by Matt Johnson

I awoke Sunday morning to piece together the night in jigsaw-like fashion, only discover that not only had I managed to bring home three intact clay pewter mugs that I’d apparently bought before leaving the tent, but all of my clothes and credit card were still locked up at the station downtown. I had about four hours before my flight’s departure, so I had to make a choice: chance it and whip over to Munich (we were staying about a half hour by train outside of the city – a mistake I will not make on my return trip next year) real quick to recover the goods, or simply test the reliability of my college fraternity buddies. Not wanting to risk missing my flight, I decided to go with option number two. So I left my Spanish address with the guys including concise directions to the locker’s location, leapt back into my lederhosen, and high tailed it to the airport (another 30 minute train ride). By the time I’d accomplished all this though, I was cutting it pretty close – with under two hours to walk to the train, arrive at the airport, get my ticket and go through security – the usual deal.

Well, I made it to the train alright and got off at the airport stop safely, but there was one obstacle that I’d overlooked: my complete and utter lack of German. As soon as I got off at the train stop a mile or so from the airport, I realized this. Every sign meant to direct travelers to the terminal may as well have been in Mandarin. The only word I could read luckily enough was “Terminal,” so I followed the arrows around to a bus stop. “Terminal 1 / 2: Bus 665,” read the sign. Great, I figured. Now all I had to do was wait for #665, and I’m there. So I waited. And I waited, and I waited, and I waited some more, tapping my foot for so long that my calf got sore. Finally after God knows how long standing in the German cold, a pair of headlights could be seen cutting through the fog. Bus 665: Terminals 1 & 2, read the sign over the windshield. So I hopped on with kiddish delight, and didn’t think twice as the bus took off in the opposite direction from the airport…

A half hour later, after snaking our way down narrow lanes that wound through numerous corn fields, the bus finally pulled into a station. Yes! I thought. Perhaps the bus had somehow done a U-turn without me realizing it and this will be the real airport exit. Not even close. The time was winding down until the flight left the runway, and I was totally lost. More lost than the night before except now I was in a German village in the middle of nowhere, freezing through my lederhosen. I was still in denial of my folly, convinced on a fool’s hope that when the bus driver turned off the engine, took the keys, and told me to get out, that this was merely part of the trip. Those crazy Germans and their airport antics…

To make matters worse, we’d stopped at yet another train station, and once again, all of the signs were conveniently in German. I quickly found an open cab however, and for the hundredth time that weekend, I caught a ride in one of these wallet-draining travelling machines, and was shuttled back to the airport. Little did I know at the time, but my cash flow was pretty much exhausted by this point, and when we pulled into the airport the meter showed more than what I had left in my lederhosen pocket. I hate to ever stiff someone or anything, but I had no choice. All I could manage for an apology was a slight shrug of the shoulders to the cabby upon exiting. I’d feel worse, if you weren’t driving around in a fucking Mercedes. My bad, dude. Kinda.

Anyway, I’d made it to the airport at long last. I got through security with no hassle, and after only fifteen minutes from my taxi cab crime, I was at the gate. My Oktoberfest adventure had finally come to a close. It was tough saying goodbye to Munich, my new friend, but I knew that like all great friendships the reunion effort will gladly be made in the near future. I kept my promise to Gerd, now it’s time to keep a promise to myself: no hardships, perils, mountains, or mishaps will keep me from making a return journey to Oktoberfest next September – except next time I’ll be bringing my own lederhosen.

With the mission for lederhosen now accomplished, all I had to do was find a place to stow my street clothes…Luckily I had already been advised that the central metro station contained a room full of lockers for just such an occasion. So I asked around to my fellow pedestrians who kindly directed me in the general vicinity and after another twenty minute walk, I somehow managed to locate my target and find an empty locker.

Now with two goals down, I still had one to go: get back into the tent and find my friends. So I hopped into another cab and headed back, my mouth already watering in anticipation for the beers that were no doubt in my immediate future. I pulled up to the grounds after about seven or eight minutes, and I yelled to the cabbie, “Yo homes, smell ya later!” I then looked at my kingdom – I was finally there, and with a pep in my step I dodged through the massive crowds until reaching the back door of the tent.

There was one tiny problem though: I couldn’t remember which guard I’d bribed on my way out. So I decided to throw caution to the wind and approached the first group of guards I came to. Coincidentally, I happened to recognize one of them as the guard from my previous bribery attempt, so I yelled over to him above the crowd: “Hey!…Hey!” I screamed, waving my hands frantically to get his attention. “Hey man! It’s me – from earlier!” Fortunately I managed to yell loud enough for him to notice, but unfortunately this worked a little too well as I also attracted the attention of his other three colleagues, who approached me together.

“Can we help you?”

“Um, yeah,” I replied hesitantly, choosing each word carefully. “I was told earlier that if I left the tent, I could pay someone to let me back in.”

“Well, why did you leave?”

“Because I wanted to buy a pair of lederhosen,” I answered, hooking my thumbs through my suspenders as proof of my purchase.

“Oh, and this is a big joke to you? This is funny?” one replied, eyeing me angrily.

“No, of course not,” I lied. “I just thought that if I came to Oktoberfest I should try and appreciate the German culture.”

“Who told you that you could pay?” Asked the guard who was obviously in charge.

