Prost!

We were met by our host in Munich decked out (as was about 25% of the entire city) in full Oktoberfest regalia — leiderhosen of course, and a rosy cheeked countenance that hinted he had already been celebrating.

"Oh, you're early," he said, welcoming us into the strange office space that he appeared to be renting out during the Fest. We weren't early.

The place was our strangest AirBnB experience by far. As I said, it was located in an office, which was pretty much entirely empty. Two rooms with pads on the floor for sleeping and a couple random office chairs. One room, which would later be locked, where our host was working at a desk. And the kitchen, which was also locked later, counters and fridgetop, every available space, covered in top-shelf liquor from Havana Club to Johnny Walker to Vueve Cliquot. No explanation. No showers either but we only needed a place to stay for two nights, and this "apartment" was literally around the corner from the festivities.

Town hall in Marienplatz.

We dumped our stuff after securing our keys and headed off to explore the city a bit. We walked to Marienplatz and the surrounding pedestrian streets, a central shopping area and the major town square. We arrived in the square itself with perfect timing to see the 5:00 glockenspiel go off in the belltower, a show that only happens twice a day and we didn't plan to see. More wooden figures than in Prague, as well as playing four songs in total. Very ornate Gothic town hall building, a pretty church and central monument combining to make the platz a gorgeous square, the smell of candied nuts enticing in the crisp air.

Onward to a nice bakery chain called Kreutzhamm so Molly could try some original-style German baumkuchen (if you didn't know, she works at a bakery in Denver called Glaze Baum Cakes that makes the specialty treat, the only one in the United States, which requires a massive oven for the rotisserie construction). We had their version of baum bites, slices of cake coated in chocolate and picked up a vanilla glazed cake to go. We continued our strolling through the beautifully manicured Hofgarten to the English Garden (or Englischer Garten), a massive park larger than Central Park in NY, complete with pagoda, Acropilis-style structure, lakes, streams, huge lawns and many hidden beer gardens tucked among the trees. Equestrians, runners, frisbee players, bikers all mingling as the sun set. Molly insists that I include the detail that we encountered a man wearing a Colorado Rockies hat who spoke no English and was not from CO, despite my previous joke back in Paris that no one who wasn't from CO would bother to wear a Rockies hat.

Baumkuchen found at last!

We walked around the large lake, having covered only about 1/4 of the park, and headed back through a very swanky hood (one block had 8 - no exaggeration - identical blue Audi station wagons), past an archway and through the University neighborhood in search of dinner. We ended up walking all the way back to our neighborhood and choosing a neighborhood restaurant because they had an entire portion of the menu dedicated to schnitzel. Inexpensive but the TV was cranked for the soccer match. Had a preview of the next day's beer with a Paulaner Dunkel.

That wouldn't be the only preview of Oktoberfest shenanigans—when we got home, our beds were filled with passed out drunken Italians from the group in the next room. We hadn't been able to lock our door as the tipsy host was still cleaning that morning, and one of these Italians did not understand why he had to get out of this comfortable bed-made-of-foam-pads. Luckily our host showed up and encouraged them into the next room, the drunkest one doing a sort of backwards-somersault out and then coming back and diving back into bed, finally stumbling away after more cajoling from his friend.

Depressing Mornings Mean More Drinking Ahead

Up the next day pretty early to hop the U-Bahn to the S-Bahn into the 'burbs, destination Dachau Concentration Camp. Powerful experience to be in The Place Where Things Happened (maybe that's kind of a good summary of the trip all together), right up against the gaping mouths of the cremation ovens. Almost peaceful in the woods surrounding, the sun shining across the line of trees in the center of the grounds. Cut short our time in the museum portion as we had to get back to meet Max, Molly's friend from her Washington, DC program in 2008. Our meeting ground was the most famous in the city, the fish fountain back in Marienplatz. Max led us back towards the Oktoberfest, despite explaining he wasn't much of a fan and thought it to be an overblown festival.

Cross the moat, get shot.

Rows of trees in Dachau.

A bit more celebratory.

As we arrived, we could see his point, especially coming from a local view. Many people attend every day of the fest (what endurance) and get all dressed up (Max explained some of the finer style points), but it is mobbed, drunken, overwhelming, flashing, smelly, elbow-rubbing experience. The day turned from chilly to warm as we entered the packed early afternoon festival grounds. Max warned us it was a national holiday so we might not find a berth, but we squeezed into a table in the Paulaner beer garden and ordered drei liters. Massive mugs carried 10 at a time by the laboring waitresses. Trays stacked high with half chickens ushered through the throngs by security men blasting short whistle blasts to clear the way. The mood exuberant.

We chatted with Max and a bit with our neighbors, most of whom didn't speak English, and downed 3 liters a piece, with a huge pretzel to help settle things. Max had to take off to meet his girlfriend who was ill, so we moved on to the Hippodrome tent, famous for slightly cheaper beer and many young people, stopping for a schnitzel sandwich and bratwurst on the way. We ended up sitting by 5 blasted English/Scotsmen who were quite friendly and boisterous, all older which was funny considering the tent's reputation. Things get hazy from here on out, drinking one more liter and apparently convincing Molly to put a mug in her purse, though she took the smaller 1/2 liter one despite my attempts to take a giant one. At some point we made it home, getting popcorn and candied nuts on the way, and could not get the door open, sitting in the hallway laughing at ourselves and stuffing our faces, popcorn kernels flying.

Woke up with only minor hangovers and blearily made our way down the streets for bagels and coffee at a spot we'd seen the previous day, loading up and making it to the train station for our final border crossing into Italy.