Since the beginning of first year German in high school, and really before that with my German heritage on my mother’s side, I have dreamt of attending Oktoberfest. German culture has always appealed to me. I’m fascinated by the language and its strong pronunciation and similarity to English (yes- there are many words if you really look at them and listen!), delicious hearty food, and cultural and historic past of castles, forests, and kind and friendly but confident and bold people. 

So Oktoberfest, with the Krug of Bier, Brezeln, Bratwurst, Dirndl, Lederhosen, and festive music and dancing? Sign me up!

The Famous Oktoberfest is typically held in Munich, since Oktoberfest is a traditionally Bavarian custom. I was a bit shocked to hear when my German sister Lisa had never been to one- but then she educated me on the traditions of the different regions, and as she was raised on the East side in Saxony, it wasn’t as common. You learn something every day.
 
Being adventurous and open to new fun things as I am, she was completely ready to attend one, and it was kismet when I found out that Potsdam, the gorgeous historic town she just moved to, has one happening while I was there to visit- and on my birthday no less. I could think of no better way to finally have the long-awaited experience.
 
Another misconception of Oktoberfest is that is takes place in October- the Germans threw everyone for a loop there. It really should be known as September fest- as most of the event is in the month before. We booked our tickets, and then Lisa told me it was very common to dress up in the Dirndl and Lederhosen, the respective women’s and men’s dress. You didn’t have to ask me twice, after scouring the web for good used pieces, we both found beautiful authentic Dirndls and Blüse.
 
The day arrived, and after walking around gorgeous Sansoucci Park (more on that later), we dressed up and felt very festive as we headed towards the event. You never feel quite so German as walking through central Potsdam in traditional German dress, but everybody seems to know and accept that we were headed to Oktoberfest, so it wasn’t so strange. I would have done it anyways- headed to Oktoberfest or no.
 
Held in a big fully-enclosed tent- there were "Herzlich Willkommen zu Potsdamer Oktoberfest" signs beckoning us. Inside, long wooden tables started to fill up with partygoers- and a stage in the center with a dance floor called us. At the back were food and drink- and naturally, the drink was already open and thriving. What surprised me the most from entry, was how almost everyone was wearing Dirndl and Lederhosen. Street clothes were strange for those few hours, and you stuck out if you wore them. It made the experience all the more authentic and wonderful. The night progressed- after a Brezel and 2 half Masse of Bier, I felt like a native. A band of two, keyboard and accordion, alongside a DJ, played away German pop songs and traditional tunes alike. A sea of Dirndl and Lederhosen swirled around, and feet kicked out in lines dances and waltzes. Smiles spread on everyone’s faces for hours, accompanied on the floor by a drink in every hand. Family and friends groups stood on tables, knocking glasses with the accompanying “Prost!”, stomping away and belting out lyrics they had known since childhood. For a few hours, all was right and perfect and 100% Deutsch. It had to end for us early, as Lisa had a late shift at work, but the party later raged into 3/4am- as is common of European fetes. Work hard play hard- there’s a reason German-made has such a reputation.
 
We exited, and it poured. So there I was- walking home alone in central Potsdam at 10pm- holding a jacket over my head that did little to help in the downpour- wearing a Dirndl. On my birthday. I loved every minute of it.
 
Experiences likes these truly make me feel alive. Diving into a new culture, being in the unknown, and realizing that’s where the growth happens. Out of my comfort zone is always the most rewarding place to be. Prost!

​ 
At 7:50pm, an hour after I learned of the news, I dropped everything and headed to the palace. I knew I would regret not going, having the incredible opportunity living so close and being here for such an incredibly historic event. It was so strange to ride the tube, knowing life was still happening but with a seismic shift in power. It’s a strange numbness. She’s been a constant in our lives for so long, an unelected life-permanent placement in a world that’s changing rapidly every day. This change in leadership, with the monarchy and the PM, is unprecedented.
 
I walked by copies of the London Standard Newspaper, headlined with some trivial topic, realizing it was old news already- and would be splashed with black and condolence in 24 hours.
 
I’m in London for an insanely historic event- the last Queen of my lifetime, and I get to mourn and share in her life, and earlier in the year, her incredible Jubilee. So much change in one year.
 
Exiting out of Green Park Station, I followed a line of black umbrellas marching down the walkway towards the palace. It was pouring rain. The tears of the world poured on London, in grief, in celebration of a wonderful life. The day was marked in the most British way possible. Dreary clouds and endless sporadic pitter-patter, welcoming after a summer of drought and distress. Surrounding the front gate were people from all walks of life and every country in the world. Flowers rested everywhere on the gates, mourners passed them up to police, where they were laid with honor. People wandered around, in shock, in disbelief, of the event we all knew would come but are still processing. Clapping started and stopped. God save the Queen was sung. Reporters interviewed the crowds for their feelings and thoughts. 
 
I’m so glad I experienced my prime in the Elizabethan Era. We lost her the day after the birthday of her namesake, Elizabeth I.
 
Thank you, Ma’am.