Street's own European correspondent reports from the front lines of Penn Abroad’s favorite event, Oktoberfest in Munich. Whether you’re a senior feeling nostalgic about last year or an underclassman looking forward to a semester overseas, we can all appreciate this two-day long beerfest.
Each fall, hordes of juniors flock overseas — some in search of a cultural experience, but most presumably in search of a lower drinking age and cheaper booze. For those of us stretched out across Europe, the three month long party is surely dotted with many a night stumbling back to the homestay. But who is the booziest of them all? Guten Tag, Oktoberfest!
From planes, trains and buses, we descended upon the charming south German city of Munich. Upon our arrival, we immediately began to draw Spring Fling comparisons. After all, when else is 9 a.m. drinking not only acceptable, but encouraged?
In true Fling fashion, things kicked off late Thursday night when five of us squished into one bed in a miniature hotel room. The cramped conditions fortunately didn’t matter too much, since the Friday wake up call was at 6 a.m. We’d heard from festival goers past that the early bird special would be necessary to secure seats in one of the many beer tents. Ever the ambitious Penn students, we were first in line for the 9 a.m. opening. Literally. I assume someone from Wharton is to blame.
As the doors finally swung open, the Lederhosen-clad cast of 6,000 swarmed into the massive beer hall. Of course, our promptness allowed the Penn set of around 50 to claim six prime tables, causing irritated Brown and Duke abroadsters to sigh in jealousy. As the clock ticked past 9:30, the first beers arrived to a cheer. Beers come only by the liter, and the German ale contains a higher alcohol percentage than the watery junk we’re used to. Needless to say, this is a massive amount of beer. Also needless to say, things got sloppy quickly.
The Fling-like day drunkenness continued well into the afternoon, particularly as things became hazy around 3 p.m. Songs were shouted, beer was spilled, chicken was eaten. The food selection differed from typical carnival fare, as we picked apart whole steaming chickens by hand. A few liters of beer make anything possible. Angry waitresses demanded we not stand on the table, but screaming and jumping on the benches was fair game.
I’d go on, but I don’t remember much that happened after four, except I think that I went on a roller coaster and rode some bumper cars. Somehow, we stumbled back to the seedy hotel room, and everyone passed out by early evening. And then on Saturday, we did it all over again.
