“Known for compelling contradictions,.. however, its notoriety has originated more from assassinations, corruption and decrepitude.” Palermo, Italy, Lonely Planet 2007.
Kelly and I arrived in Palermo with no travel books, no maps and no plans other than to spend the week in Italy traveling from Sicily up to the Amalfi Coast and ending up in Rome the following weekend. Had we bought a travel book prior to the trip, we would not have chosen to go to Palermo.
Faced with no clue where we were, we asked the front reception of our hotel for a map and suggestions as to what to see. We were told about a couple of streets that had good shopping, one with a market and two streets to stay away from (however no street names were given, just simply “you will know that you shouldn’t be there”). Apparently we didn’t know though, because twenty minutes later we ended up exactly where we shouldn’t be: down a small deserted alley with garbage dumpsters, stray dogs, a man selling used suitcases and a truck coming at us so large that both the truck and us would not fit in the alley at the same time. “Luckily” the truck hit the side of building while trying to make a turn and we escaped.
After finding our way out of the ghetto and at a “garden” (I use that term loosely) the reception had told us about, we decided to congratulate ourselves with a beer. We picked the least scary looking bar, grabbed a beer and sat outside to enjoy the scenery (which consisted of a busy street/borderline freeway and the docks). To illustrate the type of fine establishment we were in, I experienced first hand the worst bathroom of my entire life: no lights, no windows and no toilet paper…yup I had to go pee in the dark using nothing but my cell phone for light. I kept on waiting for a large bug or rat to come out and attack me.
From the bar we went to check the ferry times to Naples for the following day, only to find out that the ferry leaves every night at 8pm. We bought our ticket at that moment for the ferry out that night. We had seen enough of Palermo. Of course after we bought the ticket we found a cute part of town just two blocks from our hotel in the opposite direction the receptionist told us to go.
It didn’t matter though, we grabbed our belongings, hailed a cab and hopped on the overnight ferry to Naples, with the dog from the ghetto showing up to give us a proper send off.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Positano – Day 1
We arrived in Naples the following morning and were greeted by our friend the stray dog’s mangy cousin. We walked off the ferry and found ourselves in the industrial part of town and somehow managed to find the bus station a few hundred meters away. The bus for Positano didn’t leave for two hours so we left our bags with the station attendant in the janitors closet (please keep this in mind when reading the following story about our second time to Naples, all I can say is janitors closet) and headed across the wharf to the bar for a coffee and breakfast.
We must have been the first American and/or girls to set foot inside the establishment based on the stares and finally, warm welcome we received. We felt in our element, what with the two of us hanging out with 15 Italian dock workers who spoke no English in a tiny café the size of my closet, standing up drinking our coffee and eating croissants.
Back at the bus stop we grabbed our stuff and headed outside to wait for the bus. To ensure we didn’t miss it Kelly and I sat down on our luggage in front of a parked bus and in plain view of all arriving buses. (Well, I sat on my luggage, Kelly somehow missed her bag and ended up on the ground, resulting in a less than graceful spread eagle) When the time came for our departure however, we still didn’t see our bus. At the same time the bus behind us had started up so we decided to get out of its way and thankfully Kelly looked in the window and realized we had been sitting in front of our bus the entire time. Whoops!
The bus ride was about 2 ½ hours and took us along the coast line of Italy. We arrived in Positano to find a cute fishing village which had grown significantly due to tourism, a great hotel room and a balcony with the most amazing views of the town and ocean. Finally, we could relax and enjoy our trip. We spent the day exploring the city and finished off the evening with a bottle of wine on our balcony and a great dinner in town.
We must have been the first American and/or girls to set foot inside the establishment based on the stares and finally, warm welcome we received. We felt in our element, what with the two of us hanging out with 15 Italian dock workers who spoke no English in a tiny café the size of my closet, standing up drinking our coffee and eating croissants.
Back at the bus stop we grabbed our stuff and headed outside to wait for the bus. To ensure we didn’t miss it Kelly and I sat down on our luggage in front of a parked bus and in plain view of all arriving buses. (Well, I sat on my luggage, Kelly somehow missed her bag and ended up on the ground, resulting in a less than graceful spread eagle) When the time came for our departure however, we still didn’t see our bus. At the same time the bus behind us had started up so we decided to get out of its way and thankfully Kelly looked in the window and realized we had been sitting in front of our bus the entire time. Whoops!
