The Occasionally-Examined Life

For my final day in Paris, I rushed around a bit, starting with a visit to that Parisian landmark, Le Tour Eiffel. It was a beautiful day and the tower stood out against a nice blue sky. After all these years, I finally discovered that the #82 bus, with a stop right across from my hotel, goes directly to the tower. Until now, I'd been taking a circuitous RER & Metro route.

Upon arrival I was surprised to see a number of non-Eiffel vertical trusses rising from the ground beneath the tower, up into the tower's first floor opening, supporting a platform up there. Turns out the first floor is being renovated and I was looking at a large, temporary, construction freight elevator. The base of this takes up a large, fenced-off area right in the middle of things on the ground and so the lines for tickets and the elevators go a new every which way (as opposed to usual every which way). I read that one consequence of this work is that there are longer delays to get up to the second floor because those elevators are affected.

Bidding Mr. Eiffel's masterpiece goodbye, I took the Metro and got myself over to the Louvre for lunch and a bit o' art gazing. Crowds were thin, no lines, and I had a nice leisurely experience in the galleries. Even the chow line in the Carousel du Louvre shopping mall was quick. I did stop in the Apple store and wasn't surprised to see that it is just like every other Apple store. They do have free WiFi, which is handy.

After enough communing with art and high tech, I hopped the #27 bus back to Luxembourg Gardens and spent an hour sitting there, people-watching and mentally dozing, until approaching rain chased me over to Le Cafe Soufflot. There I had a few glasses of some nice reds to go along with a cheese plate and called that dinner.

Packing up tonight in preparation for the EuroStar ride under the English Channel tomorrow. Paris is not to be missed and I've certainly enjoyed getting my annual dose for many years. Now on to England.

Another fine day of cold rain in Paris, the so-called City of Light. It's Sunday, and what with this weather, the natives and tourists alike are hunkered down. I idled the morning away reading Bring Up The Bodies, the latest Hilary Mantel novel about Henry the Eighth and the Tudors (an excellent read, by the way).

To counter-balance all that English history, I hopped the rails to Montparnasse to catch a noon showing of Taken 2, with Liam Neeson. The last time I went to a film in Paris was so long ago that smoking was still allowed in the auditorium and salesgirls circulated up and down the aisles selling Marlboro's and candy. There are a surprising number of American films shown here with the original dialog and French subtitles, which can make for a fun French lesson.

No salesgirls this time, though, nor any smoking. About 200 seats, and no house lights, either. Before the obligatory 15-minutes of commercials and previews, a bright white line shines on the entire movie screen and the “bounce” from that serves as enough light to see yourself into a seat. Good luck, though, if you drop anything. No ushers or staff in evidence. The seats were a bit unusual: they folded up as ours do, but the seat cushion was so long that, when folded up on either side of you, they actually constrain your arm movement. Squeaky, too. The movie's a sequel, filled with the predictable tough guy posturing, absurd events, and plenty o' violence; I give it a C+. Suitable diverson if you want to put your mind on hold for few hours. Not for kids, of course.

Incidentally, I was surprised to see that the Montparnasse area I was in was home to eight multi-screen cinemas (maybe more), all within blocks of each other. No fear of competition, I guess, and a totally different retail location strategy than that used in the States.

Switching now from one Mont- to another, I've inserted a couple of photos here, from yesterday's hike around Montmartre. It's not too much to look at now, but Au Lapin Agile (The Nimble Rabbit) is a famous Montmartre cabaret. At the turn of the 20th century, it was a hangout for artists and writers, including Piccaso, Modigliani, and Urillo. It was also popular with pimps, eccentrics, down-and-outers, local anarchists, students, and the occasional slumming bourgeois. I've never been, but the tables inside are said to have decades of intials, some famous, carved in them.

Across the street from it is one of those pocket vineyards I mentioned earlier. This one belongs to Le Chat Noir (The Black Cat) winery and had in its midst a neat hut of woven, red vine leaves. No entry as allowed, so I couldn't say what the significance, if any, was. Perhaps that's where they hawk logo'd tee shirts and cork screws when the place is open? Tap or click any photo to see a larger image.

