Ein Prosit

When I was a kid, many things would get me excited.... toys, ho-ho's, sports, snow days, girls, beaches, lakes, streams, big sandwiches, waterslides, sunshine, ice cream...

In reviewing this list, it appears that all of the things that used to get excited about, I still do. But there is one thing that is an adult addition:

Beer.

Oktoberfest, for someone who loves beer, is like Valhalla. It's a hoppy happy place; a phantasmagoria of fermented goodness. I almost wondered if it would disappoint me when I actually arrived. It did not.

My jaw dropped immediately upon entering my first tent. Thousands of people filled the place with the din of revelry. Singing. Drinking. Swaying in unison, stumbling solo. Colorful streamers hung languidly from the rafters. A raised platform housed a fun-loving and active band, playing everything from traditional German classics to Frank Sinatra. My mouth got dry, my hands clammy. My eyes were wide in wonderland amazement, head thrown back to take it all in. I breathed a 'whoa' in puckish glee, and my liver held its breath.

As with so many of my other favorite events, the common denominator here (along with steady and copious and admittedly irresponsible consumption) was smiling. People throughout each tent (we went to 4 of them), were in various states of happiness: the muted grin of a true Oktoberfest pro enjoying the moments they look forward to all year, the beaming stupor of a novice and every mirthful shade between. I love it when a place and time is flooded with fun like that. Does the heart good.

Shortly after I arrived, I heard for the first time the theme song of Oktoberfest:

"Ein Prosit, Ein Prosit, Der Germutlich-keit!"

I looked around, and everyone was singing it. You might not recognize it without the umlauts, but it is essentially a song about how happy everyone is to be together and cozy. A bunch of happy drunks, too blitzed to sing any song that requires the utterance of double-digit lyrics. I loved it. I'm going to check iTunes to see if there's a dance remix.

I got my first beer--the signature one liter "mass"that is the staple of this event. It was like a taste bud carnival, and the guys that work at the carnivals are all angels who are drunk. Admittedly, that doesn't make any sense--so, suffice it to say that I was going to have a lot of this stuff and enjoy every blessed sip.

And I did. I had a little over 6 masses (the majority at a table at the Lowenbrau tent with new friends Marcel and Hans, who collectively have over 50 years of Oktoberfest experience). For those of you keeping score at home, that rounds out to about a gallon and a half of high-alcohol beer. The results of such blinding excess (or the ones I saw fit to post) are in evidence on this page.

The person you see here screamed lyrics to songs he didn't know. He slow-danced to 'Johnny Be Good' with a 60-year old Dutch woman, and tried to carry on a conversation with her despite the fact that she didn't speak English. He got up on benches, stumbled in streets and got gloriously, starkly drunk.

I will be making room on my ever-growing list--somewhere between ice cream and waterslides--for Munich's Oktoberfest.

Blonde Ambition

Back at home, kings with startlingly descriptive names ruled the land.

There was Olav the Peaceful. Harald Hard-ruler. Erik the Red. Another Erik, who killed all of his brothers, was forced from power by Hakon the Good and sent to England, where he ruled York as King Erik Blood Axe (I have to wonder if Erik's wife would've taken that name. Maybe she hyphenated).

My favorite is Harald Fair-Hair though. Harald Fair-Hair was the son of Halvadan the Black. If I were Harald, I would be a bit miffed at Dad. The "Black" might inspire fear in enemies, intimating an inner darkness or sinister cunning. There's a purpose in that. What would 'Fair-Hair' inspire in Harald's enemies? Have them asking for highlighting tips? I would bet Senator Clinton would have a much harder time being elected as "Hillary the Blonde".

As it was, Harald's dad must've inspired some real Oedipal or Boy-Named-Sue angst in him--because he and his armies beat all comers. As leader, he was the first convince various kingdoms to come together in a united Norway around 872 AD. The story goes that he did so to get carnal with a certain woman, who said she could never be with a man whose kingdom wasn't even as big as Denmark's. Harald, Harald... forever trying to prove himself to others.

Oh, one more little factoid: another Norwegian named Leif Eriksson had already explored the coast of North America. If he'd been a touch more curious (or Norway more imperial) we might be celebrating Eriksson Day in Washington, D.E. (actually, we do celebrate Eriksson Day a day before Columbus Day, but most people aren't aware that they are celebrating it. They simply feel oddly Norwegian, and feel a predeliction for using several consonants in a row).

Maybe they weren't loved enough....

As in most cases when I come to a country, I try to get a sense of the history. Norway has quite a history, full of unusual people.

First, there were the Vikings. The vikings, as is well documented by historians, were badasses. They build the strongest sea-faring boats then on record; ships capable of oceancrossing where once it was impossible. Around the 9th century, they were also big on polygamy, and so there were lots and lots of babies. These babies (the male ones at least) grew up and wanted a share of the families lands. This, of course, led to family squabbles, clubbings and pent-up aggression. So many of the Vikings decided to take those sturdy boats aplunderin'.

And the were successful in said plundering. Independent from each other, these Viking hordes conquered areas as far south as Spain and as far east as Russia. The only town that they couldn't really capture was Istanbul. They were ruthless, too... specifically targeting monasteries and monks because of their riches and the perceived threat to their panthestic traditions.

Attached are some pics from my visit to the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo... amazingly restored burial boats , intricately carved and constructed, for a queens and chieftains (each is over 1000 years old). Yep, they buried them in boats-- along with their accumluated riches and several animals and slaves the would need in the afterlife. I imagine the slaves was not fond of the idea of death by association.

Remembering Better Lindsays

On the ferry ride I mentioned, they were playing 'The Parent Trap'--and it got me nostalgic about the Lindsay Lohan we all used to know. Unassuming, adorably mischievous, notably coherent... her cute little nose unmarked by residual cocaine. Lindsay was Lindsay back then... when it was about tomorrow's dreams and not last night's bender, when publicity shots outnumbered mug shots. Pre-rehab. And well before Post-rehab rehabilitation.

Those were the days. Get better soon, Lindsay.... ya little train-wreck scamp.

A note to the Norwegian ferry company: The Parent Trap? That's the movie I am supposed to watch twice on the four hours ride, to keep me distracted from the tumultuous ride wreaking havoc with my equilibrium? Really? Really?