The German festival that celebrates food, friendship, and the bounty of a good harvest (141Cong.Rec.E1789)

This post is about my trip to Oktoberfest (top), which clearly shows how behind I am on writing my blog. But it's even worse than you think because Oktoberfest is actually in September -- and I went to Munich for the very first weekend of the festival. Here's something else you might not have known (I didn't, at least): Oktoberfest is basically a big state fair but with more beer and lederhosen. The festival takes places on the Theresienwiese, which becomes a fairground full of thrill rides and food vendors (bottom left) whose multiple midways are packed with partiers day and night (bottom right). 

But if you want to experience the full spectrum of fun, you need to show up early. We were in line by 9 a.m., so we could be one of the first through the door to the Augustiner-Festzelt. We snagged a bench shortly after 10 a.m., but no booze was on offer until after the Procession of Officials (top left), which preceded the ceremonial tapping of the first keg at noon (top right). After the brewer ensured the suitability of the suds, the bar staff started filling mugs as fast as humanly possible (bottom).

 

Eventually, a glass the size of my head appeared in front of me (top left). Luckily, I had padded my stomach with a pretzel the size of my head as well (top right), so I was fortified for the merriment ahead. The celebration mainly consists of overcoming language barriers with your tablemates. The conversation often is interrupted by the band playing the "Ein Prosit" song, which provokes a collective raising of glasses (bottom left). Occasionally, we climbed on the benches to sing and dance, and sometimes, a brave soul would stand astride a table in an attempt to chug his whole glass before bouncers escorted him (or her) out of the tent. But the best entertainment simply comes from people watching, especially their mating rituals. I found the skills of the group of Dutch gentlemen across the aisle to be particularly on point (bottom right); I mean, who can resist matching green-checkered shirts, right?

Each beer tent has its own reputation; ours was hailed as cozy and friendly. We also chose ours because it was promoted as a classic: Munich's oldest brewery pouring drinks out of traditional wooden kegs. But clearly, we wanted to do some comparison, so we stopped by some other tents. One that shall not be named struck me as the smelly and sullied remnants of a frat party. On our second day, we tried the Paulaner-Festzelt, which seemed to have a more local feel (left). A brass band from an earlier parade played impromptu versions of "Ein Prosit" when the main tent band was on break (right).

Even in a short weekend getaway, you can only do so much beer drinking -- at least at my age. So we did take a break for some sightseeing. During a stroll through downtown Munich, we peeked in St. Michael's Kirche (top left) on our way to the main square, Marienplatz. We arrived at the Neues Rathaus (top right) just in time to catch the Glockenspiel display one of its limited daily whirls (bottom).

Back on the bigger, more modern streets, we stopped to watch the Traditional Costume Parade pass by. Each Oktoberfest brewer submits an entry; most consisted of horse-drawn barrel wagons (top left), but some opted for hop-pole floats (top right). The clothing on display was a bit more diverse, ranging from the hunting gear of the countryside (bottom left) to the fancier frocks of the more citified (bottom right).

 

We had a pretty good view of the parade, but some locals found a prime perch from which to observe the procession (left). Seeing these residents and a mobile maypole (right) -- from the further files of things I didn't know, May 1 is Maypole, or Maibaum, Day, and around that time Munich hosts Frühlingsfest, which is affectionately known as "Little Oktoberfest" -- were good reminders that, ultimately, this world-famous festival is really still a community celebration. 

To wit, held adjacent to the booze carnival is the Bayerisches Zentral-Landwirtschaftsfest, an agricultural exhibition nearly identical to a state fair. There, you can buy tractors and playgrounds for your goats (top left). You can also check out which livestock won awards (top right) and sample käsespaetzle made from the milk of said livestock (bottom left). We had the common decency, however, to eat the obligatory wiener schnitzel meal away from its maternal makers, at Wirsthaus im Braunauer-Hof (bottom right).

Back-to-back weekends had two special events (159Cong.Rec.S190)

A few weeks after our weekend of walkabouts in and around London, TJ made a second stop in England, in which we got off our feet and onto some transport for a long holiday weekend. After work, we met at the train station to catch our ride to the southern coast. As we boarded the ferry from Southampton, we saw the Queen Elizabeth 2, or QE2, docked nearby (left). We merely crossed The Solent strait, not the ocean, but later that evening, after we arrived at our destination, the Isle of Wight, we spied the cruiser setting off for its trans-Atlantic journey (right).