The bus ride was about 2 ½ hours and took us along the coast line of Italy. We arrived in Positano to find a cute fishing village which had grown significantly due to tourism, a great hotel room and a balcony with the most amazing views of the town and ocean. Finally, we could relax and enjoy our trip. We spent the day exploring the city and finished off the evening with a bottle of wine on our balcony and a great dinner in town.
Positano – Day 2
Since the first day in Positano was absolutely beautiful, we were planning on spending the entire day on the beach doing nothing. Of course, with a plan like that, it had to rain. So, to make the best of the weather, Kelly and I went shopping and then headed to Hotel Poseidon for massages. We felt we needed to treat ourselves after Palermo. Now, I am consider myself pretty experienced in massages and typically know the drill and what to expect …apparently the Italians do things a bit differently. I left the massage feeling a little uncomfortable, a bit violated, and definitely confused. Kelly didn’t have quite the experience, however she did wake up alone in the room, unsure where she was, what had happened and how long she had been asleep. Aren’t you at least suppose to be taken to dinner first?!
The day and entire trip did show signs of promise later that night though. Kelly and I again had a bottle of wine on the balcony along with some snacks (olives, crackers, etc) so we weren’t entirely hungry for dinner. Earlier that day we had noticed that Hotel Poseidon had live music that night in the bar, so we headed there for some piano lounge/bar music. The evening turned into the best girl date ever. We sat outside by the pool, in comfy chairs drinking grappa, eating free snacks and listening to the pianist who would play any song we requested. To make the evening even more magical, the hotel owner’s dog (a cute border collie) hung out with us all night. It turns out the owner was single but out of town… I left Kelly’s number with the waiter in hopes of them falling hopelessly in love and having their wedding in Positano at the hotel. I, of course, would be not only invited, but honored during the ceremony.
But of course, like the rest of the trip, the good luck could only last so long…While Kelly was biting into a piece of bruschetta, her veneer on her front tooth popped off leaving her smile less than camera worthy. Thankfully the veneer itself didn’t break and could hopefully be fixed the next morning. She put it back in (although temporarily) and we headed home. Avoiding disaster was not over yet though. While Kelly was washing her face and I was brushing my teeth, the veneer somehow feel out again, but this time it went down the sink drain. Yes, the situation went from fixable to almost impossible.
But somehow we again managed to pull through. We plugged the sink immediately and the following morning asked the old handy man who ran the hotel maintenance to undo the pipes. After shaking the pipe for about five minutes, the veneer finally came out, and the situation was momentarily saved.
The day and entire trip did show signs of promise later that night though. Kelly and I again had a bottle of wine on the balcony along with some snacks (olives, crackers, etc) so we weren’t entirely hungry for dinner. Earlier that day we had noticed that Hotel Poseidon had live music that night in the bar, so we headed there for some piano lounge/bar music. The evening turned into the best girl date ever. We sat outside by the pool, in comfy chairs drinking grappa, eating free snacks and listening to the pianist who would play any song we requested. To make the evening even more magical, the hotel owner’s dog (a cute border collie) hung out with us all night. It turns out the owner was single but out of town… I left Kelly’s number with the waiter in hopes of them falling hopelessly in love and having their wedding in Positano at the hotel. I, of course, would be not only invited, but honored during the ceremony.
But of course, like the rest of the trip, the good luck could only last so long…While Kelly was biting into a piece of bruschetta, her veneer on her front tooth popped off leaving her smile less than camera worthy. Thankfully the veneer itself didn’t break and could hopefully be fixed the next morning. She put it back in (although temporarily) and we headed home. Avoiding disaster was not over yet though. While Kelly was washing her face and I was brushing my teeth, the veneer somehow feel out again, but this time it went down the sink drain. Yes, the situation went from fixable to almost impossible.
But somehow we again managed to pull through. We plugged the sink immediately and the following morning asked the old handy man who ran the hotel maintenance to undo the pipes. After shaking the pipe for about five minutes, the veneer finally came out, and the situation was momentarily saved.
Capri
The following morning we had planned on taking the ferry to Capri for the night, however we first needed to find a dentist to get Kelly fixed and camera ready. Although we had seen three dentist offices in Positano, none of them apparently work on Thursdays. We did find a dentist in Sorrento that could see Kelly that afternoon. While Kelly was working out the dentist situation I made friends with a Londoner (who we fondly referred to as “Mugby”) who had spent four nights in the same hotel as us and was previously in Naples which he absolutely loved (although I am not sure why based on what I had heard, read and seen).
