"I would say oh la la"

Bad news: I had to cancel my trip to Switzerland this weekend because of an overwhelming amount of essays and tests coming up this week.  Seriously, you should see me walking around; my backpack is so huge it might as well be a turtle shell.  Now I know how Quasimodo felt.

Good news: I was able to transfer my flight credit for a trip to PARIS the first weekend of December!  Not only will I be spending time in one of my favorite cities around my favorite time of year (Christmas, DUH), but that particular weekend all of the museums are free!  I can't imagine a better trip.  For this reason, my song of the week is:

She's so sassy I love it...modern day Janis Joplin, no?  Anyways, since I don't have much to report on in regards to travel, I thought I'd spend some time talking about the pub crawl me and the girls organized last Thursday.  We managed to make it to 5 pubs: Chequers, The Wheat Sheaf, Old Tom, Turf Tavern, and King's Arms...a new record!  We all a goal to make it to every pub in Oxford...mainly because we all have a poster that has drawings of all the pubs in Oxford that you're supposed to color in when you visit them.  I mean, how can we possibly leave here after 4 months and NOT make it to every single one??

Out of the ones I've visited so far, Turf Tavern is my favorite.  It's extremely difficult to find, hidden within tiny alleyways and passages one would normally walk by without even thinking twice.  The interior is cozy yet pretty sizeable, and they have my favorite cider on draft: Old Rosie.  It's rather hard to come by; only a few pubs in Oxford have it.  I half like it because the name reminds me of my brother's beloved dog and the other half is because it's so potent (nearly 9%) that I don't have to spend pounds and pounds on other drinks.  And it doesn't taste half bad either.

Hate to say it, but don't think I'll ever be visiting the Wheat Sheaf again.  Very questionable wall decoration:

Who names these pubs anyways?  What IS a wheat sheaf?  New project for this week: decide on the name of my pub.  Contenders: My Left Shoe, The Bendy Straw, The Suckling Pig, Crap I Found Under My Bed...

Danke, München

Don't ya just wanna sing along?

I’ve never seen so many hungover people on a plane before.  Clearly 75% of these passengers got their Deutsch on during the final weekend of Oktoberfest.  And I was right there with them, inventing my own lyrics to every German drinking song I heard in the beer tents and attempting the polka on top of the tables.  THAT was one helluva party…

Let me start from the beginning though.  After a 4-hour bus ride to Stansted airport on Thursday, I was just itching to get on the plane and start the weekend I had been planning since midsummer.  My first impression of Germany was a good one: I was seated next to Munich native Ulkrine on the plane, and while she did her best to teach me some handy German terms over the hour and a half flight, I’m afraid her efforts were fruitless.  The only thing I can say is she was a schon lady (that means wonderful!)

Like a kid on Christmas Eve, I found sleep impossible that night due to excitement.  We began our trek to the fairgrounds at 9 AM the next morning, the train collecting more liederhosen-clad enthusiasts at every stop along the way. 

It’s no understatement to say it was love at first sight when we arrived…everywhere we turned, there were things to rot our teeth and our minds: rides galore that barely passed safety regulations, enough candy and deep fried goodies to send Shirley Temple reeling on the Good Ship Lollipop, and beer, beer, and more beer.  Did I mention the beer?

We luckily grabbed a table in the Schottzenhamel tent, and I’m proud to say I was the first to finish my liter of beer.  Yes, I did just say liter.

MASSIVE

Within an hour, the tent began to fill up and the band began to play.  A group of older German men decked out in traditional Bavarian threads were seated at our table…

Brost!

and that’s when the real trouble began.  They threw back their liters in a matter of sips, and while I was busy enjoying my pretzel….

face in pretzel: the new face in hole?

…everyone else at the table upped the anty and tried their best to keep up with our new German friends.  As we admitted defeat, we concluded that some fresh air would do us some good.  I took this as an opportunity to pick out the most death-defying ride I could spot and climb aboard.  I regretted the decision as I began to lose feeling from the waist down as the ride went (what felt like) faster than most cars on a freeway, and I bellowed the entire time to get off.  Kudos to me for not tossing my cookies.

we were NOT smiling like this after the ride

Saturday morning, Sam and I woke up early and headed to downtown Munich for a different taste of Bavarian culture.  Our day was filled with strolls through Marienplatz, the main square in Munich, popping in and out of department stores and perfumeries, and finally ending up in an outdoor market where we indulged in apple strudel.

just like Erna used to make!

And then Saturday night.  I would equate it to Jesus's Last Supper, but I don't want to underestimate.  Sam did her homework on the plane and found a gem of a restaurant called Prinz Myshkin, a vegetarian cafe tucked away on a side street.  The entrees were too delicious to choose from, so we decided to split two.  I got stuffed zucchini blossoms, but the best part was dessert.  Iced coffee for me, iced chocolate for Sam.  #win.

The perfect end to a perfect weekend.  While it's time to say "Auf Wiedersehen" to Germany, it's time to say HOLA BARCELONA!!!