On to the Oktoberfest

On Saturday morning, shortly before twelve, the bakery’s sales room was empty. The leftover bread orphans on the shelves, the saleswoman twiddling her thumbs. “Either they’re all at the Wiesn, or they’re sitting in front of the TV,” she says, “there’s been nothing going on here since eleven o’clock.” Of course, the arrival of the Wiesn landlords was in full swing. Finally back after a two-year Corona break. For some there was no stopping them, they waited at six in the morning in front of the closed gates to get a place in the tent, others, like the women and men from the Ebersberger Spielmannszug, waited civilly until it started. They were there both on Saturday when the Wiesn landlords moved in and on Sunday at the traditional Oktoberfest costume parade, belonged to the 9000 participants of the seven-kilometer long procession and enjoyed every break from the rain that the not so festively mooded Petrus poured over them. As if he didn’t know what the Oktoberfest means to real fans. The others, who don’t really like the masses and the masses, finally didn’t have to queue at the bakery on Saturday morning.

The first Oktoberfest weekend in Munich

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