21 tips from a tourist who went to Oktoberfest once

What better way to celebrate the beginning of vacation than a 6am wake up time for my flight to Oktoberfest in Munich?! After receiving our free beer from our hotel because the elevator was broken (fair trade?), Scott, Kevin (in from Amsterdam), and I hit the town for some Lederhosen (for them).

Oktoberfest Tip #1: I spent way too many hours stressing about having the right Dirndls and the right amount of Dirndls for this trip, reading so many blogs about how you don't want to be embarrassed by having the German women making fun of you for having a cheap Dirndl (a VERY big fear of mine leading up to this trip). I bought three Dirndls from three different sources (eBay, Amazon, and MyDirndl.com (lol)). Takeaway: even going for six days, I was fine with three, and would have been fine with two—we didn't even wear our Dirndls our last two days there, and guess what?! No one said a damn thing. I would recommend stressing about it absolutely 0% compared to my 100%, and just hopping into one of the 100 shops when you are there and get fitted for a couple. You can spend as little or as much as you want (quality will match what you're willing to spend). It'll take you 30 minutes, and then you'll be set, and you'll be German, and you won't get made fun of by German women yay!

The next arrival was Rich & Kyle from France with their friend, Mike. With enough people to hold down a table now, we headed to Day 1 of Oktoberfest (a little late, but this was, according to Scott-the-expert, OK because it was still a week-day). 

Tip #2: Stay within walking distance of Oktoberfest. We walked out of our hotel room and there were stickers on the sidewalks pointing to Oktoberfest. So, we followed them and BOOM. My home for the next six days. I've heard horror stories of missed trains home from the Fest (they don't run after certain times), and it is simply not something that you want to be thinking about—whether it be the morn or eve.

Tip #3: Eat before going into the tents. There are stands set up all throughout Oktoberfest, take a saunter through and see what looks good to you—it will be a mix of bratwurst, currywurst, spatzle, and more. Once you get into the tents, the only thing you can order is these massive, heavy meals (potatoes, meat, sauerkraut), and you look like a fool sitting and eating while everyone is standing on the benches singing. 

Look, I'm sure it's good. Just don't be that guy. Or do, honestly. They're always happy.

Me, though? Currywurst every day.

It was only by happenstance that we got a table that first day. And there we are:

Tip #4: Don't do this:

You'll get yelled at. Well, I never got yelled at by the servers, but Scott kept yelling at me that I was going to get yelled at by the servers. You don't want that either.

Then came Lukas and Benedict (hailing from Germany). 

Tip #5: Don't let the lady with the fancy camera take photos of you. Your friends Lukas and Benedict will then try to convince you that you must buy it because you all look so good in it, and you must commemorate Oktoberfest! 

Day two brings us to Tip #6: Drink water with liquid IV in it whenever you have a chance because the tents do not have drinkable water (people get sick from trying to drink from the tap, and by people, I mean Scott told me he got sick from drinking from the tap once) and the water they bring you when you order it—AND PAY FOR IT—fills up about a third of the stein and COSTS THE SAME AS THE BEER.

Also don't put liquid IV into sparkling water.

Tip #7: When you arrive on time to save a table for all of your friends that are showing up late, beware of the "leftovers" from the previous night. Yes, by this I mean the Oktoberfest workers that have been up all night and are slobbering on their 12th beer when you are on number one. 

With day two came two of my favorite things: my dear friend Sarah in from Charlotte and the turkey hat.

Tip #8: Turkey hats are so fun. A great way to make friends, BUT people do steal them constantly. I would hand it to someone so they could have it dance on their heads (as it does), turn to laugh at something that Scott said, turn back, and see a turkey hat bobbing away amidst the lopsided lederhosen. Thankfully, Courtney, (day three arrival) thought of putting a hair clip on ours so that we would know it was our turkey hat that someone was attempting to steal. However, this was day two, and someone stole my hat because Courtney wasn't there yet, so I did indeed buy TWO turkey hats after the first thievery. Don't let anyone charge you more than $30 (they're $18 on Amazon).

Tip #9: Learn the words to "Ein Prosit der Gemütlichkeit." I sang the wrong words five out of the six days. To be fair, it took five days for anyone to notice ... maybe? All you need to do is follow Scott's lead:

Tip #10: If you see people rampantly doing what appears to be cocaine, it is (most likely) not. It is Wiesn koks, a menthol-based powder that you could (maaayyybe, if you’re stretching it) say that the menthol burns your nose enough that it wakes you up a bit?

