Just don’t wobble
It’s getting dark outside, and inside the Winzerer Fähndl the sun is rising a bit, because the group nocturnal just pulls out all the stops. There’s no holding back, with “Cordula Grün” Patricia from Perugia also jumps onto the beer bench right behind the show stage, although she doesn’t understand a word. Patricia is at the Oktoberfest for the first time, but radiates grandeur in traditional costume. As an experienced Wiesn professional, who you think you are, you have a few tips ready for you and your friend: drink slowly and only with a decent base, then sprinkle in a non-alcoholic one, always stay in control, capisci? And with lyrics like “I saw her dancing…” make sure that you stand with both feet firmly on the bench, which sometimes wobbles dangerously… Patricia nods apprehensively. Just as she got up from the table, the disaster happened: the Wiesn professional himself staggered almost through no fault of his own and fell to the ground with the half-empty beer bench. What a great stunt, there’s spontaneous applause from the next table, a mixture of malice and relief. Luckily the bones are still intact. It’s quite a balancing act, such an evening.
Christian Mayer
Here we go. Rattatatatt!
Rides are always a thing. Years ago I got a bruise on my right lower leg on the Teufelsrad, a slight discoloration of the skin actually remained permanent. And with all the newfangled human slingshots, just looking at them makes me sick. But wild mouse? Must be!, says the colleague with whom I saw the wonderful film of the same name by and with Josef Hader in the cinema a good five years ago. Delaying resistance: futile. Get in the gondola, hang up, let’s go. Rattatatatt! The apparatus seems to be having a hard time getting us upstairs. The insidious thing about the Wilde Maus are the sharp curves and abrupt turns. It’s a good thing that I’ve put on protective fat deposits over the years, otherwise I’d have bruises again. Curve left, curve right, a dash, more curves, up and down again. Then: over. Amused looks from colleagues and spectators at the exit: I’m probably not a ride hero, and you can tell by looking at me. That’s enough for this year – next year Wilde Maus again, Ingrid!
Franz Kotteder
It’s good if you’ve built up a few protective pads of fat over the years for the abrupt turns of the “wild mouse”.
(Photo: Florian Peljak)
The music is not bland at all
If you sit close to the stage, you can clearly see Josef Menzl’s pinched expression around the corners of his mouth. The conductor scrawled “not much longer” on his sheet of music, probably as an encouragement to himself. He wui wieda hoam, no wonder, after the shit storm, the Bräurosl Gate. “The worst Wiesn band of all time”, as it now ironically calls itself on Instagram, is considered by many to be the best brass band in Bavaria. Brass music enthusiasts from all over Germany and Austria gather in the Bräurosl. “Menzl, Menzl, Menzl” is ecstatically chanted and cultural appropriation is discussed: If you want party music, please don’t swear “loyalty to the state of Tyrol”. His band not only has 18,500 Instagram followers, but above all it has managed to touch the hearts of Bavarians. The tent is full of fans on this day, everyone is yelling, everyone is shaking, their hands are in the sky, even without a corresponding song. And the music is not bland at all, Menzl plays queen, Abbathe beatles and, how appropriate, “I will survive”.
Cosima Kopfinger
This is a perfect day
It’s Thursday noon, on the sixth day the sun shines undisturbed over the Wiesn for the first time. The Augustiner beer garden is so well frequented that you actually have to ask at a few tables if three seats are still available. It’s warm; the cardigan first sits on the bench, the blanket we brought along, packed in a sturdy plastic bag, even underneath it. And what makes a perfect Oktoberfest day quickly develops: chatting, eating, drinking – in the sun. There comes a family friend with two children who will soon have to ride the carousel. An older couple who probably don’t even know the “Layla” song, the self-employed man who spontaneously closed his shop, a woman who was transferred and also joins the table alone. She will not read the newspaper she has brought with her. The younger sister works overtime, later the older sister comes along and has a couple from Brussels with her – speaking English is easier when you’re beer-happy. When it is already getting dark, an old acquaintance suddenly sits at the next table and tells you everything that has happened since the last meeting. It’s always a bit emotional at the Wiesn. Because there are almost no radiant heaters this year, we finally go to the tent. Unfortunately, this time they don’t play the Sixt March anymore.