I guess these pictures give you an idea, at least, of how gray it's been for the last two days. Seems like it's been a colder, wetter trip so far than in previous years.

During breakfast at Le Circle this morning, over my croissant and tea, I watched people passing by in the rain. It was raining, not drizzling, but 50% of everyone passing had no umbrella. Now, umbrellas are available for sale, especially when it's been raining, at the door of almost every shop and even the street hustlers are standing at Metro exits selling them.

This lack of interest in staying dry seemed to range across class, nationality, and gender. There were even couples out there, with her under an umbrella and her manly man braving it without one (though he could have been under the umbrella with her). Is it a City Person thing? Poor control of personal belongings? Laziness? I find it to be extraordinary behavior.

For a late lunch, I took the Metro and RER back to the Luxembourg Gardens and went to the nearby La Gueuze pub. This warm and welcoming place has a nice staff that handles everyone, including rowdy students and clueless tourists, with aplomb. I had poulet roti pommes frites (roast chicken with fries), which was also warm and welcome, and two pints of… La Guillotine, a Belgian strong pale ale, coming in around 8.5% ABV.

I was hoping for some Maredsous, another Belgian, but they rotate their feature drafts and so I was introduced to the “decapitator”, as the waiter called it. Well, it was tasty and smooth, really didn't seem that strong, and I didn't loose my head over it. Given the locale, the name just seems funny.

With lunch finished, before retiring to my hotel to hit the keyboard, I stopped by the Amaroni shop and made a final salute to Venice by having a small gelati cone. Let's see what tomorrow, my final day in Paris, brings.

 

So, a rainy Saturday morning in Paris. After a light breakfast at the local Cafe Richard's, I set out for Montmartre for the Fete des Vendanges, the big party celebrating the year’s grape harvest. It's said that wine from local vineyards flows freely at this annual festival and the streets fill up with stalls serving food and wine, and locals put on concerts and lots of other festive activities. That's what's said.

Montmartre is high on the hills of northern Paris, and still has vineyards tucked away in odd places. Vintner groups arrive at the festival in colorful robes and uniforms, as shown in the stock photo at left. Straw hats are especially popular.

Sadly, when I got there, I found only a lot of wet, cold, unfestive-looking people. At the local city hall, the start of the parade had been delayed for several hours and the dignitaries stood about in their soggy sashes and top hats, with their speeches undelivered as yet.

Even armed with a fete map, I couldn't find a food or wine tasting stall anywhere and I walked, umbrella up, all around the area. Which is saying something, as Montmartre is a warren of streets, very hilly, and sports several stairs that make Georgetown's Exorcist steps look easy. It was a hike! There were plenty of tourists, cafes, etc. but of wine tasting stalls there were none. I'm sure they were there somewhere but the dumb, wet American couldn't find them, not even with map! I find this sort of arty event organization, with stuff spread out, not unusual in Europe, and the language barrier (no English version of the map and program was available) makes figuring it all out a real challenge.

So, wet, thirsty, and tired of dueling with passersby over umbrella clearances, I finally jumped into the Metro and headed to Printemps, a giant deparment store on Boulevard Haussmann, for lunch at Le Brasserie, under their huge art nouveau stained glass dome. I've had many memorable lunches here and was hoping for another but that was not to be the case today. What was listed in the menu as “pasta with sauteed vegetables” (making me think some kind of pasta primavera) was indeed just what it said: a small dish of plain pasta accompanying a huge bowl of sauteed snow peas, green beans, and leeks. Enough to qualify as the side dishes for six or eight main meals, I guessed. I did my best with this green avalanche but my heart wasn't in it.

If there's an economic crisis in France, you couldn't tell it by the hordes of shoppers in Printemps (which is not an inexpensive place) and diners in Le Brasserie. Indeed, the line to get into some kind of high-end Louis Vuitton event they were holding wound through the store.

