In the series “I've never been to ...”, our authors explore places in Munich that they have never visited before – even though they have lived in the city for years, or even their entire lives. This time, our Munich-based au-thor Anja Schauberger heads to her very first horse race at the Riem racetrack.
On this Monday afternoon, a crowd of people is streaming in the same direction, similar to a concert or festival. I'm glad about that, because it means I don't need Google Maps and can just follow the bunch. But unlike at a concert: There are so many different people here that you would never guess what their common destination is: women with prams, well dressed young couples, friends in jeans and older gentlemen in sports jackets. From young to old, from chic to casual, from groups to individuals. All these people are heading to the after-work race day at the Riem racecourse today.
Horse races are held here about once a month – sometimes at Easter, sometimes for the big Dallmayr Prize, sometimes for the after-work race or for a family celebration. Although the occasions and times vary, the programme is always similar: There are several races, you can place your bets at the betting stalls or just watch. To do so, you look for a place on the grandstand, on the big lawn, or in one of the beer gardens or restaurants. If you get hungry, there are plenty of food trucks scattered across the 96-hectare site. Some stands only sell drinks; one of them advertis-es “Bubbly” on a large sign. First, I get myself an Aperol Spritz and watch the hustle and bustle.
I've never been to the Munich racecourse, or to a horse race at all. Why should I? I associate it with the British royal family, million-dollar breeding horses and a very wealthy audience – all things that have nothing to do with me.
I quickly figure out where everything is on the grounds. What I don't understand, though, is: How does it all work? I've never been to the Munich racecourse, or to a horse race at all. Why should I? I associate it with the British royal family, million-dollar breeding horses and a very wealthy audience – all things that have nothing to do with me. The very first conversation I overhear confirms this impression: “Renting out is no longer worthwhile!” complains an approximately 80-year-old gentleman in a fine two-piece suit. His wife, wearing a summer hat, laughs demurely. He continues saying that given the low rental income that owners can expect these days, he continues, he would definitely advise selling. First-world problems, I think to myself and move on.
Among all the ordinary people, I see some guests really spruced themselves up for the event. I think it's great, but I can't tell if they're taking it seriously or if it's more of a disguise: Some wear Chanel-style tweed suits in 30-degree heat, others choose straw hats or fascinators – exactly how I imagined a horse race would be. I see lots of boat shoes, loafers and plenty of Louis Vuitton bags. Should I be worried about my every-day outfit and Birkenstocks? In any case, it's incredibly entertaining to watch all these different people. Among them are some older folks who are definitely serious about their silk dresses, linen suits and brogues.
Some wear Chanel-style tweed suits in 30-degree heat, others choose straw hats or fascinators – exactly how I imagined a horse race would be. I see lots of boat shoes, loafers and plenty of Louis Vuitton bags.
Because I have no clue, I just queue up somewhere. “Would you like to buy a race programme?” asks the saleswoman at the kiosk. “What do I need that for?” I ask politely, apologising and explaining that this is my first time here. The race programme, she explains, contains all of today's races with the horses, jockeys and the respective favourites who are considered to be the winners. So, I buy a booklet for 2.50 euro and flip through it. The first race is scheduled for 5.15 pm, with ten horses competing. The table tells me everything about the animals: age, colour, pedigree, owner, breed. The lady in the kiosk notices how disoriented I am and adds: “The horses will be presented over there soon! If you have any questions, please go to the betting school.“
Betting school – that sounds good. There, a guy in a polo shirt explains the different types of bets at a whiteboard. I join the group and learn: With a win bet, you bet that the horse you have selected will win. With a place bet, you bet that your horse will finish in the top three. Then there's the “place exacta”, which means you bet that two horses will finish in the top three. You can also place exacta, trifecta and superfecta bets – all for advanced bettors, I think, and I tune out. Before leaving the betting school stand, I grab a booklet: The ABC of German Betting Types. Might be helpful!
Some of the horses are taller than others, some are more muscular – although I'm generally amazed at how slim and toned they all are. Of course, they have to be incredibly fast.
Suddenly, it smells of horses. Even before I see one, I know it's about to start: The parade begins, and you can look at the horses, first without jockeys. Crowds of people are already gathering at the parade ring, so I join them. At first, I don't understand what the point of this is – why are the horses shown before they race? But then I start to notice a few differences: some of them are taller than others, some are more muscular – although I'm generally amazed at how slim and toned they all are. Of course, they have to be incredibly fast. I quickly grasp this and no longer pay attention to the colour or the head of the horses, but only to their physique. Actually, I don't really know anything about horses – I find them frighteningly large, don't want to sit on one and have long outgrown the pony farm phase – but this really impresses me.