“He did,” I answered, pointing at the young and now terrified looking guard in the background, who was shaking his head furiously in denial of this accusation. I’d come too far at this point however, to back down to this German Judas. “Yes you did!” I hollered in protest. Was this guy seriously going to turn me down? I wasn’t going to let that happen. I decided to continue, finger still pointing: “I was leaving, and I asked you if I could pay to get back in, and you said yes. Come on, all of my friends are in there and I don’t have a phone – I have to get back in!”

“I’m sorry, the tent is too full,” the head guard declared. “You have to leave. Goodbye.” So much for the German hospitality. Oh well, there were still more guards who would surely appreciate a little more weight in their pockets, so I continued to search. And I was right. I didn’t have to go far at all. The next guard I approached was willing to accept my offer, and let me back in for a slick twenty.

I was home free – it was time to hop back on the booze train and catch up with the boys. I spotted my friends as soon as I walked in, seated at the same table where I left them. But instead of joining them right away, I ran to the bathroom for a quick pit stop. Big mistake.

As soon as I got back into the main room, the entire section where they were just sitting was completely cleared out. Uh oh. There must have been 10,000 people in that tent – finding them was going to be a needle in a haystack ordeal. Shit, shit, shit! I’d played it cool all day with this risky mission, but now was the time when I started to panic. They could have been anywhere! Even worse, what if they’d been kicked out of the tent completely? Without thinking, I started for the exit. As I approached the back door however, I thought better of it. Okay, they couldn’t have gone far and I doubt they left the tent – I’ve just got to guess a direction. Eenie meanie miney…Okay, towards the center of the tent. So I started pushing through the mob, taking care to avoid the giant, whistling, German waitresses carrying their armloads of overflowing Oktoberfest awesomeness.

I ran around, squirming between drunk Germans and jumping as high as I could to see over the crowd to catch a glimpse of anyone familiar. This went on for another fifteen minutes of wasted drinking time, and I was starting to lose hope. But luckily a couple leaps later I spotted my friends at a table with some Germans, and I took a huge sigh of relief. Mission: accomplished. Once again, the beer gods had smiled upon me. Never in my life had I needed a beer more, so I immediately joined in the mayhem. It was time to start again with the punishing of the liver.

Before I knew it, I was standing on top of the picnic table, arm in arm with a traditionally clad German girl, singing “Country Roads, Take Me Home” with the other 10,000 tent attendees, mugs held high, and swaying to the music. More beers were then ordered and drank, and the cycle repeated. As you can imagine, this all went on until well into the Bavarian night, basically until our wallets were drained, and the last thing I remembered was being lip locked onto a similarly sloppy, top heavy German girl whose name I don’t recall. None of us remembered leaving the tent, and unfortunately, none of us left together either…

So I guess the best way to put it is I time traveled a couple hours. I skipped a track. There was a solid two hour gap in my recollection. I went from track 14 to track 17. Whatever. Next thing I knew, I was crossing an intersection with a large crowd of jolly Germans. Where am I? Who are these people? What the fuck have I been doing for the last few hours? Where are my friends? Where did that German girl run off to? Confused, lost, and tired, I realized that this couldn’t possibly continue. I had to call it a night. So I hopped into a cab and slurred my hotel’s address to the driver. It must have been a particularly bad slur however, as I ended up being taken to an empty street on the outskirts of Munich.

I soon found myself shivering and alone, with absolutely no clue as to the whereabouts of my location. With no clear plan in mind, I decided to hoof it back, which sounded like a great idea at the time. It didn’t take me long to discover though, that you can’t hoof it anywhere when you have no sense of direction, so I hailed yet another cab and went home. The adventure was nearly over…

Stereophonics’ released their best of album, A Decade In The Sun-Best Of Stereophonics, this week. The record includes two new songs amid some of the best tracks from their six studio albums, and a 40-track 2-disc set is also available for big fans. The last five albums have all hit number one in the UK charts since their debut album, Word Gets Around, reached number six in 1997.

Check out the November 2008 issue of European Vibe Magazine for our interview with the band’s drummer, Javier Weyler. During the interview Javier told us his favourite songs from Stereophonics’ first four albums made before he joined the band. Here are the videos of those songs for you:

Local Boy In The Photograph 1998

The Bartender And The Thief 1998

Mr. Writer 2001

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Warning: If you listen to to this, you, like us, will be singing “Benny Lava” in your head all week.

“You send me, offended, you know the hole to put it…”

It’s Friday afternoon…

Will prank calls ever go out of fashion?

Well, my mate who phoned the police and said he was Osama Bin Laden thinks so- he’s still in Guantánamo Bay…

Anyway, here’s one I stumbled upon on the site the Spanish call ‘jew toof’:

a big moment for the world, too…

Here is Barack Obama’s victory speech in Chicago after the confirmation that he had inflicted a crushing defeat on John McCain, Sarah Palin and their Republican Party to become the 44th President of the United States.

The enormous amounts of money invested in the electoral campaign bore their fruit, but, in terms of what really made people vote Democrat, first indications appear to show that the size of the victory was down to economic issues.
We can now look forward to exhaustive statistics and analyses that will prove or disprove this and other theories, along with flurries of predictions of what Obama will do when he assumes power.

This is undeniably a shining moment for the Democrats and racial minorities in the US. There is something bigger than that, though: has the election of a US President ever been so warmly received across the world?