An insider's guide to Oktoberfest in Munich

With its rollicking scenes of men in lederhosen and women in dirndls downing pitcher-size steins of beer, Oktoberfest is how much of the world pictures Germany. In Munich, where Oktoberfest has been held most years since 1810, it’s also how residents see themselves.

"There is no Munich without Oktoberfest, and no Oktoberfest without Munich," said Nina Munz, whose firm, Angermaier, sells festival garb in outlets as far away as Berlin.

Over 2½ weeks starting Saturday, some 7 million people will visit the city’s fairgrounds, called the Theresienwiese. A clear majority will come from Munich or the surrounding region. While Oktoberfest is indeed a major international tourist attraction, 40% of visitors come from Munich proper, says Benedikt Brandmeier, the city tourist official who serves as the festival’s general manager, with another 30% coming from the rest of Bavaria.

Stretching over about 75 acres, the festival tempts visitors, wherever they come from, with 35 so-called "tents," which are in fact substantial, temporary buildings that serve as enormous restaurants, sing-along concert venues and more. Then there are about 80 amusement-park rides; sausage stands; pretzel booths; gingerbread purveyors; and oddities such as Pitt’s Todeswand, a daredevil motorcycle show in which acrobats riding antique bikes scale up and around steep circular walls — the "death wall" of the name.

To get the most out of the festival, I checked in with some Munich residents and other Bavarians for specific tips and general advice. Tent reservations are suggested but hard to come by at the last minute for larger parties; the big tents, however, keep a contingent of spots open for walk-ins.

It’s cheaper to stay a train ride away

Thomas Geppert, a managing director of the Bavarian Hotel and Restaurant Association, says a good time to book a room is just after Oktoberfest starts, when many hotels begin to see cancellations — though prices can still reach four times the standard rate.

By comparison, nearby Bavarian cities and towns will see minimal rate increases. Alternatives include Rosenheim, Ingolstadt and Augsburg.

Lift a liter of lager, then take a break

The first Oktoberfest, back in 1810, was meant to celebrate the wedding of a Bavarian prince and a Saxon princess, but for decades now it has been a celebration of Munich’s major breweries and their annual output of Oktoberfest beer. The high-alcohol lager is the festival’s beverage of choice, strictly served in liter-size steins.

Other options do lurk on the margins, however, including a radler, which is beer mixed with a citrusy soda, and slightly weaker wheat beer (weissbier, or weizen, in Bavaria).

Some tents do offer wine, and one — the Käfer Wiesn-Schänke — is known for serving Champagne. But a regular "mass," as Germans call these gargantuan steins, is a symbol of the festival. And though alcohol-free beer, also served by the liter, is on offer, dyed-in-the-wool teetotalers seem few and far between.

Locals will invariably order at least one, then pace themselves.

"I love that first beer," says chef Rosina Ostler, the 33-year-old executive chef at Alois, a Munich restaurant with two Michelin stars. "But then I drink a coffee or go for a radler."

Her total at the end of a long day might be two or three liters of beer, she says.

A 16-year-old can order a beer in Germany, and many adult Müncheners recall excessive Oktoberfests past.

"In my younger days, I drank five mass, starting in the afternoon. Now three is good," says Andreas Gassner, whose family-owned butcher shop, Metzgerei Gassner, supplies sausages, beef and game to the festival.

Germans regard the price of a mass — which has an average this year of 15.25 euros (about $18) — as an inflation marker. Luxury generally is a mounting trend here, such as with the caviar on offer at the Käfer Wiesn-Schänke and four-figure dirndls and lederhosen showing up in increasing numbers.

In the past few years, the festival has combated the phenomenon by adding free drinking-water dispensers.

Food tents for traditionalists and vegetarians

There are 14 large tents and 21 small tents. Each one sells food. Tradition is always on the menu, and the most popular meal is still half a rotisserie chicken, served with potato salad.