I passed by the Louvre (yep, still there) on the #27 bus on the way back to the hotel. There was a pretty good line, even in the rain, to get in. Now back at the Elysa Lux, In the time it's taken me to write this, the rain has let up and there are even patches of blue appearing through the gray up above. This encourages me to get out tonight and check out an intriguing sounding place called Brewberry. More later.

I've arrived safely in Paris and am installed at the Elysa Luxembourg Hotel in the 5th Arrondissement (aka The Latin Quarter), near the Sorbonne university. All the sticky parts of my multi-mode travel today (boat-plane-train) went amazingly smoothly and left me with the illusion that I really know what I'm doing after all these years of travelling.

The flight from Venice to Paris was short (about an hour) and a lot of it was taken up by the poor flight attendants having to repeat every one of those standard take-off, in-flight, and landing announcements four times: in French, Italian, Spanish, and English. And flawlessly, too. You have to marvel at it.

After checking in and unpacking, I went right over to my favorite nearby place, Cafe Soufflot. This is a nice, genuine French cafe, that caters to college kids, their professors, other locals, and tourists alike. The manager, Serge, was wearing one of his standard outrageous dress shirt and matching tie combos (mauve today), and greeted me warmly after taking a moment to place me. The wine, cheese (the stinkier, the better), and bread soon came forth, to my hungry delight. I found myself switching pretty easily into French and getting with the flow of the conversation, which always makes me feel pretty good. A very pleasant early evening, indeed.

Although, after a while I made the mistake of asking Serge what he thought of France's new President, Francois Hollande. This brought forth a torrent of French, of which I was only able to catch every fourth word or so, but the general tone conveyed the negative gist. Serge: not a fan. What was I thinking?! Everyone knows that, in France, you never mix cheese and politics.

My plans for the next three days are up in the air now. My Parisian friends, Phil and Marti Demetrion, are on their own U.S. tour right now and so I will not see them this trip. In addition, the forecast is for a lot of rain, which is at odds with my plans, which usually involve a lot of walking. Well, we see what tomorrow brings. In the meantime, a tout alors my friends.

 

Last night I saw the terrific Virtuosi di Venzia performance (stock photo at left): an eight-person chamber orchestra, supporting a tenor and a soprano as they sang a dozen arias from Vivaldi, Handel, Puccini, and Verdi. All performed in a de-comissioned, 15th Century, private chapel (capacity: 180). Last time I saw this, I sat dead center in the front row, with the singers just 10 feet from me; last night I sat in the last row (still only 100 feet away), and it made no difference: the acoustics were wonderful and the singing amazing. After a performance like this you understand why people cry at operas. The bonus is that this performance costs about 10% of a ticket to the La Fenice Opera House down the street, from which the moon-lighting musicians and singers originate.

The sun has returned today, my last day in Venice, and I spent the morning hanging around the Rialto Bridge, scoping out Christmas presents, downing a capuccino, and taking in the watercraft rodeo around the bridge in the central canal. It's a quintessential view of Venice and amazing that there are no boat collisions.

At lunchtime, I made my way back to the Taverna Campiello Remer (which, it turns out, is closed on Wednesdays) and I'm glad I did. This hard-to-find taverna is charming, rustic, and inexpensive. The friendly, multi-lingual staff explained their (very unusual) lunch buffet, which included 14 plates of buffet items, from marinated roasted chicken to macaroni with shrimp. The buffet, plus a pasta course, 1/4-litre of wine, water, dessert (cinnamon cake or baked pears with chocolate drizzel), and coffee was just 20EU! Excellent food and great ambiance with many locals eating there, too. And, judging from the grand piano, guitar, and cello in the corner, the evening meals, with music, are probably also wonderful. If you're coming to Venice, put this taverna on your list.

On the way back to my hotel, I stopped in at the nearby Trattoria ala Rivetta, where I have been having an afternoon bicchiere of red wine with the owner, Stefano, for many years. I recognize him, of course, but if he doesn't always recognize me (after a two year absence), he's kind enough not to let on. This tiny restaurant is a gondolier hangout, with excellent food, and you can get a small glass of wine for 1EU and stand around outside the door or in the entryway enjoying it. I usually manage to arrive just after the lunch rush has ended so there's time to chat and not be in the way. The restaurant has a place in my heart because I'm sure (though there's absolutely no proof) that it's somehow associated with the family of my old Country & Western dancing partner, Lynda Revetta, who passed away a few years ago. Oddly, Stefano continues to insist that Willie & Waylon would be inappropriate dining background music. Go figure.