One of the horses is already acting up during the parade, constantly wanting to go in the other direction and pulling on its halter. I like this horse, it has a mind of its own, so I decide to place my bet on number 8. Then they do another lap in a larger lunging circle that leads directly to the racetrack. The jockeys arrive and mount their horses. Don't these colourful outfits look exciting? Why haven't jockey jerseys found their way into everyday fashion long ago? An Irish jockey wears a white jersey with blue stars on it, paired with a matching cap. Another looks like a ladybird: a red jersey and red cap with black dots. The Irish jockey has number 3 and I spontaneously decide to bet on him too, simply because I like his outfit best.
Why haven't jockey jerseys found their way into everyday fashion long ago? An Irish jockey wears a white jersey with blue stars on it, paired with a matching cap. Another looks like a ladybird: a red jersey and red cap with black dots.
I head to a betting booth and study the slips lying there. I don't quite understand everything yet, but there are two older gentlemen standing next to me who look like they have plenty of horse racing experience, so I strike up a conversation with them. One of them is very kind and patiently explains everything to me. He lends me his pen – of course I hadn't thought of that (rookie mistake!) – and we fill out the betting slip together. “Good luck!” he calls after me. I thank him and return the wish. I bet five euros on each horse: horse number 3, named “Northwind,” and number 8, “Calamour.” Now I'm curious – surely one of them will make it to the top three!
On my way back to the racecourse, I walk through the ground floor of the main building and find the betting hall exactly as I had imagined it: Hectic employees sit at several counters, bettors wave their betting slips, some sit there staring intently at dozens of screens. It's loud, the atmosphere is tense, you can really feel that something is in the air – anticipation, but also irritation. Who will win just now?
“Bang” – and off they go. I stand in the front row and feel the power as the horses thun-der past us. From the commentator's announcements over the loud-speakers, I learn that the animals are running at a speed of about 60 kilometres per hour.
After the parade, everything happens pretty quickly: The jockeys ride onto the racecourse and take their starting positions. “Bang” – and off they go. I stand in the front row and feel the power as the horses thunder past us. From the commentator's announcements over the loudspeakers, I learn that the animals are running at a speed of about 60 kilometres per hour. Unbelievable! No wonder these races are over so quickly. I am thrilled, but my theory does not work out: Neither the Irishman, nor the feisty horse are in the lead; they fall behind pretty quickly. At least “Calamour” makes it to fourth place, but that doesn't help me, I've lost.
First place goes to Lukas Delozier with “Antinori”, the heaviest horse, as I gather from my race programme. Although I don't really understand how this weight is calculated – it obviously has nothing to do with body weight but rather with previous victories. Maybe that's a strategy I could pursue. I turn the page: In the next race, Delozier is riding again and once more he's on the heaviest horse. That can't be a coincidence! So, I don't even wait for the second parade, but immediately bet on “Russian Sochi” and Lukas Delozier. I'm a bit more cautious now – this time my wager is only two euros. When I return to the betting counter, I run into the two friendly gentlemen again. “Well? Did you win?” one of them asks me eagerly. I shake my head disappointedly – unfortunately not. They also ended up empty-handed this time.
So, I don't even wait for the second parade, but immediately bet on “Russian Sochi” and Lukas Delozier. I'm a bit more cautious now – this time my wager is only two euros.
About 15 minutes later, when the next race starts, I can hardly believe it: Lukas Delozier is actually in the lead with “Russian Sochi”! In the end, they only take second place, but still – I won! I am overjoyed. But can it really be that easy? Have I already figured out how horse racing works by the second race? I doubt it. On my third attempt, I bet on two horses again, because I feel so confident. Before that, I collect my winnings: 5.30 euro. I reinvest it straight away. I win; I lose.
It continues this way throughout the evening. There are seven races in total, but after the fourth, I lose interest. I've more or less won back the money I lost – so it feels like a good time to quit. After grabbing a burger from the food truck, I just enjoy watching the next races. No more running back and forth, no more horse parades, no more worrying about making it to the betting counter before the gong sounds and the staff lower their shutters. And actually, it's also very entertaining just to watch. After a few races, I already have my favourite jockeys and I secretly hope they will win.
From the website I see when the next race is: the Großer Dallmayr Prize on a Sunday in July. I definitely want to go – perhaps this time with a group of friends, and maybe we’ll even dress up for the occasion.
The last race is at 8.45 pm; the crowds have thinned out and the evening light is especially beautiful. As I finally look for the exit, I walk through the betting hall on the ground floor once more: All the excitement is gone, betting slips are scattered all over the floor of the empty room, some of them crumpled up. What a successful evening, I think to myself. Now I understand why people like going to horse races – it's exciting, it's entertaining, and the atmosphere on the grounds is truly unique. From the website I see when the next race is: the Großer Dallmayr Prize on a Sunday in July. I definitely want to go – perhaps this time with a group of friends, and maybe we’ll even dress up for the occasion.
