Oktoberfest: The Snoring Wars

For three weeks in late September early October the population of Munich doubles. The beer halls fill to the brim every afternoon. The train stations are abuzz with travellers. The hotels and hostels shrouded with no vacancy signs. In this sleepy Bavarian town one of the greatest festivals the world has ever seen takes place: an ode to song and dance and leather pants, and beer... barrels and barrels of beer, carted on long carriages towed by horses dressed as if for battle in the colours and motifs of their brewery. The names like that of proud knights, or even better, emperors: Paulaner, Augustiner, Löwenbräu... It is a festival so grand, so excessive that it warrants outrageous comparisons and mixed metaphors.

Entrance

Large tents fill with up to 5000 punters. People plead for seats. The rich reserve seats. Once seated, you will be passed a stein of beer. If you continue to stay seated you will get passed more steins of beer. And so it goes until the lines for the toilets stretch out into the hallway. People eat plates of overpriced chickens and pork hocks in a vain attempt to last just that little bit longer. The band play old songs, the same songs over and over again, so even the tourists can sing along after an hour or so.

Hippodrom tent

That’s the thing that really struck me about the festival: everyone is made to feel welcome. We made more friends in three days than I have in a lifetime of awkward morning tea banter around the coffee machine. Everyone is a friend, snuff is to be shared (turns out the locals sniff tobacco like it’s cocaine – the menthol stuff is highly recommended if you have a cold!), and the songs are to be sung loudly and out of tune.

Friendly folk

Because of our bad organisational skills and the lack of alternative accommodation options, there were three of us in an insufferably small twin share room. We had to go in and out of our room in intervals so the hotel staff never got suspicious! It was a great plan and it worked well but what we didn’t take into account was the noise. After a day at Oktoberfest your belly is so bloated the only way you can sleep is on your back, mouth open to the sky. Three guys in a three by three room, snoring like it’s going out of fashion, it was like a rock concert every night, Marshall Stacks wound up to 11. Earplugs were useless. The snoring was even syncopated and in tune like some eerie old-time Gregorian chant, and at times it was surprisingly similar to the beer songs we were singing during the day. It was war. Snore or be snored into a drunken sleepless oblivion. Serious shit.

So we survived the snoring wars (barely), we survived Oktoberfest and a 14 hour bus trip with all the other unwashed sweating Oktoberfest asylum seekers and refugees.

Now, I’m driving through Hobart at night, the lights on the Tasman Bridge are reflected on the calm water of the Derwent. Salamanca is abuzz with buskers and punters and two-day-old Bakehouse maggot boxes. The deep peace and silence of the countryside is only 20 minutes away. Home alright. But I’m thinking, a nagging desire, curious already, where will the next adventure be? It’s a big and boisterous world out there, the continents, the histories and the people are forever fascinating. There is a wealth of knowledge and adventure waiting for us... Forest Gump, life is not like a box of chocolates, it’s more like a too-thin, over-crowded Italian road: potential risks and dangers everywhere. But if you’re ever gonna make it anywhere sometimes you just have to close your eyes and drive, pedal to the metal, lock and load baby! I’ll be seeing you all on the road!