To dirndl or not to dirndl. That is the question. Or at least, that's the question on my mind. While I'm normally based in San Francisco, California, I've been living in Munich for two months. That means I'm here for Oktoberfest, a sort of mecca for college kids from around the world.
Almost everyone in the US has heard of Oktoberfest (except my father, who texted me while I actually was at Oktoberfest and was confused when I told him what I was doing). But there are so many things we don't know. Like that it's called Wiesn in Germany and that it's actually in September. Or that there's a big amusement park area, and families go to the festival, not just drunk college kids. I will find out about all of this, and even the Bavarian finance minister is going to give me some advice.
Like it actually is in September, hardly anyone calls it "Oktoberfest" and beer is really cheap.
But first, I have to figure out what to wear. I started seeing people in Bavaria wearing traditional dirndls and lederhosen as soon as I arrived in Germany at the beginning of August. I told myself that I wasn't going to spend the money on a dirndl. I didn't want a cheap-looking outfit, but I also didn't want to spend 100 euros or more on a nicer dirndl I may only wear once.
That resolve lasted about a week and a half. I walked past a dirndl shop near Viktualienmarkt one day and decided to pop in to see the offerings. I couldn't believe the prices: there was almost nothing below 100 euros, and some dirndls were even selling for thousands of euros. That was wedding dress level prices in the US. No way could I afford something like that!
Then I saw the sales rack, which happened to have a nice, black and green dirndl just my size. Perfect.
For a lot of Americans, Oktoberfest is the only reason to come to Munich (clearly they're wrong!). When they think of Germany, what they usually picture is Bavaria. And that tends to mean dirndls and lederhosen, hearty meals of pork knuckles and dumplings, pretzels and giant beers.
Many fly to Europe just to camp out in a tent and drink beer all day. Some even plan and dream for years about a trip to Oktoberfest, and those who went in the past love to talk about how crazy their visits were. For many people, it's a goal to visit Oktoberfest at least once.
Since it's my first, and possibly only Octoberfest, I want to do it right. I ask almost everyone I meet in Munich for advice. Some people tell me to get to the grounds before 8 a.m. to get a spot at a table. Others say I'm probably going to be out of luck entirely if I don't have a reservation (you can make reservations at Oktoberfest?).
Several tell me to avoid the second weekend of Oktoberfest since it's the "Italian Weekend" and gets really crowded. But I'm also told the first weekend is really crowded, that it's best to go in the afternoon during the week. Too bad I have a job...
I'm told to ride the toboggan before I go home for the night and to ride the ferris wheel after I've had a few beers. Both of those scare me.
Markus Söder, the Bavarian finance minister, recommends that I pace myself when drinking beer and visit Oktoberfest at least twice. "The first time go to the beer tent, and then there are many, many other good places, the Oide Wiesn, the roller coasters in summer," he told me after filling a barrel with beer at the Hofbräuhaus brewery. "It's very fun."
Even with all of my prep and questions beforehand, nothing could have prepared me for what Oktoberfest was actually like. I ended up with a reserved table in the Schottenhamel tent on the first day of the show. It took me 15 minutes to find my table because there were no numbers anywhere. Every worker I met sent me a different direction or told me to ask someone else. I only found it by having my friends stand up and yell at me. By the time I finally made it there, I was hot, thirsty and pretty overwhelmed.
When I finally found my table, I figured there was no way I'd be standing on a bench, singing along to the band playing pop music. Fast forward a couple hours, and I'm belting out Backstreet Boys tunes and a German song that's played over and over. I have no idea what the words are, but that didn't stop me and everyone else from joining in as we waved our giant steins of beer.
One of the friends who went with me Saturday compared Oktoberfest to "floating through a dream sequence in a weird 1960s musical." We all thought we'd hear oompah music, not Britney Spears.
None of us expected to see so many people in dirndls and lederhosen, and we all were pretty surprised by the number of amusement park rides and games. We also expected the tents to be actual tents, not the massive structures they actually were.
By the end of the night, we had ordered every single dessert on the menu - literally - to share to to use up the food vouchers that came with our table (We still walked away with 10 extra chicken tickets. For some reason, our reservation came with two half-chicken dinner tickets per person, as well as two drink tickets each and a €10 food voucher apiece). We stuffed our faces with apple strudel, bavarian cream, birthday tartlets and kaiserschmarrn and then bailed out of the Schottenhammel tent a few minutes before it closed to beat the crowds to the toboggan ride.
We should have left earlier, but maybe it wouldn't have mattered. By the time we arrived, there were dozens, if not hundreds, of people already in line. Our need to use the bathroom outweighed our desire go on the ride. It only took us about 30 seconds to decide to hop on the U-bahn instead of the toboggan.
Surprisingly, we all felt pretty sober by the end of the night, except one of my friends who left early to take a train to Garmisch-Partenkirchen. He never made it but instead ended up at a house party in Murnau, hosted by someone he met on the train.
Oktoberfest is something that Americans have appropriated, just like St. Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo, or other celebrations that basically just involve drinking a lot. We love those holidays. As I was finishing this article, Food & Wine Magazine tweeted out a video of the best Oktoberfests around the US, including one in Cincinnati, Ohio, where people dress up their dachshunds in hot dog costumes.
When I lived in New York City, I'd go to an Oktoberfest held every year in Bear Mountain in upstate New York. It served German delicacies such as pierogies (No one really knew or seemed to care that it wasn't really German food. And they did taste delicious!). There'd be an oompah band, and we'd drink beer out of liter mugs like at the real Oktoberfest. The Bear Mountain festival started in late September and went through the end of October, much longer than the real Oktoberfest.
To really get to know the original, I tried a second visit. I went on a Monday evening and decided to wing it since I had no reservation. This time, I wanted to see more than one tent.
A friend and I had no trouble getting into every tent we wanted. We ended up walking through nearly every big tent -- including Hofbräu-Festzelt with its huge crowds and hops decorations, Hacker-Festzelt with its beautiful sky ceiling and Löwenbräu-Festzelt where everyone was standing and singing along to Journey's Don't Stop Believin'.
An older Bavarian man I met at the Augustiner-Festhalle biergarten, who said he'd been going to Oktoberfest for decades, warned us that we wouldn't be able to visit the Schottenhamel tent that day becauseit was too popular.
Luckily, he was wrong. And I say luckily because I still had a stack of chicken tickets left, and I was ready for my free dinner.
After my half chicken, full liter of beer and singing on top of the table, it was time to go home -- if I could ever find my way off the fairgrounds. Somehow I always end up lost at Oktoberfest. This time I walked in circles at the end of the visit instead of the beginning, trying to find my way to the U5.
Maybe by my third visit, I'll finally know where I'm going.
Shara Tibken is a reporter for CNET, a tech news site owned by CBS. While normally based in San Francisco, California, she's been living in Munich and working for Süddeutsche Zeitung for two months as part of the Arthur F. Burns journalism fellowship program.