This is one policy that distinguishes many European restaurants from ours: if you stand at the counter to order and consume something, it often costs less than if you sit down and order it through a waiter. This is a sensible plan for those in a hurry or who just want a small bite or drink and are OK with standing. The price differential is usually in the range of 1-3EU, so it's significant.

I'll be taking a short nap after writing this in preparation for visiting Harry's Bar, with its devastating Martinis. This is the original Harry's, the famous bar created by the famous Cipriani family, and reputedly where the Bellini (Proseco and pureed white peaches) was invented. If you don't know it, see their story here. Haven't had a Bellini? Everyone has to have at least one! But don't even think about making it without pureed white peaches. Harry's is where Ernest Hemmingway, Charlie Chaplin, Orson Welles, Hitchcock, and other members of the gliterati hung out, so it has a certain historical cache. In addition, the tux-wearing bartenders are a hoot – stylish, funny, suave, and really good at what they do. They almost make you forget you're paying 18.50EU for a tiny (but potent) martini.

The actual bar at Harry's is tiny, just six seats, and I have been lucky over the years to either find an available stool when I arrive or not wait too long for one. The people I've met there have also been interesting: last year it was a really nice older couple from Rio, who's son was attending school in Chicago, and who were here on their private yacht. I know I'm a little too old to be adopted but suggesting it to them crossed my mind. Well, as I said, it's always fun at Harry's.

[ Added the next morning: Something is seriously wrong in Venice. When I arrived at Harry's, not only were four of six bar stools empty (and remained that way) but several tables were unoccupied and there was no line to get it! This is something I've not seen in 8 years and a very disturbing sign of the times. The dour but eloquent bar tender gave me his take on it: people no longer seem to value the syle and legacy of the era that birthed Harry's (1930s-40s) and monster cruise ships flood the town with tourists but insist they all return by 6:00pm, killing the evening trade. His remedy? Everyone needs to watch Casa Blanca a few more times. My attentiveness to his pouring out his heart earned me an additional free Martini I really did not need but could hardly politely refuse. ]

Tomorrow (or today, depending on when I post this) I'll be bidding dear Venice farewell early, cruising away in the AliLaguna boat to the Marco Polo airport for my flight to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. It has been wondeful to be here again, and I think everyone should visit La Serrenisima at least once. Consult with me before you go. Tomorrow: Vive la France and pass the cheese!

A light rain is falling in Venice today. Just a mist that makes you get the umbrella out and then feel dumb carrying it. Until you see the passing wet heads and wonder why they didn't think to bring an umbrella.

Maybe it's the rain, or maybe the cruise ships have left (there's a sight: the juxtaposition of those mammoth ships and the lower Venetian skyline), or maybe the tourist season is just winding down, but activities are undeniably tamped down today. Walking down narrow lanes is easy, no dodging or elbowing, no choking crowds. Shop owners stand in their doorways, trolling for end-of-season customers, 20-50% sale signs are up, and the gondoliers sit idle. Venice heading into Winter repose?

The Nigerians who sell knock-offs are forced to stand, hooded black sentinels in this rain, holding their goods in their hands and arms – no sheet laid out on the ground as their shop window now. Perhaps the law has changed since my last visit – I don't recall seeing their spreads the last few good days, either, and there seem fewer of them than in years past; end of season or a sign of the Euro economic crisis? Hard to say.

The seats at Florian's and the other battling orchestra cafes on St. Mark's Plaza are empty in this weather, but the staffs in their tuxes squeegee water off the tables periodically anyway, idiot tourists still feed the hated pigeons (those “rats with wings”, as any former Manhattanite knows them to be), and the orchestras continue to play. No acqua alta (high water, when the storm drains back up at high tide) yet but the temporary walkways, stacked and ready, sit in the rain.

