Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany

I’ve made yearly Munich’s beer blast twice. Both were either outrageously embarrassing, hilarious or unforgettable. The first time, I didn’t know the beer was 23% and after two liters I headed for the men’s room. It was a stainless steel trough about twenty or so feet long and chest high with constantly running water. All the German males sang songs as they got relief. However, the amazing custom of urinating on any male who passed out on the floor was most amazing! I was informed that being that drunk was Un-German and deserved action. After about five or six liters, I proceeded to make a total fool, maybe an everlasting image of a totally sotted idiot.

It began when I decided not to go back to the men’s room and take a leak on Marie Teresa’s statue which stood in a lovely garden just as you entered the drinking area. Her marriage to Mad Ludwig, the King of Bavaria in the 19th century was the reason for this beer brawl. I was told a couple of Germans wanted to beat me up, but a bunch of Canadian ice hockey players came to my defense and cheered me on. So it went.

Next I got in a fight with a Doberman pincher and beat the snot out of him. I was told the Canadians cheered this also. Last were the electric cars. At home we call them bumper cars, and a ride is total insane crashes and wrecks. But in Germany, the rules are the rules, so they circle in carefully arranged pairs. I jumped over the rail, got in with a nine year old and proceeded to inject the American version. They turned off the current to get at me, but the Canadians saved my butt again. Oh, and the kid cheered me on as we wrecked car after car while the manager and irate attendants and parents screamed nasty Krout Curses at me.

My second trip was four years later. I figured it was safe to return by then. So I showed up for the last night and dammed if the Canadians weren’t there! Seems they were with the Canadian Army, stationed nearby. Well, we had a few laughs, a few brews and this time I paced myself, so when they started playing the last song of the fest I was ready to sing.

We were in the Lowenbrau tent, with about three thousand other souls, and at least half of them were Aussies. So the last song was Waltzing Matilda, which went on and on. The UmPah band slowly increased the volume until everyone was screaming the words. And as we all roared into the final go, one of the guys took my arm and calmly said, ‘ Get under the table,’ and he wasn’t smiling. ‘ Now,’ he snarled. ‘ Get under the table. Things are going to get real bad when this ends!’ Then he grabbed and shoved me off the bench, dropped down beside me and pointed to all his mates already crouched there.

“WE’LL GO A WALTZING MATILDAAAAH WITHHH YOUUUUUUUU! And when the final note was poohed, there was a mighty cheer. The Canuck pulled me deeper under the table. I was about to say something when there was this horrible clanging and clinking of broken glass. ‘They threw their bloody mugs in the air!’ my savior announced. I looked out and the floor was covered with shards of glass every where, while roars of glee and rage filled the tent. ‘ Stay right here. Keep out of the way. The fight’s about to get going!’ he shouted at me. But I had to sneak a look, as shiny boots poured past us followed by the thunder of billy clubs hitting tables heads and shoulders. The German Police won. Hundreds of Aussies were carted out, pushed on to waiting buses, and I heard they were taken right to the railroad station and deported. Oh yeah, to get back into the camp ground, five hockey players pulled the wooden bar out of its socket so I could get my VW Bug in. How all five of them got in something that small is another tale

Next trip is to the mountains of Central Mexico and a outrageous witch doctor and how all of us select an age we wish to be treated as for the rest of our lives. And the penalty for waiting past 12 years. She almost changed my outlook on life. But it was already too funny to give up.