Based on the ferry schedules, our luggage and timing, we took the ferry to Capri to check into the hotel and were then planning on taking another ferry to Sorrento. Thankfully upon arrival in Capri and talking with a pharmacist, we located a dentist on Capri who could see Kelly that afternoon. His name was Dr. Mercato and all we had was a phone number and the fact that he was located in Ana Capri just up the hill from our hotel.
Those were just minor details though, as it appeared the entire island knew Dr. Mercato. We set off up the hill to Capri to explore and then off to Anacapri for the dentist. We had to ask about 5 different people for directions to his office (which again, we didn’t have an address, just a name) but they all smiled, exclaimed “Ah! Dr. Mercato! Of course, he is just down that way”. His office was located on a small beautiful pedestrian street with trees lining both sides so densely that the sun barely shone. We buzzed the office from the front gate and were let into a beautiful traditional Italian estate (or least what I would imagine a traditional Italian estate to look like).
While I didn’t get to see the inside of the main house, the office, was rather nice and although Kelly had to loose a tooth I was happy to actually see a home in Italy.
Dr. Mercato was able to fix Kelly up in 20 minutes, no paper work and for 30 Euros. Italy’s health care at its finest.
Based on the ferry schedules, our luggage and timing, we took the ferry to Capri to check into the hotel and were then planning on taking another ferry to Sorrento. Thankfully upon arrival in Capri and talking with a pharmacist, we located a dentist on Capri who could see Kelly that afternoon. His name was Dr. Mercato and all we had was a phone number and the fact that he was located in Ana Capri just up the hill from our hotel.
Those were just minor details though, as it appeared the entire island knew Dr. Mercato. We set off up the hill to Capri to explore and then off to Anacapri for the dentist. We had to ask about 5 different people for directions to his office (which again, we didn’t have an address, just a name) but they all smiled, exclaimed “Ah! Dr. Mercato! Of course, he is just down that way”. His office was located on a small beautiful pedestrian street with trees lining both sides so densely that the sun barely shone. We buzzed the office from the front gate and were let into a beautiful traditional Italian estate (or least what I would imagine a traditional Italian estate to look like).
While I didn’t get to see the inside of the main house, the office, was rather nice and although Kelly had to loose a tooth I was happy to actually see a home in Italy.
Dr. Mercato was able to fix Kelly up in 20 minutes, no paper work and for 30 Euros. Italy’s health care at its finest.
Naples...Oh how I despise you!
Once again we found ourselves on yet another ferry to Naples Friday morning where we were to then catch a train to Rome. The ferry was uneventful, and I wish I could say the same about the rest of the day. Things went down hill quickly. We landed in the touristy port of Naples (a stark contrast to the industrial port we had landed just days prior) and grabbed a quick breakfast and some America magazines. The magazines would be my last purchase of the trip.
We hopped on the tram that would take us to train station, apparently 20 minutes away. The tram was incredibly packed and Kelly and I were trying to keep an eye on all of our belongings without knocking over the old Italians. About 5 minutes into the tram ride, a woman next to me taps me on my arm and says “you might want to be careful, someone just had their hand in your purse” I got a little worried, but the purse was practically zipped up, I had a sweatshirt inside it and can never find anything in it when I am looking. But she insisted on my checking…and of course, my wallet was gone. I had officially gotten pick-pocketed. And this is of course right after Kelly and I had discussed how careful we normal are when traveling. Unfortunately, this time, I hadn’t taken any precautions. All of my money, credit cards and information were gone. I did thankfully still have my passport, cell phone and camera.
I was obviously shaken up by the experience, but at the same time I was thoroughly impressed by the skill of these street criminals. To add salt to the wounds though, the woman who initially alerted me (but evaded the question as to why she didn’t stop it) proceeded to tell the entire tram what had happened, gesturing wildly, pointing in my direction and telling everyone she had seen it happen.
But of course my bad luck didn’t end there…5 minutes before the train station, a young man standing next to me ended up puking all over the wall behind me, spraying yack everywhere and onto me; once at the train station I went to the police booth to report the incident and they told me they couldn’t help, I had to go to a different police station (apparently they were only pretend cops); and finally we were stuck in a 6 person train cabin with a loud Italian grandmother who knew everyone and told everyone that we were “Indiano” and from “New Jersey” (I guess that is why the tickets were so cheap).