I have been thwarted in my quest to eat a highly-rated lunch at Taverna del Campiello Remer – after quite a bit of work finding it, trudging around narrow streets in the Cannaregio area, above the Rialto Bridge, I found it closed. Couldn't tell if that was just for today or permanently. Their web site is still up, at least.

So, I turned my wet feet back toward the Academia Bridge and the Dorsoduro area. With so little time here I have to make each meal count, which takes me to the Taverna San Trovaso. I found this gem through the wonderful Chow Venice book and have made it a regular stop ever since. This is a casual-dress tablecloth restaurant, with separate rooms upstairs for large groups and smaller ones downstairs. I noticed today that the small room I was in had copper air ducting running its length, so business must be good. The staff here is friendly and accomodating.

My lunch consisted of insalata mista (mixed salad), fresh bread, and penne pasta with tomato sauce, bacon, and onion, accompanied by a carafe of their nicely-chilled house cabernet. Everything was fresh and tasty and a delight to eat. As I dug into this feast, I reflected on the trouble Americans often have in European restaraunts: failure to understand the rhythm of the meal and the service. Here eating is not a sport or a fast-food prelude to whatever comes next; no, it's a time to sit and savor, enjoy, and relax. With that in mind, for example, it's only natural that the waiter will let you sit in peace for 10-15 minutes after finishing your meal before inquiring if you need anything else. This is where Americans often get antsy and claim the service is bad. “Check, bring the check, where's the check”? But the waiter thinks it would be rude to rush you, so he does not.

Many visitors are also suprised, when the check comes, to find the coperto charge on it. These two euros cover the cost of that basket of bread you received, and are obligatory. Even with it, my lovely hour-and-a-half lunch cost me only 20 euros, with tip, and it was worth every penny.

Watching others, I was reminded as I ate of my manners. My dear departed mother would probaby find some fault these days, as these things have gotten more casual in the world in general and in my practice. Does it really matter? Yes, it does. In the 1980s, I dated a beautiful chef who had trained in Paris and Rome. Our romance was in its early days when she came to my place to cook for me. I remember that her company and the meal were terrific, but I remember more clearly that for some reason she complimented me for keeping my left hand quietly in my lap throughout the meal! Two thoughts flashed through my mind then: “How lucky I am to be in love with a woman who appreciates the finer things”; and “Thanks, Mom, for telling me to get my elbow off the table so often”! Good advice then, good advice now.

For the techno-geeks out there, I'm using an a Nikon S620 digital camera, occasionally the iPhone camera, an iPad, and the Blogsy app to make these posts. I'm using direct USB from the Nikon to the iPad to transfer photos, and a nifty feature in iPhoto to “beam” photos from the iPhone to the iPad. I use an iPad carrying case (Kensington KeyFolio Pro2) which includes a nice, BlueTooth keyboard and props the iPad up like a laptop screen, which I highly recommend.

Given that the iPad is the perfect portable blogging device, it's disappointing that the process is not easier. The official WordPress iPad app doesn't work well. Blogsy, with its own flaws, is the best of several stinky alternatives I've tried. Inserting pictures, aligining them within the text, and controlling text flow are not as seamless as they should be, this many years into the web. I happen to know HTML (the underlying language used for these pages) by heart and am able to tweak things behind the scenes, but it must be awful for those who don't know it to try to get some control over their posts.

Whining over, last night was the “Cicchetti Crawl”, wherein I sampled the tapas-like Happy Hour offerings of several Venetian watering holes. It's a fun business, having a small glass of wine and one or two delicasies while standing at the bar, chatting with others, and then moving on, and it makes for an entertaining sit-down dinner alternative. Here are two pictures of the offerings at Bacaro Risorto, one of my favorite places to hang. My favorite cicchetti? The tempura'd zucchini flower, stuffed with an anchovy.