Whether you are in a large group or small, captain of a large table or wandering around alone, you will meet people. Our half of the table (about 15) merged with the other half of the table (a German group of old friends from Uni—another 15) and we became 30 strong. And there, I fell head over heels for Vincent (last name unknown).

Tip #11: If you find an attractive German man, don't wander off and just expect the universe to make him appear in another tent that you stumble upon. If you don't give him your number, he can't call you, and yelling "Vincent, Vincent" in every tent for the next four days will not bring you back together. 

Astha was also here this day (friend that I met in Lagos, who also lives in NYC). Apparently I have no photos of the two of us? But here is a photo of Astha and her friend and my friends and random people.

Shelby of NYC was also here this day (sorry, Shelby; literally the only photo I have of you):

Day three brought the Queen of Oktoberfest herself: Courtney McNeil of Chinatown, NYC. 

And just like that, it was as if she had been there the whole time.

Tip #12: Standing on the benches is OK. Standing on the tables is verboten. On the day that I kept going over to Vincent's table, I would climb over to him by way of the table. It was the middle of the table, and I would hear yells from the servers but ignored them because, as you know, I only had eyes for Vincent. 

On the day of Courtney's arrival, she stood atop the table. I thought nothing of it but—as we were at the end of the table within grasp of the servers—within moments, Courtney's purse was in the grasp of the very stern server. After a couple of tugs, Courtney realized her error with a terrorized "I'm in trouble" as she stepped down to the bench and the server yelled at her in German. To be fair, we still didn't know the exact rule, but realized it was something to do with tables being off-limits.

At random intervals throughout each day, men (I say men because I've never seen a woman do something this stupid) would stand atop the table, and chug their beer, accompanied by raucous cheering throughout the tent as they were inevitably escorted out and banned from the tent. I thought they were getting escorted out because they chugged a beer and made a point to not chug mine. But after observing Courtney's public scolding, I realized my fear had been misdirected. No more standing on tables after that.

Another lesson was learned this day ... no matter how charming you are, or your friends are, you will not get in the front door if the tent is "at capacity." Shelby came to the tent we were at on this day, and no manner of persuasion—from Shelby, me, even Courtney—could cause the stern German bouncers to let her through. Thus, Courtney and Shelby, though in Munich at the same time, saw each other only through a pane of glass.

Tip #13: The night bratwursts, sausages, currywurst are even better. When Oktoberfest tents are shut down, the food huts are still open and better than ever.

This was not the first night that we did bumper cars, but this was the first night that we couldn't stop doing bumper cars and by we, I mean Scott.

Tip #14: Keep friends like Courtney and Sarah around. Whilst Scott was in his bumper car glee, and I was blissfully along for the ride, my dirndl was coming more undone with each ride—and, might I add, there is no such thing as "safety attendants". Everything is at your own risk, the "attendants" didn't care that my dirndl belt was streaming behind me, and they certainly didn't care that Sarah dove into the bumper car horde to safely tuck it back into the car, urging drivers to carry on (as if they even noticed that there was a human sans car bopping about).

Day four brings me back to tip #2. I had booked Courtney, Sarah, and I "bunks" at a "tent hostel"—unbeknownst to me—thirty minutes away from Oktoberfest by train. Upon realizing this, Courtney found us a "hotel" room (I use the quotes because it was weird—like twice as many beds in our room than we needed), and holy hell was this 17 X better than trekking to a tent after ten hours dancing with beer in a tent. 

So, on the morning of day four, we stuffed our dirndls in our packs, and walked even closer to Oktoberfest for a hotel—somehow—a third of the price of the hotel we had been staying at. Do NOT expect to find deals like this. I truly have no idea how Courtney did and have no tips for how to do so.

Off we went to meet up with Lukas, Benedict, their German friends, Ambika, Noel, and Rahi (from NYC, Connecticut, and Toronto respectively, who I had also met in Lisbon) at a tent that we had not yet been to—and legend has it, is the best tent—Paulaner.

Tip #15: When your drunk friend (Noel) spills his entire beer on you, stay calm amidst their panic, and just say, "I'll be OK with the fact that you spilled your beer on my $200 dirndl (whether it is or not), if you get me a new turkey hat." Yes, my second turkey hat at this point had been stolen. When a man is looking to make reparations for misdeeds ... he acts fast. Within five minutes, we had a new turkey hat in our midst. 