I was ready to get the hell out of dodge and on to Rome. Of course there was still a two hour train ride, phone calls to cancel my credit cards (a BIG THANK YOU to Greg for looking up all of those phone numbers for me while translating what the annoying Italian grandmother was saying), and assessment of available money.
We hopped on the tram that would take us to train station, apparently 20 minutes away. The tram was incredibly packed and Kelly and I were trying to keep an eye on all of our belongings without knocking over the old Italians. About 5 minutes into the tram ride, a woman next to me taps me on my arm and says “you might want to be careful, someone just had their hand in your purse” I got a little worried, but the purse was practically zipped up, I had a sweatshirt inside it and can never find anything in it when I am looking. But she insisted on my checking…and of course, my wallet was gone. I had officially gotten pick-pocketed. And this is of course right after Kelly and I had discussed how careful we normal are when traveling. Unfortunately, this time, I hadn’t taken any precautions. All of my money, credit cards and information were gone. I did thankfully still have my passport, cell phone and camera.
I was obviously shaken up by the experience, but at the same time I was thoroughly impressed by the skill of these street criminals. To add salt to the wounds though, the woman who initially alerted me (but evaded the question as to why she didn’t stop it) proceeded to tell the entire tram what had happened, gesturing wildly, pointing in my direction and telling everyone she had seen it happen.
But of course my bad luck didn’t end there…5 minutes before the train station, a young man standing next to me ended up puking all over the wall behind me, spraying yack everywhere and onto me; once at the train station I went to the police booth to report the incident and they told me they couldn’t help, I had to go to a different police station (apparently they were only pretend cops); and finally we were stuck in a 6 person train cabin with a loud Italian grandmother who knew everyone and told everyone that we were “Indiano” and from “New Jersey” (I guess that is why the tickets were so cheap).
I was ready to get the hell out of dodge and on to Rome. Of course there was still a two hour train ride, phone calls to cancel my credit cards (a BIG THANK YOU to Greg for looking up all of those phone numbers for me while translating what the annoying Italian grandmother was saying), and assessment of available money.
When in Rome...
One word…Roberto! Roberto our man, who checked us into our “hotel” room (more accurately described as a rented room in an apartment building, a man who embraces all things Roman. Roberto was our welcoming committee upon arrival in Rome. And a much needed welcome from the troubles in Naples (which surprisingly occurred in a time span of about 1 hour).
I LOVE ROME! I have always had a romantic vision of Italy, the food, the people, the culture, but up until Rome, I was beginning to doubt my true feeling of the country. Rome turned everything around.
We spent Friday afternoon sightseeing which consisted of checking out the Coliseum (right by our hotel) walking past the Spanish Steps and embarking on a mission to find a McDonalds. After a week of Italian food, Kelly just wanted a fish filet. The mission turned into a 30 minute war path, where I got to check out more sights (like the Fountain de Trivoli) while Kelly asked everyone in her path where the closest McDonald’s was. The problem was that there were signs everywhere saying McDonalds 500m right or 10m straight ahead, but the exact location always evaded us. I must say, those chickens nuggets had the sweet taste of victory for finally locating one.
Friday night we decided to keep it mellow, especially since we were enjoying the post McDonalds high. So we had a mellow “SF night” with the tradition Pub Crawl which consisted of me, Kelly and drinks at the following bars, in order: Trinity College, Bulldog Inn, Big Apple, Abbey Theatre, Bar de Cruce, no name bar, and Jonathon’s Angels (with the weirdest bathroom I have ever seen – think bath tube behind gates with Christmas lights, mannequins and no toilet).
Somewhere along the pub crawl we (I mean Kelly) picked up another fellow American from DC named Bobert (or Robert as he likes to go by). While Bobert might have been originally stoked to hang out with two fun American girls, I am sure his thoughts quickly changed. With nothing in our stomach but the grease from McDonald’s, Kelly and I drank enough to satisfy the thirst of the Irish Rugby team. We ended up in Bobert’s hotel room after all of the bars closed, raided his mini bar, stole his magazines and I spent an entire hour taking artistic photos of the chandelier.
I woke the following morning at 8 (after we passed out at Boberts at 4) to Kelly suggesting we head directly to the Vatican City. Now while I am not the most religious person, I can pretty much guarantee you aren’t suppose to see the pope drunk wearing clothes from the previous evening. So I ignored the request and went back to bed. We finally stumbled home to our apartment at 10 and after trying three different buildings figured out exactly what apartment building was ours. Good thing we didn’t try to find it the previous night!