Martin Anetzberger
Sun, meeting old friends and making new ones: That comes close to the perfect day in the beer garden in front of the marquee.
(Photo: Stephan Rumpf)
Bypassing the fairground impossible
Anyone who could finally go to the Wiesn this year, but doesn’t, doesn’t need to feel safe for a long time. Neither is one immune to the consequences of a Fetzen-Suri (Bavarian for intoxication). You’re still spared from crazy people just because you’re trying to escape the madness by driving around the fairgrounds extensively. This way you can also enjoy a personal Wiesn moment like this one when you are not involved: Tuesday afternoon, at rush hour in the U4 from the Theresienwiese. A good-humored young woman, Australian slang, sits across from a handsome guy in traditional costume. Her hands are in his, his eyes sink into hers as they chat. Enthralled, he listens to her words, smiles at her and gives her an encouraging nod. If he noticed that she was wearing a plush roast chicken on her head, he didn’t show it. Just as little as the bystanders – in Munich they are used to completely different things during Oktoberfest.
Violetta Simon
“Two hundred meters further, there is a piss gutter”
Along with the football stadium, the Wiesn is one of the few places in the world where men have to plan more time for the toilet line than women. Especially if the chosen men’s toilet does not have a urinal and it is not visible from outside. So the mood in the line is similarly tense as the bubbles of the men who form them. And so someone keeps pushing by to see if the people in front of him really have big plans or are just too stupid to find the urinal. At some point, an American tries to get to the bottom of the matter. He gets help from a local, whose Bavarian seems to work much better than his English after an estimated four liters of beer. “Two hundred meters further, there is a piss gutter.”
Jan Schmidbauer
A real tent hopping
The timing played a role that should not be underestimated, especially at this Wiesn. Because you could easily walk into almost every tent during the week, some actually went tent hopping, even if they actually had a reserved spot. The reserved table, which could not be filled without eager courtship, was therefore only permanently occupied by four or five people. Because it almost got a bit bland, you wouldn’t have had anything against a few tipsy new faces on the bench next to you. But they had space elsewhere. Shortly before the end of the tent all friends are suddenly back at the table, because you are actually here together, want to look around a bit and maybe ride something. Outside, however, after an undecided lap across the site, it suddenly pushes everyone apart. Some disappear into the Wein-, others try their luck in the Käfer tent, while the completely different ones urgently need to go to the Teufelsrad instead of the toilet. The rest of the group finally agrees to have a schnapps before heading home. But because you’ve waited too long, the stands are already closed. Correct timing would have been called for here.
Andrew Schubert
When night falls at the Wiesn, the guests begin to sing on the bus on the way home.
(Photo: MICHAELA REHLE/REUTERS)
“Oans, two, André!”
In the very late evening, when the taps are turned off and the tents are locked, the Oktoberfest magic is inherent in other places. To be more precise: the blue buses of ring line 68, which spit out singing and heavily intoxicated people in traditional costumes at the many stops around the city center every ten minutes. But first you have to collect them. Beethovenplatz is the closest stop to Theresienwiese. Departure around midnight. Everyone is pushing into the bus, only André is missing. “André, where are you?” someone calls from the front. Everyone joins in on the rows of seats, it becomes a really nice choir. When it goes over Goetheplatz and then Kapuzinerplatz, the entire bus has already arrived at the most beautiful Wiesn hits, with slightly different text. “Allez, André, a road, many trees”, “André Roads”, “Hey André”. A polyphonic choir sounds and when you drive up the mountain to Giesing after crossing the Isar, bus rows one to ten sway violently in the curve, interrupted by “Oans, zwoa, André!” Johlen, cackling, laughter, and Lucie exclaims enthusiastically: “It’s funnier on the bus than in the Oktoberfest tent!”
Ulrike Heidenreich