Tip #15.5: Don't pay $50 for a turkey hat like Noel did.

Some of us got along better than others.

Tip #16: There is a fake Paulaner tent. The tent we were in is branded as Paulaner at every turn. We sang and danced as if we were at Paulaner, only to find out hours later, that we were just arriving at Paulaner. Ask for directions for the correct Paulaner, and you will not be disappointed. 

We had a smaller group on this day than on previous days (probably about eight of us that were moving on to the next tent). We tried to get into the next tent. No luck at the front door.

Tip #17: If the front door doesn't work; try the side doors. We circled the tent until we found an entrance and then boom, we were in, and whilst it was very, very crowded; we found a table, and all was well with the world again.

Except we did keep losing Sarah.

Tip #18: Get international data, a SIM card, or an e-sim card, or you WILL get lost (ahem, Sarah). Tip for friends traveling with those that refuse to be easily found with DATA: stay in one spot. We lost Sarah 5-10 times and would just stay at one table(ish) until she eventually found us again through sheer willpower.

And then ... we stumbled upon the Paulaner tent. The moment we walked in, our jaws were on the floor, and without a single person voicing it, we knew we had been at the wrong one all along.

On this night, we discovered the rides! Up to this point, they had been an aberration in the distance—bright lights, screams of joy, solely for those willing to wait in what were sure to be obscene queues. Upon a closer glance, no queues. How curious. 

Noel, ever so excitedly, ran up to buy us (Courtney, Lukas, Sarah, Noel, me) tickets to do any ride that we want!!! 200 euros of tickets he bought for us. All on him! What a gift! Lukas stared at him in shock, pulling him over to the ticket booth as he protested.

Noel had not bought us tickets for all of the rides.

He had bought us €200 for one ride. So, if we wanted to go on the same ride 10 times in a row, we were set !!! Lukas, what a guy, somehow convinced them to give him his money back, so that he could indeed, do a variety of rides which included, but was not limited to: Circus Circus and the bumper cars.

Tip #19: Do the rides, but know this ...  Circus Circus does not sell tickets for the bumper cars.

Back to the "hotel" to officially check-in and move our bags into the "room." And then back out on the town!

This was our first night experiencing Oktoberfest After Hours. To be fair, we had done our share of looking after lost souls on park benches on our walks home but had not yet been on a walk to see what the city had to offer once Oktoberfest closed. After a quick stint dancing at what turned out to be a fast-food restaurant with drunk Oktoberfesters, we were back on the road again. Enter Mark (pictured in second photo below), Seamus, and Kieran. 

After a five-minute chat with this Irish man in Munich (which began with admiration for his jacket, obviously), we just knew we had to see what this place was all about. We fell in love with Restaurant Bavaria that night by way of the songs, the beer, and the company. The people we were with had been coming to this bar for many a year—a part of their Oktoberfest ritual—and now it is part of ours. 

Day five was the long-awaited sightseeing day. I awoke to the most dazzling sight: the turkey hat had lived to see another day. $50 well spent, Noel!

Courtney donned Seamus's hat, I grabbed my Rick Steves' book, Sarah made it out of bed ... and we were off to explore the city of Munich that apparently exists outside of Oktoberfest.

Ate some more German food (something new! ;)) at Viktualienmarkt. Also got some souvenirs. Cool market.

Went to Heeling Geist, a church ...

Went to a cheese shop. I love cheese. Court loves cheese. And poor Sarah was nearly on her death bed and does not care for cheese (at least not in this moment in time).

Seamus's hat then made it to Marienplatz! 

With only one main tourist attraction left, Sarah bid us adieu for her bed (she later ended up in the emergency room when she got home, I forget what with, but yeah, she was sick for real), as Court and I headed to the most famous of the bierhaus's: Hofbräuhaus.

We wandered around aimlessly unaware of the laws of the land outside of the Fest. In the corner, several men were beckoning to us, probably because it was the third time we had passed by, and we had "hi, I am a lost tourist" written all over our faces.

We answered the summons of the Portuguese men in the corner. One of the four of them spoke English, which after translating some of the things that the others were saying to and about us was absolutely for the best. 

Mayhem ensued. 

Neslon, the English speaker, was grand. Respectful. Funny. Wingmanning for his friends that couldn't speak to us whilst also warning us away. One was called "Father," for obvious reasons. I do not remember the other two's names.

They stood up to leave. We bade them farewell, with promises of seeing them at the Fest—and no intention of doing so. Several minutes after they left, the waiter came and gave us the bill. 

