*When I sat down to write this post, I had no idea how long it would be. As I do have a number of things to do, including writing a thesis, I have to write up the story in two parts. Here is part one. The second will come as soon as I can post it.*
If you're planning on having an emotional/physical breakdown, I do not recommend the Frankfurt-Hahn airport.
Let me try to explain in as much detail as possible my Oktoberfest trip in order to make the previous claim more sensible. Prior to this trip, I had always wanted to go to Oktoberfest. Call it one of the burning desires in life. I am a big beer drinker. I love everything about it. I love its taste, I love its smell, I love the way it can make you feel in moderate doses, and I love the way it can bind together a group of people into harmonious bliss unlike any other drink or substance. Take copious amounts of the stuff, toss in tilt-a-whirls, lederhosen, pretzels, half-chickens, and put in a beautiful and vibrant city as a backdrop, multiply it by ten, and you have Oktoberfest. It can be beautiful, and it can be evil. It's up to you to decide how that power will be wielded.
My trip began several weeks before the actual event in Tartu with two like-minded friends. First there was Max. Max is another American who studies in the same program as myself. In what I will forever refer to as "The Oktoberfest Incident," I consider Max to be an accessory to the crime. He definitely wanted to go to Oktoberfest, but I think he mostly wanted to go just to say that he went. A few beers, some laughs, nothing more. The real culprit is Ali, my platonic soul-mate from Alaska. Once, when drunk, Ali and I were trying to describe our friendship. She broke it down into the most correct assessment of a friendship that I have ever heard: "We are the same kind of monster."
After having casually mentioned that Oktoberfest was on my lifelong To-Do List, Ali set to work with an intensity that is almost scary. Despite being very late in the game, she had found us a cheap tent set in the old Munich Olympic grounds, just outside the city. In order to make the cost even cheaper, we went after Max hard and fast. Fortunately, he was easy to persuade. We tried to find a fourth, but everyone else in Tartu looked at us like we were insane. In retrospect, we most definitely were, but that was not going to stop us. The next step was finding a cheap flight, which Ali again found with lightning speed. She managed to find empty seats on a flight from Riga, Latvia to Frankfurt-Hahn with Ryan Air early on a Friday morning, giving us maximum time to make the most of our trip. With a leaky nylon roof to sleep under and a budget plane to get us to Germany, we needed a way to get from Frankfurt-Hahn to Munich, since it's several hour drive. Max took this particular task, and managed to reserve a hatchback with an automatic gearbox (none of us drive stick; I didn't even have a license, as my previous one expired in July) for a very reasonable price. Things were coming together.
Plans for the trip had shaped up surprisingly quickly, but the week before we set off, we realized there was a snag. The trip from Riga was set for early in the morning, but the bus from Tartu to Riga would have gotten us to the bus station there with only 30 minutes to spare. That was not enough time for us to get to the airport and get checked in. We needed a Plan B. With Max and Ali already handling their share of the adventure, it was my time to shine. With the swiftness of Mercury (I may be exaggerating, but go with it) I found an alternative bus line which almost nobody in Tartu knew about, putting us in Riga on Thursday evening. I also managed to find accommodations at a reasonably priced hostel for the night. With all tickets booked and reservations set, we spent all week pumping ourselves up for the trip. Ali drank less beer to lower her tolerance (I laughed at this) and the three of us watched "Beerfest" with anticipation. From here, I will break the trip down on a day-by-day basis:
Thursday: The excitement was building. After our morning classes, we spent the afternoon preparing for the journey. After packing, I went to a local store and bought a package of blank CDs for Max to make a driving mix. Several weeks before, we had thrown a 90s dance party, with Max acting as DJ. Having blown everyone away with his fantastic song choices, we wanted to relive the experience, only this time in a hatchback cruising down the Autobahn. Around 6pm, Max and I took the ten minute walk to the bus station. With about five minutes left, Ali showed up and jumped on the bus. We were off!
The trip to Riga was uneventful. It was about four hours, and each of us prepared for the upcoming adventure in our own ways. Max slept, Ali watched the on-board entertainment (music videos from the late 80s-early 90s), and I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Eventually we made it to Riga, and after a few minutes of searching, we managed to make it to our hostel.
Now, I need to make it clear that one of the beauties and one of the frustrations of international travel is anonymity. I love the feeling of being in a crowded square, completely oblivious to the bustle of unknown language around me, taking in the sights and smells and the general vibe of the natives. In those moments, I like to be completely unknown, completely unobserved. But just try to get anything done and it becomes one hell of a hassle. So when that anonymity is unexpectedly shattered, there is a momentary shock. You ask yourself, "Is this good, or am I in trouble?" This is serious introspection time.
Why does this matter? As I said, we finally found our hostel, a shabby gray building located on the fringe of the Old Town. As we walked into the lobby/pub, a drunken Irishmen staggered up to me, grabbed me on the shoulder, and looked me in the eye. Using his beer-holding hand, he pointed at the center of my chest and said, "You mus' be Kyle."
I was freaked out. A number of questions popped into my mind, chief among them, "Why does this drunken Irishman know who I am?" As it turned out, this was not the beginning of a horror movie. Actually, it was just damn good customer service. The gentleman sat us at one of the three tables, served us each a complimentary pint of beer, and checked us in. Fears allayed for the time being, we stowed our bags under our bunks and walked out into Riga's Old Town, in search of a few beers before turning in.
To Be Continued....
No comments:
Post a Comment