Saturday turned out to be worthless. We pulled ourselves together for lunch at an Indian restaurant, slept through the afternoon, missed the open hours of Vatican city, watched an organized protest parade that lasted three hours and went past our window and then headed out for dinner and Rugby World Cup. But then again, "when in Rome..." and I think we accomplished that, because really how often do the Romans go see the pope and all of the numerous statutes. I can tell you that the Romans drink, which is why we did is as well.
We left the following morning on different flights with fond but jaded memories of Italy and trying to figure out what had happened the entire previous week. I am not sure I ever have or ever will have again a trip quiet like this one, but I will always remember it with a smile and laugh.
I LOVE ROME! I have always had a romantic vision of Italy, the food, the people, the culture, but up until Rome, I was beginning to doubt my true feeling of the country. Rome turned everything around.
We spent Friday afternoon sightseeing which consisted of checking out the Coliseum (right by our hotel) walking past the Spanish Steps and embarking on a mission to find a McDonalds. After a week of Italian food, Kelly just wanted a fish filet. The mission turned into a 30 minute war path, where I got to check out more sights (like the Fountain de Trivoli) while Kelly asked everyone in her path where the closest McDonald’s was. The problem was that there were signs everywhere saying McDonalds 500m right or 10m straight ahead, but the exact location always evaded us. I must say, those chickens nuggets had the sweet taste of victory for finally locating one.
Friday night we decided to keep it mellow, especially since we were enjoying the post McDonalds high. So we had a mellow “SF night” with the tradition Pub Crawl which consisted of me, Kelly and drinks at the following bars, in order: Trinity College, Bulldog Inn, Big Apple, Abbey Theatre, Bar de Cruce, no name bar, and Jonathon’s Angels (with the weirdest bathroom I have ever seen – think bath tube behind gates with Christmas lights, mannequins and no toilet).
Somewhere along the pub crawl we (I mean Kelly) picked up another fellow American from DC named Bobert (or Robert as he likes to go by). While Bobert might have been originally stoked to hang out with two fun American girls, I am sure his thoughts quickly changed. With nothing in our stomach but the grease from McDonald’s, Kelly and I drank enough to satisfy the thirst of the Irish Rugby team. We ended up in Bobert’s hotel room after all of the bars closed, raided his mini bar, stole his magazines and I spent an entire hour taking artistic photos of the chandelier.
I woke the following morning at 8 (after we passed out at Boberts at 4) to Kelly suggesting we head directly to the Vatican City. Now while I am not the most religious person, I can pretty much guarantee you aren’t suppose to see the pope drunk wearing clothes from the previous evening. So I ignored the request and went back to bed. We finally stumbled home to our apartment at 10 and after trying three different buildings figured out exactly what apartment building was ours. Good thing we didn’t try to find it the previous night!
Saturday turned out to be worthless. We pulled ourselves together for lunch at an Indian restaurant, slept through the afternoon, missed the open hours of Vatican city, watched an organized protest parade that lasted three hours and went past our window and then headed out for dinner and Rugby World Cup. But then again, "when in Rome..." and I think we accomplished that, because really how often do the Romans go see the pope and all of the numerous statutes. I can tell you that the Romans drink, which is why we did is as well.
We left the following morning on different flights with fond but jaded memories of Italy and trying to figure out what had happened the entire previous week. I am not sure I ever have or ever will have again a trip quiet like this one, but I will always remember it with a smile and laugh.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Lions and Dirndls and Beers…oh my! Oktoberfest 2007
What is there to say about Oktoberfest, without stating the obvious…it is a loud, messy, drunken time, with over 13 beer tents, countless beer gardens, carnival rides, sausage and of course beer, dancing on tables, singing polka and sometimes Tina Turner, drinking at 10am and lots of gorgeous people from all over Europe (or were those just the beer goggles). It embraces all things German…I am clearly German.
We (myself, Jeni* and her mom) began the debauchery on Friday morning with some pre-game shopping to pick up authentic lederhosen and dirndls (beer maid outfits) for the weekend. For Friday, Jeni and I decided to go with the lederhosen, saving the beer maid outfits for the bigger day on Saturday.
