The first warning signs that Oktoberfest is about to begin, as it will this weekend, come not from advertising for Germany’s biggest Volksfest, but from the myriad articles declaring an increase in the price of a Maß. Annually, and without fail, Germany’s media take it upon themselves to remind their readers that inflation not only exists, but it’s gunning for the price of Festbier. This year, like many years, the price ceiling had been broken again, with a litre of beer costing €15 in many of the beer tents across the Wiesn.

Most years I read these articles with a dispassionate shrug. Though I live in Bavaria, and relatively close to Munich, the excitement that surrounds Oktoberfest usually passes me by. Residing in a small village outside of Augsburg, and with two small children to look after, the celebrations in the state capital are rather more a spectator sport for me and the family. We may see the crowds heading to the train station, or catch revellers returning home, but we aren’t really a part of it.

We were once among those massed ranks of Lederhosen and Dirndl wearers, but that was a decade ago, and going by reports in the news, roughly €6 cheaper. We could go of course, it’s not as if families are unwelcome, but the willpower required to wrestle a toddler and a 4-year-old into the car for a day trip to a glorified piss-up feels more than either my wife or I are capable of. It also seems rather pointless, after all, we do have Volksfeste at home.

Well, not home exactly, but four streets away. Every city, town, and village in Bavaria, if not the whole country, has some form of Volksfest event scheduled in the calendar. Our village has an annual event, which is obviously far smaller than the one that’s about to begin in Munich, but if we desperately want to sit in a crowded beer tent, we could head to the Augsburg Plärrer, which we did a few weeks ago. Though less well known, these events follow a similar fashion to Oktoberfest, which seemingly has set the standard for Feste since its inception 214 years ago.

Originally conceived as a one-off celebration for the wedding of Ludwig I of Bavaria to Therese of Saxe-Hildburghausen in 1810, Oktoberfest continues to be celebrated to this day - which essentially makes it the longest running wedding reception in history. Though the Bavarian monarchy is now defunct, they have left in their stead something people from around the world can enjoy, as long as they can book a table.

This last point is another reason for us not to bother. Getting a table is no easy feat, with many being booked months if not a year in advance. The idea of arriving at the Festplatz in Munich, struggling through the inevitable throng of other visitors, only to find ourselves standing in a beer tent without anywhere to sit, well, that sounds something close to hell in my book. Sure I could get some beer to take the edge off, but as I’ve found since becoming a Dad, trying to maintain a healthy beer buzz, while also ensuring your children don’t inadvertently kill themselves, is a bit of a mood killer.

That doesn’t mean I don’t get a certain itch when I realise festivities are about to begin in Munich. Though it’s become somewhat popular to tear down the mighty shibboleth that is Oktoberfest, something I’ve contributed to in the past I’ll admit, a part of me craves a visit, to stand on a swaying beer bench, sing songs I only half understand, and mortgage my house for several litres of glorious beer. There’s an undeniable magic to the Wiesn, as with many events that bring so many people together in one place. Roughly 6 million regularly visit Oktoberfest every year, drinking approximately 6.5 million litres of beer in the process. Seeing that in itself is surely worth the price of entry.

The thing is, that isn’t the only price being paid at Oktoberfest. There are costs to the event, only some of which are covered with money. For a start there’s the carnage that comes with any event that centres on drinking. I’ve seen with my own eyes the devastation that is left in the wake of Oktoberfest. There’s the public urination to consider, waste bins full of vomit to be avoided, and the bodies of those unfortunate inebriates strewn around the tree lined edges of the Theresienwiese to be carefully stepped over. These are not the scenes promoted in the marketing materials for Oktoberfest, but they are there, they’re always there, and they rarely add to the fun being had.

There’s also a far darker side to Oktoberfest, one that is only recently becoming a focus of national attention. Sexual assaults are a depressingly regular feature, and certainly since the pandemic, a wider reported aspect to Munich’s annual festival. According to reports, groping is rife, with men assuming that this is simply a feature of the event itself. Safe spaces have been in operation since 2003, and have grown from a mere caravan 23 years ago, to fully fledged service across the event, with members of the Safe Wiesn Project more visible than ever before. As Manuela Soller, one of the full-time organisers of the project stated in a interview with RND last year, sexual violence “happens practically every day” and that “it is often the case that when a girl or woman is alone and helpless, a dangerous situation can arise”. A total of around 70 women are involved in the project, and 14 employees, along with psychologists, deal with inquiries each evening.

Though there has been a shift in attitudes to some extent, there is a feeling that Oktoberfest has an overly sexualised atmosphere, from the depictions of women on the artwork of the fairground rides, to the phrases printed on the ubiquitous Lebkuchenherz sold on stalls across the Wiesn. Part of the problem has been cultural, with organisers preferring to ignore the issue of sexual assault as it shines a negative light on proceedings. The cowardice of this attitude is hard to ignore, but as Manuela Soller points out, Safe Spaces are now an accepted part of Oktoberfest, not only to support victims, but somewhere for women to seek support with other problems, such as finding lost friends or simply charging a dead phone.

One thing Soller notes is that foreign visitors in particular might not be aware of this side of things. She points out that basic planning can help, having all your belongings with you wherever you go, being aware that leaving a beer tent doesn’t mean you’ll get back in, and always making sure your phone battery is charged. As Soller notes, it’s dispiriting that women are charged with taking responsibility for the actions of perpetrators, for protecting themselves instead of being able to enjoy a fun night out, but this too is something the project is fighting back against.

Another point that should be remembered, especially for those visitors from other countries, is that this year will be the first Oktoberfest following the partial legalisation of Cannabis. Despite the liberalisation of the law, cannabis will still be verboten across the Theresienwiese, with massive fines in place for those foolhardy enough to try. What impact this will have is anyone’s guess, but I’m fully expecting there to be a number of reports about the prevalence of weed at Oktoberfest. Whether right or wrong, the ban is clearly there to protect the breweries bottom line, since I suspect those who would like to enjoy a little of the old electric lettuce will be less inclined to drink as much as the non-smokers in attendance.

There are plenty of reasons to avoid Oktoberfest, I’ll freely admit, but I’m still hoping I might at least find myself there at some point over the next month. How I’ll manage it, I have no idea, but should you be there, and you happen to hear a Geordie baritone belting out “Sweet Caroline”, just know that a miracle has occurred, and I’ve found my way back to the Wiesn.

Image Credit
Photo by Daniel Schludi on Unsplash
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Photo by Kimia on Unsplash
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