We took the train to Munich the morning after the fest (after being razzed by the ticket attendant the night before for making a point of buying our tickets in advance in case the train sold out. “It’s not like you are going to PARIS!”). I made my first order of business in Munich getting my wallet pinched while on the tram to the hostel, but thanks to the modern marvel of Apple Pay and a much more credit-friendly Europe than I remembered, this wound up being a far less meaningful misstep than it could’ve been.

We realized the “Olympiapark” designation of our hostel indeed referred to the grounds of the 1972 Olympics, where there was a big sports festival taking place, so we checked that out, found some vegan food, sat in shame in my Saints sweatshirt at a tiki bar as we heard fellow Americans remark on their embarrassing real-time loss to the Packers, were serenaded on the tram home by drunken fest-goers (except in the end, it was the tram going the direction OPPOSITE of home and we wound up Ubering back [or should I say, Übering]).

The next day we rented bikes, checked out Schloss Nymphenburg, found more vegan food (so much vegan food!), hung out at the Hofbräuhaus with some Dutch ladies, and finally made it to the Oktoberfest grounds.