What.

These men had been drinking. Had been eating. Devouring everything in their path for hours. We had one beer. Each.

But still.

What.

Courtney took off out of the bierhaus, down the street. I stood there, as collateral. Doing my best to assure our kind server that he would be paid his 300 euros, but it most certainly would not be by us.

What felt like an eternity later (probably 3-5 minutes in reality), Courtney ran in with a sheepish Nelson in toe. According to Nelson, it was a classic case of, "I thought he paid."

But he did, in the end, pay. 

We looked at each other. We had checked all of the tourist things off the list in a record time of four hours ... sooo ... back to the Fest?

En route back to our home away from home, Courtney and I then tackled our next challenge: finding Seamus to return his hat.

And where were the fine Irish lads? At Restaurant Bavaria, of course! And who else was there? Nelson, Father, and the Portuguese fellas, of course! Worlds collide.

After many kisses on my ... arm?—from one of the Portuguese fellows whose name I don't remember—we gave a wave and slid into the benches that felt like home with Mark, Seamus, Kieran, and Maurice.

After reminiscing about our prior eve together and catching up on everything we had missed (nothing on their end), we returned to Oktoberfest once more: Irish edition.

Tip #20: Do not allot more than four hours to sightseeing. Oktoberfest > Munich at large.

We looked over: Father, once again. 

We had found it nearly impossible to find our friends in the midst of the mayhem, friends with our phone numbers. And here, Father, of all goddamn people, was always two steps behind us ... or was it ahead of us? Regardless. He was there. Again.

On this night, night five for me, I finally realized all that Oktoberfest had to offer, and whilst I do think I walked the whole park by the end of this night (?), I never, ever understood where I was. And neither did Courtney. And neither did Nelson. The two of them, throughout the night, sent photos of where they were to reconnect, which in theory is very helpful, but when wherever you look it is beer tents and food stands and people in dirndls and people in lederhosen ... it is a bit of a non-starter in regard to locale. 

Off to the rides with the Irish! As I, once again, strapped myself into Circus, Circus, I marveled at the speed with which we made it from not being on the ride to being on the ride. Were there people that worked each ride? Sure. They press the button to start the ride, but that is where their duties begin and end—much like pilots amiright? On one such ride, I had not secured my safety bar—at all, apparently—and slid violently from side to side as the ride convulsed around the park. It added to the terror and ultimate enjoyment of the experience, and whilst this made it obvious that safety checks are not done whatsoever on the rides themselves, I leave this experience sure that this is how the rest of the world should do it. Did you hear me say no lines?!

We played the games, we found Nelson, we found new tents, we lost Nelson, we got kicked out of the tents because it was closing time and danced in the bars of Munich with the surviving few—and by few, I mean many—that were still standing. We went back to Restaurant Bavaria because this was, after all, Oktoberfest: Irish Edition.

We woke up feeling great! Day six of Oktoberfest.

 

Courtney donned the turkey hat. Courtney, Kieran, and I followed the arrows to Oktoberfest once again, and for the second day in a row, did not don our dirndls.

 

Tip #21: In theory, you don’t really need the traditional German wear. Is it more fun to dress up and be a part of it? Absolutely. Will you be in the less than one percent not wearing lederhosen and dirndls? Sure. But will you be ostracized? No. I mean don’t wear the Halloween costumes from Amazon, but if you are feeling lazy, or feeling cheap, by all means, wear your jeans. Or leggings. Or Birks? 

 

Yes, I wore Birkenstocks every day and my feet were better than ever. 

 

 

After one beer, we bid adieu to the Fest, grabbed our luggage, and somehow, the $50 turkey hat. Snatched the boys from their hotel, slid down the railing of their lobby, and we were off to the airport.

 

Masks were mandatory on public transportation (and somehow, not at Oktoberfest?), so we complied to the best of our ability.

 

Upon tracking our location as we chugged along the countryside, Courtney realized that we had missed the stop, due to not understanding the announcement in German. 

 

Fellow English speakers eavesdropped and followed as we frenziedly rushed around the train station sussing out our plan of attack.

The plan ended up being a cab, and we settled in to enjoy the Munich that we never saw, en route to the airport. 

So, so much yelling in German at the airport from the airport staff to the thousands of tourists fleeing the wonderful, beautiful Fest. I'm OK with waiting another year before I hear German again.

 

Auf Wiedersehen, München; wir sehen uns nächstes Jahr!