Bacaro Risorto is conveniently right next door to my hotel, Casa Fontana. I've stayed here for my last several visits to Venice and it's a nice hotel, run by a friendly and helpful family. It's located just south of San Marco Piazza so it's both easy to get to, and get away from, the touristy sites and hordes. I'm in Room 11 this trip, which is on the back and has its own balcony with chairs. It's a very nice treat to sit out there after a day of walking and relax with the view and a book.

Today, we have a bit of an overcast and I'm exploring a new place for lunch which is difficult to get to but reportedly worth the effort. Ciao for now!

Just a short post about yesterday, most of which was spent on the EuroCity 87 train, crossing from Germany into Austria and then down into Italy. The views were quite spectacular, and I've posted two pictures, but they do little justice to the reality. This has something to do with the sense of scale you get when you're standing, for instance, at the edge of the Grand Canyon, which is totally lost in a flat image. But at least you get the idea.

Nonetheless, the trip was a congenial, if long, six hours and two different sets of fellow passengers joined me in our comfortable, six-person, 1st class compartment

We arrived right on time at 6:10 pm at St. Lucia station in Venice, and I was lucky to exit the stazione ferroviaria (rail station), get a vaporetto (water bus) ticket, and then step right onto the #2, which swept around the west of Venice and down the Giudecca Canal. Dusk fell, the lights sparkled across the water, and the wind freshened up before a cold front. I love this part of arriving in Venice – riding the waves, the pas de deux of the pilot and conductor at each stop, the promise of exploring the island – and it always makes me smile. I disembarked at San Zaccaria and was soon checking in at my favorite Venetian hotel, Casa Fontana. And what a nice room Diego had waiting for me: double bed, beautiful tile flooring, private bath with shower, and best of all, a balcony with two chairs and a table, overlooking the piazza of the San Zaccaria church. Today: fine Italian food and wine!

 

With Oktoberfest in its last super-crowded days, I decided to see other parts of Munich. The popular Marienplatz is a central downtown area, lined with lots of shops and sights. The photo at left, below, is the “new” Town Hall, with the famous glockenspiel clock tower, where mechanical figures dance and whirl when the bells chime.

The equally famous and seemingly more popular Hofbrauhaus, at right, above, was swarmed with folks. The atmopshere inside was not unlike the Oktoberfest beer tents but, without the high ceiling and openness, it was infinitely louder inside and not as welcoming. But, I had to do my duty, so I had my necessary litre of Oktoberfest Marzen there. Tasty, yes, but not as fun as the tents.

The picture at the left shows a portion of a room off to the side of the main dining area where racks of padlocked mugs, belonging to Hofbrauhaus regulars, are stored. I wonder how many liters you have to down to earn this privilege?! Only about 1/3 of the total number of mugs is shown. There are also tables there that are designated for regulars, so you have to be mindful where you sit.

Sunday was a rainy day in Munich which made it perfect for going to BMW Welt, which means “BMW World”. To me, it was BMW Heaven. If you don't know it, I was the proud owner of a 1995 BMW 525i Sedan for a few years and miss it often. The area is home to BMW HQ and includes the BMW factory (sadly, no tours were on offer during my visit), the Welt (a sort of giant showroom), and the BMW Museum. The company also owns Mini Cooper and Rolls Royce, so they were represented in the cars on display in the Welt, too. This is also where those who elect to pick up their newly purchased BMW at the factory come to collect it (and get the VIP treatment) before driving off into the sunset.

The museum was filled with dozens of gorgeous BMW cars and motorcycles from throughout the company's nearly 100 year history. Race cars, vintage and new motorycles, beautiful coupes, convertibles, and sedans – all were on immaculate display. I have to say that my favorite was the Isetta (shown below) which BMW came to own when it bought an Italian automaker in 1955. It was the top-selling 1-cylinder car ever (yes, one cylinder). If you look closely, you'll see that the only “door” is the entire front of the car. Sadly, it's no longer made (because I know you want one).

I rode the U-Bahn train back to town and whiled away the rest of the afternoon, dodging the rain, at the Augustiner restaurant on the main drag near the Karlsplatz. I've had a great time here in Munich but look forward to my scenic train ride tomorrow over the Alps to one of Italy's best cities, Venice. See you there!