Our first stop on Friday was the Lowenbrau tent (chosen for the free drink tickets we received the night before from some drunk guys) whose symbol is a lion drinking beer. We learned quickly that the key to Oktoberfest is get a spot at a table, and the best way to get a seat is to make friends with the men sitting at those tables. We found the most welcoming men were the Italians. Although most of them didn’t speak English and converations were translated through the one friend who could we seemed to manager just fine. After Lowenbrau we ventured out to another tent (unfortunately I couldn't and still don’t remember the name) where we spent the rest of the evening dancing on tables and making friends with the Germans, Italians and Spanish. By the end of the night we had taken photos with about 50 different people who loved our lederhosen (there goes my political career.) We were in bed by 10pm.
Saturday began with dressing in our traditional dirndls and attempting to get into the HofBrau tent at 10:30 am. Unfortunately the HB tent and all others apparently filled up at 10am(and I thought WE were serious drinkers.) We made a game time decision and found a seat in the Paulaner Beer Garden and had our first beer by 11am. Jeni*’s mom showed up around 12 and snuck into the garden and around 2 I talked the bouncer into letting two additional friends in. By 6pm we decided to infiltrate the beer tent walls and get in at all costs. We somehow snuck in when the bouncer wasn’t looking, all except Jeni*’s mom. So once again, I talked the bouncer into letting her in. And of course we spent the rest of the evening dancing on tables and making friends with the Germans, Italians and Spanish and were in bed by 9pm.
Jeni* and I wrapped up the weekend with a final Sunday morning beer at the Elusive HB tent.
Overall a great weekend, one I hope to repeat next year, but possibly with table reservations to avoid lines and fears of not getting in. To sum up the experience, I went to the bathroom at one point with my full liter of beer in hand. The bathroom attendant however wouldn’t let me in with a beer so I sat it down in front of him. Upon wrapping up in the bathroom, I retrieved my beer, but being the city girl and knowing drunken guys, I made the bouncer drink some of it to ensure it was clean. Yes, that is the nature of Oktoberfest, it is a disgusting primal type experience where good judgment involves having a bouncer drink some of your beer to detect for piss. Good times.
We (myself, Jeni* and her mom) began the debauchery on Friday morning with some pre-game shopping to pick up authentic lederhosen and dirndls (beer maid outfits) for the weekend. For Friday, Jeni and I decided to go with the lederhosen, saving the beer maid outfits for the bigger day on Saturday.
Our first stop on Friday was the Lowenbrau tent (chosen for the free drink tickets we received the night before from some drunk guys) whose symbol is a lion drinking beer. We learned quickly that the key to Oktoberfest is get a spot at a table, and the best way to get a seat is to make friends with the men sitting at those tables. We found the most welcoming men were the Italians. Although most of them didn’t speak English and converations were translated through the one friend who could we seemed to manager just fine. After Lowenbrau we ventured out to another tent (unfortunately I couldn't and still don’t remember the name) where we spent the rest of the evening dancing on tables and making friends with the Germans, Italians and Spanish. By the end of the night we had taken photos with about 50 different people who loved our lederhosen (there goes my political career.) We were in bed by 10pm.
Saturday began with dressing in our traditional dirndls and attempting to get into the HofBrau tent at 10:30 am. Unfortunately the HB tent and all others apparently filled up at 10am(and I thought WE were serious drinkers.) We made a game time decision and found a seat in the Paulaner Beer Garden and had our first beer by 11am. Jeni*’s mom showed up around 12 and snuck into the garden and around 2 I talked the bouncer into letting two additional friends in. By 6pm we decided to infiltrate the beer tent walls and get in at all costs. We somehow snuck in when the bouncer wasn’t looking, all except Jeni*’s mom. So once again, I talked the bouncer into letting her in. And of course we spent the rest of the evening dancing on tables and making friends with the Germans, Italians and Spanish and were in bed by 9pm.
Jeni* and I wrapped up the weekend with a final Sunday morning beer at the Elusive HB tent.
Overall a great weekend, one I hope to repeat next year, but possibly with table reservations to avoid lines and fears of not getting in. To sum up the experience, I went to the bathroom at one point with my full liter of beer in hand. The bathroom attendant however wouldn’t let me in with a beer so I sat it down in front of him. Upon wrapping up in the bathroom, I retrieved my beer, but being the city girl and knowing drunken guys, I made the bouncer drink some of it to ensure it was clean. Yes, that is the nature of Oktoberfest, it is a disgusting primal type experience where good judgment involves having a bouncer drink some of your beer to detect for piss. Good times.
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