Bern and Munich

Last week, my group and I went to the capital of Switzerland, Bern, where they speak German like majority of Switzerland. Not to say that Geneva is not a beautiful European city, but Bern is more of what one might expect of a European city with bustling market venders, cobblestone streets, a skyline dominated by cathedrals, and a zigzagging river defining the old town’s border. It is definitely quieter and the postcards of the city at night in winter make me want to return when it snows. We had a briefing at the Swiss National Defense Department and learned about Swiss neutrality (let’s just say they have it pretty good), after which time the generals took us out for drinks.

The day after we returned to Nyon, a few girls and I took a train to Munich, Germany, for the opening day of OKTOBERFEST! On the train, we met a 22-year-old local, Damien, who was returning home to attend the event for the 7th time as a drinker and he let us know everything foreigners don’t know about Oktoberfest (information I wouldn’t have received if I wasn’t traveling with 4 American girls). The next day, I ended up meeting him at 6 am (6 hours before the start of the festival) by myself because the girls were too impatient to wait for him, and we went to the oldest “tent” (1 of 16 temporary beer halls the size of soccer fields). We luckily got into the tent; however, the girls didn’t because the other door they were crammed in front of stopped letting people in because it broke due to the mob that was attempting to push through to grab one of the limited seats available inside. I didn’t meet up with them again for 9 hours when the tent doors finally opened again to let more people in. Though I did feel kind of bad that they didn’t get in, being the lone foreigner with Damien and all of his friends (all 18-24, speak English, and were astonishingly nice) made for likely the most authentic experience anyone could ever hope for at Oktoberfest. Being the oldest tent, it is where the mayor of Munich and the prime minister of Bavaria tap the first barrel of beer of the festival (everyone booed when the prime minister was announced as if he was George W. himself, you’ve got to love the honesty of the laymen). Furthermore, because this tent happened to be the hardest to get into on the first day (especially if you didn’t know to show up at 6), the demographic was pretty much 3,499 to one/locals to foreigner, no one leaves because they know they can’t get back in, and everyone was dressed in lederhosen and St. Polly girl outfits (slight exaggeration, but generally true). We drank, ate, sang, and danced at the same table from 9 am until the tent closed at 10:30. Some things I learned, “It’s not how much you drunk, but how thirsty you are,” some people think Oktoberfest is about only about beer, and I LOVE BAVARIANS. I would willingly go into more detail, but I’d prefer to elaborate when I return home (just remember to ask me how was Oktoberfest?).

Once again, I miss all of you and if you ever decide to make a trip to Oktoberfest, count me in (I’m already planning on taking my future son when he turns 16).

Peace, love, and don’t think it hasn’t been charming,

Max