwhelmed, almost drunk from all the impressions.

Because the Wiesn is a constant sensory overload and once you start paying attention to all these stimuli, you can't stand it for a minute longer. You have to distract yourself from all the hustle and bustle, because then the Wiesn can become magical – it transports you to another world and does the same for you: it distracts you. It actually took me 35 years to understand that the Oktoberfest is a huge amusement park for adults and if you can't immerse yourself in it, you're better off staying at home.

Well, I was excited to finally wear this dirndl for the first time. Perhaps that was the starting point for my successful Oktoberfest evening.

I had my eureka moment in autumn: Our office community is located just a few metres from the Theresienwiese festival grounds. When the Oktoberfest is not taking place, it is a great location for long walks and views: you see the Frauenkirche cathedral, the Bavaria statue and Munich's attractions. Sometimes people skate here, others learn to ride a bike and still others read on a park bench. Theresienwiese without the Oktoberfest is empty – but in a pleasant way. And if, like me, you live or work in the surrounding neighbourhoods, you don't even need to look at the calendar, because you will notice immediately when the Oktoberfest begins. This is the time when the streets fill with traditional dress, beer and murmuring visitors.

So, it goes without saying that our office spends at least one evening after work at the Oktoberfest. And last year was no different: In the morning, I put on my dirndl, which I bought during the pandemic. For years, I got incredulous looks when I admitted that, as a true Munich local, I didn't have a dirndl hanging in my wardrobe. All my friends have at least one, if not several – and having a few makes sense if you visit the Wiesn more than once, because hardly anyone returns home with clean clothes. Well, I was excited to finally wear this dirndl for the first time. Perhaps that was the starting point for my successful Oktoberfest evening.

The evening sky glowed in pastel colours, matching the neon signs of the rides. The announcements from the bumper cars, ghost trains and roller coasters echoed across the vast Theresienwiese.

For a long time, I did not understand why you had to buy expensive traditional dress for an event that only takes place once a year. As a local, one tends to criticise the “traditional costume carnival” that can be observed here every year. The choice of shoes worn with Tracht (traditional attire) is particularly interesting – I've seen everything from cowboy boots to flip-flops. And although I don't have much Oktoberfest experience, I know that open shoes are a pretty brave choice in the beer tent. Lederhosen and dirndls have not always been the dress code at the Oktoberfest. When I look at the photos of my childhood, I notice that back in the 90s only a minority of guests wore traditional attire. People preferred going to the Wiesn in jeans and shirts.

But over time, I've come to understand that traditional clothing at the Oktoberfest actually functions as a kind of costume. It helps you leave everyday life behind and slip into a different role for an afternoon or evening. If you go to the office in a dirndl or lederhosen in the morning already, you're guaranteed to have a good day at work. Firstly, because it usually ends earlier, and secondly, because the anticipation overshad-ows everything else. Dressing up puts you in the right mood. And it is probably not so different from carnival or “fasching”. Since I realised this, I no longer laugh at anyone who wears traditional dress. It has become an important, perhaps even indispensable part of the Wiesn!

I was anxious: Would my delicately bud-ding Oktoberfest friendship be ruined by Helene Fischer songs?

So, we set off. Not in cowboy boots though, but still in sturdy shoes. Even before we reached the entrance, I was already under its spell: The evening sky glowed in pastel colours, matching the neon signs of the rides. The announcements from the bumper cars, ghost trains and roller coasters echoed across the vast Theresienwiese. I didn't particularly like the music – a mixture of German pop songs and party hits from Mallorca – but it carried me away, spurred me on. Anyone who spends a lot of time on the internet is familiar with the memes like “Let's go in!” – and there are only a few festivals to which this phrase fits as well as the Oktoberfest. It basically means: Here we go! Let's get started!

