Oktoberfest

Hubby and I attended a real, honest-to-goodness, German Oktoberfest event last weekend!   We were one of the first to arrive in the main tent, and found ourselves wondering if perhaps the party was going to be a dud.  Initially, I thought the people slowly trickling through the door were part of the wait staff.   But as it turned out, we were one of the few attendees who were not dressed in traditional German clothing.

The polka band began to play, and we watched in delight as thousands of Germans paraded past in their brightly colored Bavarian dresses and lederhosen.  It was almost surreal, and I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.  How did a Midwest housewife, clad in blue jeans and a t-shirt, end up in this place?

We ordered our Oktoberfest beers, and joined in the cheers and songs even though we had no clue what anyone was saying.

The kids were anxious to ride the ponies, so hubby held our place in the overflowing tent while I accompanied them outside.  I envisioned six ponies tethered to a ring, and children riding in circles for three minutes.  But that’s only in the U.S.

In Germany, you get the full horse experience, led by your mother.  If they had known that this mom is not accustomed to horses, or beer, they would have never put that rope in my hands.  Thankfully, the kids were securely fitted with helmets.

I was asked if we wanted to ride for a half or a full hour.  “How about fifteen minutes?” I inquired hopefully.

That was not an option.

A few instructions given in German, and I was on my own.  We were supposed to cross the meadow and turn right.  Or left.  I wasn’t entirely sure.  Why would anyone in their right mind hand a horse over to a woman with small children, and absolutely no horse experience? And send her across a meadow and out of sight?  For 30-60 minutes!

I breathed in the crisp, autumn air and determined that I could do this.  How hard could it be?  Keep the rope short and my arm taut.  Or maybe it was the other around?  I attempted to look confident as we made our way across the meadow.

We had just started along the path when our horse decided to eat.  I figured a bite or two wouldn’t hurt, but he was in the mood for a five course meal.

I said, “No more!” but he didn’t speak English.

I tried, “Whoa!” but he was completely unfazed by my stern command.

I remembered Pa in the Little House on the Prairie books used “gee” and “haw,” but apparently that only works at the end of a field row (and with a team of oxen).

I tried pulling the horse, but he pushed hard against me, snorting and baring his teeth.  The kids were becoming frightened, and there was no one in sight.  I texted hubby and told him if we didn’t make it back soon, he should send someone for us. (I didn’t want to lose our spot in the tent.)  He replied that he couldn’t move anyway because he was on cleavage overload.

Great.  There I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with two scared children and a stubborn horse, while he was drinking beer and taking in the local scenery.

He was probably having the waitress use her broken English to explain the menu again.  She was cute; not that anyone would notice her face while she was wearing that low cut German barmaid outfit.  She leaned in and gave us an animated explanation of each and every menu item.  I would have stopped her at desserts, but hubby had completely forgotten the definition of apple strudel.

Finally, the horse got bored with his grazing patch.  He was not happy when I forced him to the path, so we took him back across the meadow and exchanged him for a little bitty pony.  Eventually, our time was up.

Back inside, I made friends with a woman who had spent time in Chicago as an au-pair. She explained some of the customs we were seeing, and interpreted the lyrics to the songs.  My favorite moment was when the polka band played John Denver.  Thousands of Germans lifted their beers in the air and sang, “Country roads, take me home, to the place where I belong, VEST Virginia, mountain mama, take me home, country roads.”

I cried.  I couldn’t help it.  I felt such a mixture of hilarity, homesickness, and gratefulness that I was in that exact place at that exact moment in time.  Now, I just have to figure out where I can buy one of those Bavarian dresses to brighten up my Midwestern housewife’s wardrobe.