5th Leg: Munich - Kitzbuhel
Sunday night
I never planned on going to Oktoberfest. It just sort of… dragged me in.
We walked around Munich for a bit, and it was alright. Some pretty buildings… lots more people in Liederhosen… then one thing led to another: I had a couple of beers while we were resting in a biergarten, and afterwards we were going to take a nice quiet walk through the par, when I said, “You know, I think maybe we should go to Oktoberfest.”
Two metro stops later, and we were in a huge tent with drunk Germans dancing on the tables. Before I could say “seven euro!” I had a litre of beer in my hand, and was feeling mildly (but not overwhelmingly) tempted to get up on the table and join the dancing.
We are now in an extremely efficient and modern train, crossing the border from Germany to Austria. The only thing contaminating this sense of efficiency and rationality is the fact that most of the tables in the train are laden with beer bottles, tall cans of lager, and empty spirit bottles. Having joined the flow myself, I feel like I have entered some mysterious land of the drunkards. Everywhere you look, there is beer. Beer so good, yet so vice-laden. So much happiness, yet ever with the darkness lurking: dependability, reliance, addiction, dereliction.
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