Paul Higgins, a Munich-based brewer from New Jersey, has been regularly attending Oktoberfest with his wife and business partner, Jennifer Canale, for more than two decades. The couple’s Higgins Ale Works, specializing in American-style craft beer, is a severe break with tradition in Bavaria.

But Higgins recommends sticking by the rules when ordering a meal at Oktoberfest, where he opts for the chicken, year-in, year-out.

"They’re really good," he says. "They’re usually stuffed with herbs, and they come out nice, hot and crispy."

Stephanie Grossmann, a senior lecturer in German literature and media studies at Bavaria’s University of Passau, is a fan of steckerlfisch, a whole grilled fish impaled on a stick. The style is associated with a niche tent, the fisherman-themed Fischer-Vroni.

For a festival whose constituent symbol is a whole ox roasting over a fire, vegetarians can have a hard time. Bavarian musician Michael Fenzl is a practitioner of what he likes to call "polka-billy," fusing traditional Bavarian styles and lyrics with rock and pop elements. He is also a practicing vegetarian and avid Oktoberfest-goer, making do with enormous pretzels and obatzda, the Bavarian cheese spread flavored with paprika.

Paradoxically, vegans can have an easy time at the tent named for a roasted ox, the Ochsenbraterei, which offers an extensive vegan menu. It’s the go-to tent for Marlen Ventker and Daniel Tesic, owners of Munich vegan restaurant Café Om Nom Nom. The tent, Ventker says, actually "works with a vegan chef." The Ochsenbraterei’s offerings include German favorites such as bratwurst and goulash made with pea protein.

Give polka a chance

Music, always in the background at Oktoberfest, is front and center for many locals, who take the opportunity to sing, stomp or swoon to eclectic acts, such as Bavarian-style brass bands and newfangled electronic musicians.

Grossmann is fond of Loisach Marci, a Bavarian who creates state-of-the-art techno music with the help of a very long, very traditional alphorn.

Upper Bavarian native Marcel Engler — performing under the name Loisach Marci — plays at the Oide Wiesn, a kind of sub-festival adjoining Oktoberfest, known for its old-fashioned settings and traditional music.

As day turns into night at the bigger tents, cover bands take over, and thousands of people rise to their feet to sing along with timeless hits such as "Sweet Caroline," "We are the Champions" and "Take Me Home, Country Roads."

Andrea Lissoni, the Italian-born artistic director of Munich’s cutting-edge Haus der Kunst exhibition space, first spent time in one of the festival’s large tents last year, and he was mesmerized by the "uplifting energy and excitement."

Even though the music was something "I would never listen to at home," he says, he "got into the mood," jumping up and joining in.

By contrast, Anton Biebl, general director of the Bavarian State Painting Collections, has a strict no-dancing/no-jumping rule.

Although the Munich native, now 63, has been going to Oktoberfest his whole life, "I run away" when the music gets out of hand.

Don’t skip the end of the fest

Like Ventker, 30, and Higgins, 60, Biebl recommends the rides for attendees of every age.

Ventker is especially fond of the old-fashioned carousels in the Oide Wiesn, and Higgins says the rides help out "if you need a break" from the atmosphere in the big tents.

Higgins himself never misses a chance to marvel at the acrobatic cyclists at Pitt’s Todeswand. And Biebl, who oversees the city’s Pinakothek collections of old and new masters, recommends another Oktoberfest oddity: the comic decapitations at the Wirtshaus im Schichtl, a small tent known for its humorous mock-executions of willing audience members, which conjures up the sideshow antics of long-gone country fairs.

Many locals, including Biebl and fashion designer Kinga Mathe, cherish the atmosphere in the tents on the last night of the festival, when the waitstaffs, who have been mastering the art of serving up tens of pounds of full beer steins all at once, come up for a bow and a thank-you song.

The pathos is palpable, recall many attendees, who say the sense of occasion typically provokes tears.

For Biebl, "it’s the one date during the festival that’s important."