Oktoberfest Bangalore

At the end of the busy week, Saturday was time for Oktoberfest. Really, right here in Bangalore. But we didn't start there. One of the visitors (thanks again Shannon) had brought with her one of the most coveted gifts - "REAL wine" from duty-free, as in hasn't sat on the dock in Chennai for a month, doesn't have the eau de stinky cow finish, may actually have been aged in oak not dusty palm barrels...REAL wine. (You just may understand why my repatriation plan involves rehab toward the end of this blog...oh well, I suppose that's a hazard with baring your soul on the internet.) But back to the wine... it lasted all week until we also came upon another rare find - real cheddar. Yep, typically the cheese pairs nicely with the local wine and has the taste of cave-aged velveeta and a nearly plasticized texture. But every now and then a real block shows up that, while not Wisconsin cheddar, is not all bad. Oh, and we still had some stock of that Hickory Farms sausage Paul kindly, naively lugged with him, aloud wondering...you want what? So we had all the fixings for a FEAST. We got all dressed up, Caden did my makeup insisting he wanted to be a makeup artist when he grows up (a different story). We got the kids hooked up with the babysitters and Tom and Tracy arrived for the pre-party snack and drink - YUM!!!! YUM!!! YUM!!! Some of you might not understand the depravity (physical and spiritual) that would lead four arguably privileged and worldly adults to savor every last crumb of the last package of water crackers to be found, a block of adequate immature cheddar, a half length of Hickory Farms sausage, and a young bottle of French wine. And I don't think I can explain it either; I just know we really enjoyed it.
Before setting off for Oktoberfest, Wade prepared the road kit, martinis stored in coffee mugs for the car ride. After such a sophisticated snack, we protested...a little. But an hour and a half and about six miles later, we were happy enough with our care package. Or possibly drunk, but in any event happy.
And then we arrived at Oktoberfest Bangalore, and it was incredible. Before even getting to out table with our identified friends, we all had large mugs of Kingfisher beer and a robust German toast was playing from the full band. All around were traditional Bavarian costumes mixed in with the normal expat array. There was an eerie familiarity as if we had somehow stepped into the beer garden at the State Fair. It was an awesome time with great food (even sausage), free-flowing Kingfisher beer in Oktoberfest Bangalore mugs, and great friends.
When it was finally time to go, I decided the mug had to come along with me - really, "Oktoberfest Bangalore" is something that needed a souvenir! At first the guard protested, then tossed out a sale proposal of 500 Rupees, then a negotiation ensued and we settled on something much, much less - priceless.
We forgot the camera as it were, but here is a recreation for posterity (Wade happily obliged). At a BBQ at our Bavarian friends, Gerald and Petra's the next day, a few of us looked well, tired. And despite our protests (genuine this time) that we would never drink again, Petra cheerily filled our glasses. What were we to do?
Oktoberfest Bangalore was mighty unique, and yet was in some ways a day like all others. Prost!