 

It's hard to convey just how glad I am that I have been to the mother of all beer festivals, Oktoberfest in Munich. I had a terrific time. Here's an analogy for my U.S. readers: imagine the Texas State Fair combined with Mardi Gras. Live in or around Washington, D.C.? Imagine a carnival, with rides, plus 100,000 seats for beer drinking, covering half the National Mall. Now there's a Folklife Festival for you!

It's all in the timing, apparently. I arrived at 10:30 am on the last Friday of the festival, and found a light crowd strolling the main drag. There were 14 major beer “tents” and maybe 25 smaller ones. The major tents are multi-story temporary structures which have canvas roofs but little else to distinguish themselves as tents (see the photo gallery I posted earlier). The biggest tents seat 9,000 people! And it's all taken down and then put back up next year. Covering 103 acres, in addition to the beer tents, the festival has a Ferris Wheel, several huge roller coasters, and every carnival ride, game, and food stand you can imagine (I never did figure out how to say “Funnel Cake” in German).

I've read some other blogs about Ocktoberfest, filled with complaints about things like not being able to find a WC (restroom). Just a touch of preparation might have prevented many of those problems. For example, the Tourist Info office right at the central Munich train station hands out free, detailed maps of the Oktoberfest grounds, with WCs, ATMs, amenties for the handicapped, etc. all clearly marked. Showing up at 5pm on the last Saturday of the festival is also a formula for a) being overwhelmed by the crowd and b) not getting into a beer tent. Because you have to get into a tent or its outside beer garden to drink.

And so, at 10:30 am I went into the Augustiner Festhalle tent. Basically, the big tents are run by major breweries and I wanted to try Augustiner because their Oktoberfest brew is still stored in 200-year old wooden kegs and is highly-rated. I had no problem getting a seat. Tables can be reserved for parties of 10 or more, but most reservations don't kick-in until 4:00 pm. This seems to be little known secret, as many people bypassed tables with reserved signs on them that they could easily have sat down at. Some tents, like Augustiner, actually have areas of tables that are marked “Here is Open Seating”, which is where I sat.

Some basic Oktoberfest economics: when you reserve a table you guarantee to pay for at least two beers and a half-chicken for each reserved seat. If some of your party doesn't show up, you're still on the hook for the total amount and you'll haul in anyone who looks tolerable to fill the vacant seats. The servers actually buy the food and drink for each order (at wholesale, I'm sure) from the tent owner and then sell it to you at the posted prices. So they have a vested interest in getting as many butts into seats as possible, and will often help you find a seat if you ask.

I sat down at a table with three young Germans who waved me in. Tables have benches on either side, with no backs, so you're rubbing spines with the person at the table behind you. In no time at all, I was drinking my first “mass” or 1-litre (33 oz.) beer. That was the one and only size I saw, and it was tasty. To be designated an Oktoberfest beer, the brew must comform to the Rheinheitsgebot or “purity law” (brewed using only water, barley, and hops) and be about 6% ABV. It also has to be brewed within the Munich city limits.

My initial cold, heady stein of Augustiner was golden amber, with a light, slightly malty taste and a very light hoppy finish. It was smooth, very satisfying, and possibly fatally easy to drink. I took my time with it.

The crowd to me appeared to be 80% under 30 and easily 50% wore the traditional checked-shirt and lederhosen (men) or dirndl dress (women), and the occasional short-shorts lederhosen (hotties). In many cases “dirndl” seemed to be translated as “cleavage”. There were a lot of good-looking women, to be sure. Traditional and goofy hats abounded.

By 11:30 am the place was filling up and so were the festival goers. Occassionally someone would stand up on their bench (benches are OK, but not on table tops) and chug a stein, accompanied quickly by cheering, clapping, and pounding on tables for all corners, followed by a huge cheer when the empty stein was brandished above. Occasionally a competition between two chuggers would break out. Then again, when one fellow got the crowd going but failed to finish his stein off, oh, the booing and hissing were huge!! It's not smart to taunt the crowd!

