Oktoberfest, Munich’s iconic suds-soaked Bavarian celebration, spans 225 hours. For a whopping 222 of those hours, beer flows freely. However, the initial three hours present a vastly different scene.
During these early hours, it’s a non-alcoholic mix of soda, pretzels, and lively card games. The air buzzes with an anticipation reminiscent of Christmas Eve, but instead of presents, everyone is eagerly awaiting malt beverages.
Thousands flock to Munich for Oktoberfest’s 190th edition, running until October 5th. Yet, only a select few dedicated attendees truly experience the unique joy and subtle agony of this pre-beer wait.
“It’s a little bit strange now,” remarked Sibille Bauer, a 32-year-old server at the Hacker-Pschorr brewery tent, on a Saturday morning just after 10 a.m. She observed a pavilion packed shoulder-to-shoulder with revelers dressed in traditional lederhosen and dirndls, all patiently refraining from alcohol.
In mere hours, Ms. Bauer would be expertly navigating the orange, wooden tables around the bandstand, delivering countless liters of amber “festbiers,” each costing approximately $18 a glass. For now, her main task was politely turning away latecomers hoping for a coveted table.
However, as she shared with a smile, “after 12 o’clock, the beer is coming.”
The festival gates swing open at 9 a.m. on weekends, including the traditional Saturday kickoff. But the ceremonial first keg isn’t tapped by the Mayor of Munich until noon. Only then do the servers begin pouring the alcoholic brews.
Securing a reservation in the festival’s legendary beer tents, where the heart of Oktoberfest beats to a brass band soundtrack, is almost impossible for most. Consequently, many attendees sprint to claim a first-come, first-served spot right after the gates open, often having camped overnight to secure a prime position.
This means the morning crowd in the tents, from 9 a.m. to noon on Saturday, is a vibrant mix of eager excitement and lingering fatigue, powered by energy drinks and a collective thirst for the coming beer.
They fill the time playing card games like Uno or Kniffel, a popular German equivalent of Yahtzee, at their tables. Vendors weave through the aisles, selling oversized pretzels and lapel pins. Friends reconnect, and new acquaintances are forged amidst the buzz.
Laura Melz, 31, from Cologne, Germany, was seated in the historic Hacker-Pschorr tent a little before 10 a.m. A friend was re-braiding her hair, which had come undone during her dash from the security line. Ms. Melz was perspiring but felt fortunate; she had found a group of Canadians who graciously invited her and her friends to join their table.
Ms. Melz beamed, perhaps still energized by adrenaline and the Prosecco her friends had shared while waiting in line. Once the beer began to flow, she anticipated singing, dancing on tables, and, of course, drinking.
“We are not too sober,” she admitted, “But at 12, we will be sober”— at least for a brief moment.
Meanwhile, in the Schottenhammel tent, a favorite among young Germans, Anton Frank, 18, of Munich, relaxed with 30 friends across three tables. Anton, who is interning in Austria this fall, estimated he would consume between three and five liters of beer after noon, possibly followed by some sparkling wine. Last year, he attended Oktoberfest for 14 of its 16 days, often after classes, once drinking a remarkable eight liters in a single visit.
“I’ll never do that again,” he stated. “It’s expensive.”
Giorgi Mtchedlishvili, another 18-year-old from Munich, sipped colas and played cards at a nearby table. He’d secured an early spot at the front of the security line, then sold it to other eager attendees for a profit, making 300 euros.
“I’ll buy a round for my friends,” he declared.
Outside, a grand parade of horses, laden with beer barrels, wound its way through the festival grounds. Just after 11 a.m., the crowd in the Schottenhammel tent erupted in cheers as the procession arrived. Moments before noon, Mayor Dieter Reiter approached the keg, presented a gleaming brass faucet, and expertly tapped it in with a wooden mallet.
A few hours later, just after 3 p.m., I messaged Mr. Mtchedlishvili to inquire about his enjoyment.
“I am 3 beers in,” he responded.