We were lucky that evening: Although we didn't have a reservation and waited forever in front of a beer tent, we finally found seating outside. “A ganzer Tisch frei!“ – An entire table free – This line from the Gerhard Polt' play “Der Nobelpreisträger” (“The Nobel Prize Winner”), in which he talks about his visit to the Oktoberfest, echoes in my head. In it, he wonders “if people have nothing else on their minds in broad daylight besides drinking beer?” Well, no they don't – not during the Oktoberfest. My colleagues would have preferred a table inside, but for me, the spot was perfect: under heat lamps, no jostling crowds, no beer tent music. The first Mass (1 litre of beer) went down surprisingly quickly and I was already tempted to order a second one, but then my friend, who accompanied me, reminded me that Wiesn beer is stronger than regular beer and can easily be underestimated. So, I ordered a non-alcoholic Mass and that really saved my evening! Because, while lingering under those heaters, I did not know that this wouldn’t be our last stop.

I had rarely stayed that long at the Wiesn before, which is probably why I never noticed that the Oktoberfest is also about togetherness

Time moves differently at the Wiesn. It is like being on holiday or having a day off. I can't even say how long we sat there, but at some point it was dark and we decided to move on. All the beer tents were full by then and only with the help of a friend who works at the Wiesn, were we finally able to enter one. I was anxious: Would my delicately bud-ding Oktoberfest friendship be ruined by Helene Fischer songs? Everyone in the tent was pretty drunk by that point, but to my surprise, everyone was also incredibly nice and helpful. A girl was helped up onto the bench, where everyone stood, sang, and swayed together later that evening. People apologised when they accidentally bumped into someone. Strangers got to know each other and exchanged phone numbers.

I had rarely stayed that long at the Wiesn before, which is probably why I never noticed that the Oktoberfest is also about togetherness. Of course, beer mugs sometimes get broken and hotheads have to be separated, but on this evening in this beer tent, there was none of that. Everyone was floating in a bubble of bliss. When the band finally played Robbie Williams' “Angels”, the farewell song, I couldn't hold back any longer and sang along with my eyes closed, standing on the beer bench. A few years ago, this would have been unimaginable, but now I was right in the middle of it – and not only did I like it, I had even lost a little piece of my heart. I felt like tapping my neighbour on the shoulder and saying: “I finally get it!” Now, I understand the Wiesn!

And down the waterfall, wherever it may take me
I know that life won't break me
When I come to call, she won't forsake me
I'm loving angels instead

No one was bothered by the lights coming on during the song – a sign that meant: Time to go! Even long after the band had stopped playing, the singing in the beer tent continued, simply because it was so much fun and none of us wanted to go home. Outside the tent, groups of friends who had lost sight of each other in the crowd searched for their companions, some kissed, others organised taxis. It was like in those times, when you were thrown out of the club at dawn. The only difference was that the night was still ahead of us, because it was only 11 pm. Without saying much, our next destination was clear: Substanz. This pub is just a few metres away from the Theresienwiese and known for its after-Wiesn-parties.

We had to queue up again, but we had such a nice chat with the group in front of us that the waiting time flew by. Inside, we went straight to the bar and then to the dance floor. Not everyone danced on their own, as I know from other parties, but somehow everyone danced together, without it being flirty or intrusive. We were like children, in a bubble where only the present existed – this one evening, this one night. No one talked about work or problems. In fact, there was hardly any conver-sation; no words were needed, just Queen's “Bohemian Rhapsody”! Soap bubbles floated above the dance floor and I had completely lost track of time. Mamaaa, oooooh!

When the band finally played Robbie Williams' “Angels”, the farewell song, I couldn't hold back any longer and sang along with my eyes closed, standing on the beer bench. A few years ago, this would have been unimaginable, but now I was right in the middle of it – and not only did I like it, I had even lost a little piece of my heart.

At some point – it was very late – my friend and I walked home. Two people we had met in the club were heading in the same direction and accompanied us part of the way. They weren't from Munich. We took funny photos under the street lights and exchanged phone numbers, even though we knew that we would probably never see each other again. And that was perfectly fine! The next morning, I woke up with a slight hangover, the smudged Substanz stamp still on my arm, my dirndl hanging on my wardrobe as if nothing had happened. I had to smile – what a night! For the very first time, I was already looking forward to next year.

Text: Anja Schauberger; photos: Dominik Morbitzer