Leiterhosen

Day 2 - I finally get my bearings after meeting up with Roya and Shelby in Munich. My internal clock woke me up at 3 in the morning and kept me up and having a conversation with my inebriated bunk mate, Owen. The poor guy could barely open his eyes as he told me in a thick english accent that he had a tour at the BMW factory in a couple of hours. Maybe my internal clock wasn't off, it just happened to know exactly what was in store for me. I went from sitting motionless in a plane from LAX for an excess of 12 hours to sitting at my very own table in the Spatenhaus beer tent at Oktoberfest in Munchën. Normally this is only possible without reservation if you arrive very early in the morning and even then you may fall victim to one of the festival's more puzzling paradoxes: unwillful sobriety. Thank you Christina, Sebastien, Max and Grecks. For 50 euro, we were treated to all the Pints and cultural h'or deouvres we could eat. Halfway through a bite of proscutto, bread and spread, Our Austrian friends offer a toast followed by a chant about a football club immediately picked up by the adjacent tables in the section. In turn, we start our own chant, "U-S-A!, U-S-A!" to which we toast and as well. I find that Sebastien, sitting to the right of me not only speaks decent english but but is also up-to-date on American culture and movies. We make jokes about the movie Beerfest and he tells me about his trip to Las Vegas while studying abroad in Ohio. The four hours spent inside the beer hall, seem as though they passed far too quickly for my liking. The only time marker being the large house glasses that continue to be replinished by an attentive server as fast as we can empty them. We pick at a platter of food stretching the length of the table and propped by empty glasses. The half a chicken comes far too late as I am already fixated on my surroundings. There are leiterhosen-clad Bavarians and gorgeous German girls dressed in tradition Drendels making merry all throughout the tent. A band plays a familiar sounding tune from the vantage of an elevated platform in the center of the room. I later recognize the tune as the worst rendition of YMCA, which I have ever been cursed to hear. Luckily the sound of bubbling conversation and glasses clinking is enough to drown it out. Pics to follow when I get to a decent connection.