Reasons for taking a drink were many and varied. Recognizing an old friend? Drink! Finding countrymen at the adjacent table? Drink! Someone from your table coming back from the WC? Drink! And this was BEFORE noon, when the band started playing, pouring forth endless German songs that demanded that you stand, cheer, and drink, drink, drink at the end! Who knew these Bavarians could be so much fun?

I finally finished my first stein and ordered half a roasted chicken with my second one. Must get that protein in (as if beer doesn't contain any). In typical European fashion, when you order chicken, you get chicken. And nothing else: no sides, no condiments, nothing. Still, it was seasoned nicely and hit the spot.

Speaking of countrymen, at my table we wound up with two Japanese students, five young Germans, and me. The next table over was an entire group of American guys and girls studying in Rome. In front of us, a full troupe of hilarious young German men (students, I would guess) dressed in matching shirts and lederhosen and having a ball – they were really entertaining.

At 1:00 with what I thought was my full day's quota of beer under my belt (it's good to have a plan… and not to worry too much if things don't go to plan) I spent an hour strolling around the festival grounds, buying a souvenir or two and sampling some small foods and sweets. The grounds were a lot more crowded but still easily navigable; lots of families with small children, strollers, etc. in the mix now.

At 2:00 I strolled into the Paulaner Festhalle tent and now, as a seasoned seat-finding pro, sat right down with a group of Italian and German youngsters. My third litre of beer of the day was a revelation: lightly sweet, with a citrus, malt and faintly raisin taste. Wow – it was really good! Again, an extremely smooth finish in the mouth and fatally drinkable.

The Paulaner tent was jammed and the 12-piece band, on a raised dias in the center of the room, complete with a rocking horn section (and sax-playing fraulein), cranked through endless German tunes and lots of American frat-party classics. I'm talking about the Rhino records stuff, like Shout!, Wooly Bully, and Gimme Some Lovin' (gad – will that Spencer Davis hit never die?!). The crowd loved it. The folks at my table left and their places were soon taken by the arrival, along with my fourth litre, of a group of middle-aged Italian men, who I quickly figured out were from Venice. One is a gondalier and, as I headed there Monday, it was fun talking with some of the Venetian locals. When they were trying to guess my nationality, they tossed out “Harley-Davidson” and were soon on to me. We sang, we drank, we stood, we cheered.

It's always interesting to observe the group dynamics in these situations. There's always one “class clown” who, if not in command, is at least intent on creating fun. This person will be loud, may be rude, will take risks, and gets everyone laughing. I saw this in many groups of men and certainly in the Venetians. I guess it takes one to recognize one.

At 4:00 we were kicked out of our table so it could be available for those who reserved it and we said our goodbyes. The place was really packed and getting to the tent's huge WC through the crowd took a lot of work. I finally escaped outside to the midway where I discovered the crowd had grown to almost gridlock, too. I parked myself in a good location and people-watched for a while and noticed other odd bits. Did you know they sell bratwurst by the meter? Yes, apparently you can buy .25, .5 and 1-meter of it, on a bun, ready to eat.

Well, I was feeling pretty lively then but was saved by the fact that I was broke (1 beer = 9.6 euros, chicken = 9.7 euros, souvenirs, postcards, stamps, etc. cash only, please) and probably couldn't have gotten into any tents, all of which had now sprouted long entry lines, anyway. So at 5:00 pm I headed back to my hotel. I was clearly intoxicated (let's see: 4 x 33 = 132 oz. / 16 oz. = 8.25 Mad Fox pints at 6%) but having spread them out throughout the day, I was in good shape and slept well without any serious after effects. Let's not talk about gross calorie intake, please.

I went back to the festgrounds this morning to mail some postcards there so they'd get the official Oktoberfest stamp cancellation. Today is the next to last day of the festival and, at 10:30 am, the crowd was as big as it was at 5:00 yesterday. Good golly, I can't image what it will be like tonight. The tents are open until around midnight and I'm sure they'll be rockin'. My visit was a great experience and I recommend it to you!