Going to an Oktoberfest any time other than October is strange. Being strange myself, I did just that.
It’s May, and here in sunny Osaka it’s in the high 20-something degrees range. The perfect time to roll out a fortnight-long Oktoberfest. As far as I know there isn’t one planned for October. So this week will do.
On arrival, I was fairly hopeful. The entrance fee was pretty low. Massive umbrellas and canopies meant all of the seating was blissfully in the shade. People were wandering around encouraging us to clap. I could hear someone yodelling on stage, and from distance they looked to be wearing a dirndl.
Most of the stalls had signs proclaiming this to be the first time these German beers have been imported to Japan. I don’t doubt that. Not at roughly £9 a pint. With the same again as a glass deposit. Come back, London, all is forgiven.
And… as an Englisher and beer festival frequenter, I was already pretty familiar with many of the beers on offer. I forgot that I’m now in a place where shandy is considered novel. There was one other recognisable name: Warsteiner. How did I know this name? Because every film and TV show I watched on the flight here was preceded by a Warsteiner advert. I can even say it in a German accent.
This is a lychee beer. I picked it because I’ve never tried one before. Also because the thought of the cola beer available at the next stand was not that appealing.
It was £6.50, for a measure about equal to a can of the fizzy stuff. Enough to make you sick, but that would’ve been a tragic waste of beer.
I tried my best to make it last as long as possible. That turned out to be easy. Every so often, the band would encourage us all to stand up, sing, and clink our glasses together. They did that five times in an hour. I’d barely put my bum back on the bench when it happened again.
Would I do another Japan-style Oktoberfest? Maybe. Show me some guys in lederhosen doing table service and I might see how the experience differs.