It was a bit of a hike from the ferry landing in Cowes to our accommodation, 24 Ward Avenue B&B, so Sage was quick to settle into his temporary digs (left). He managed to summon some energy to explore the backyard, especially after he discovered there was a pair of friendly resident dogs to share it with (right).

With Sage ready for a nap, TJ and I struck out to explore the downtown. Just beyond the busy summer season and shy of Labor Day weekend, most establishments were sparsely patronized. We had the Cowes Ale House nearly to ourselves (left), and I didn't even finish my cocktail before a table at The Mess Canteen + Bar opened up for us to have dinner (right).

The next morning, we tired Sage out again with a walk in the environs of Cowes. We started at the Northwood House and Park, a party pad during the Victorian era, which basically abutted the backyard of our B&B (left). Then we headed down to the harbor and traced along the esplanade, past the Egypt Point lighthouse, glimpsing the coastal cliffs in the distance (right). This was as close as we got to one of the island's main tourist attractions, The Needles.

We decided the off-season bus schedules to the chalk rock formation were too limiting, so we headed across the island to Sandown instead. The beach town came off as run-down in the rain, so we quickly picked up some pasties and headed on to Ventnor. With some sun breaking through the clouds, the Victorian resort seemed a bit more inviting (top left). We got our bearings on a 3-D map of the island (top right), then set our heading for The Spyglass Inn (middle), where we sought refuge until the rain stopped enough to convince TJ to swim. The beach huts were locked up for the season (bottom left), so I took shelter under the awning of an out-of-business arcade while TJ took a dip (bottom right).

 

We actually had planned to spend the weekend not at the beach, but in the New Forest, but by the time we got around to booking hotels, there was slim pickings within the national park, so we selected Salisbury instead. This city, on the fringes of the park, is full of Gothic walls (left) and thatched roofs (right).

The market town sits at the confluence of five rivers, including the River Avon (top left), which formed the northern boundary of the grounds of our accommodation, the Grasmere House Hotel (top right). A little ways down the bank, the river once provided energy for a 16th-century paper mill, which has now been turned into the Old Mill Hotel (bottom).

But, by far, the city's biggest claim to fame is Salisbury Cathedral, which has the tallest spire in the United Kingdom (top left). Toward closing time, we sneaked into a service, so we could spy the largest cloister and the largest close in Great Britain (top right). Unfortunately, we got to church too late to see its copy of the Magna Carta, but a view of the cathedral's architecture at night was quite liberating (bottom).

 

TJ couldn't resist a foray into forest, so on our first night in Salisbury we hopped a bus to Ringwood, which sits right on the western border of the park. It is also home to Ringwood Brewery, where tours are by reservation only, so we sampled some of its suds at the Inn on the Furlong (left). After a few pre-dinner drinks, we headed to the very hopping Framptons for a lovely farm-to-table dinner (right).

Many people use Salisbury as a jumping-off point to visit Stonehenge, but we opted to take a circular walk to Old Sarum. On the way up to the Iron Age hill fort, we stopped to read a commemoration stone in honor of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (top left) and to look back on Salisbury, which up until 2009 was officially called New Sarum (top right). Eventually, we reached the fortifications, which were built by William the Conqueror to shield a castle (bottom left). Built around the same time, but outside the earthworks, was the city's first cathedral (bottom right), which supposedly lies on a ley line with the new cathedral and Stonehenge.

After our six-mile walk, we treated ourselves to some well-deserved refreshments at The Pheasant Inn (left) before we ducked into Danny's Craft Bar & Kitchen across the street for a refueling repast (right).

After cleaning up and depositing a tuckered-out pup, we headed out for a mini pub crawl. First, we hit up the Haunch of Venison, a former hostel for builders of the cathedral spire (top left). Its old bread oven contains what is purported to be the mummified limb of a cheater who literally lost his hand during a card game (top right). The gambler and a lady in a white shawl are said to haunt Salisbury's oldest pub; a few streets away, a woman dressed in black is said to be the resident spirit at The New Inn (bottom left). As far as I know, there's no paranormal activity at The Wyndham Arms, but to us it was worth a visit to have a pint with some alive and lively locals at the birthplace of Hop Back Brewery (bottom right).