Westworld Alberta
Issue link: http://westworldmagazine.ama.ab.ca/i/80542
H oppiest THE PLACE ON EARTH A taste of Munich's Oktoberfest BY JOE WIEBE I CAN HARDLY KEEP MY BALANCE. I'M STANDING ON A BENCH, bouncing and bucking with a dozen men and women, most of whom I've just met, some of whom speak languages I don't know. I take another big swig from the giant Maßkrug (litre mug) of beer clenched in my hand and look around once more at the mind-boggling scene. Our table is just one of hundreds, all jammed with happy, beer-guzzling dancers – many in lederhosen (Bavarian leather breeches) or dirndls (colourful, corseted dresses) – fi lling a building the size of a hockey arena. There is a large, raised stage in the centre of the room with a large band on top – easily 20 musicians along with three singers in Bavarian garb – playing a medley of pop rock tunes and traditional German drinking songs. Green cascades of aromatic hop plants hang (opposite page, clockwise from top left) Dancers in traditional Bavarian costume; the Himmel der Bayern (Bavarian Heaven) Oktoberfest tent; a boy dressed in lederhosen for the festival's opening-day parade; (below) writer Joe Wiebe (centre) toasts with friends Shawn Bouchard (left) and Hughe Rose in the Schottenhamel tent. down from the ceiling and the hall's huge support pillars. We're at Munich's Oktoberfest, in the heart of the action. I catch the eye of my buddies, Shawn and Hughe, who are grooving to the beat across from me, and raise my giant beer mug for a toast. They grin back at me and lift their glasses in response. "We made it!" I shout over the din as we clink our glasses together, beer sloshing on the table. Before they can respond, the music changes, and suddenly everyone at the table has lifted their mugs along with ours. With free arms draped over neighbours' shoulders, we all start swaying to the music, singing the lyrics that we've learned through repetition: "Ein Prosit, ein Prosit Der Gemütlichkeit. Ein Prosit, ein Prosit Der Gemütlichkeit." And then the music stops and everyone counts in the Bavarian dialect: "Oans, zwoa, drei, g'suffa!" We all crash our Maßkrugs together and drink deeply of the amber elixir. We made it indeed. (right) Joe Wiebe; (opposite page, dancers and boy) Alamy/All Canada Photos, (tent) George Steinmetz/Corbis, (beer) iStock