Train to Munich (Oktoberfest, 1970) Reedited

We had met a girl once from Denmark (met her at the Oktoberfest of 1970, in Munich), and my friend Ski, he dated her for a while, after going to Denmark to see her—; I remember meeting her, and she was a doll, bronze skin and all, healthy from the breast to her little toes. He met her at one of the big fest tents, with me, then Ski went to Denmark to be with her during some of his leave time, we were both Private First Class, soldiers at the 1/36 Artillery in West Germany; only to come back and say she smoked pot, and took some LSD and he tried to reform her (he never liked pot heads).
I always kind of felt she was lucky to get away from him, he was what we called in the Army, a loose cannon, he could go off at any given moment. I think when I was with him I really didn’t want to meet anyone, I was kind of claustrophobic that whomever I’d meet with him, there was also impending disaster to befall me. But the train to Munich was a blast, there again we almost got into a predicament, let me explain.

As we got off the train (Ski and I) we were obvious to any onlooker, that we were soldiers, as obvious as someone carrying a sack of potatoes, I would expect, walking through that train station, out its doors, then outside onto the sidewalk, at 5:00 AM. I witnessed right away young folks walking, waking up, from few a hours sleep in the corners of the train station, sacks in their hands, or laying beside them, or laying on them, the renowned Oktoberfest was in motion, it was the main event in Munich, and we, Ski and I, were going to it, and this was the place to be, or at least the place I wanted to be. No reservations needed, just your body.
Several young Germans were walking on the opposite side of the sidewalk, several blocks from the train station, where Ski and I crossed over to the other side:
“You speak English?” asked Ski, to the group. They looked at us strangely; we simply wanted to find our way to the fairgrounds. Ski was almost, always, abrupt with his way of trying to make a dialogue—with anyone (but me).
“American GI´s” a voice from the group said. Ski lifted his eyebrows, I figured this would be a fight, or it was at least in the makings.
“No, we’re reporters from New York City…”said Ski. In consequence we got a lot more respect instantly, I was a bit surprised.
“We’re from a …” (a magazine, can’t remember which one he said, but they were impressed, and so was I that we could get away with such a fib)—and to be frank, I felt something like a volt of electricity in the air, after this mirage was created.

—We then walked about Munich for a number of hours, I saw an old bum laying drunk on the sidewalk, everyone just stepped over him or around him, and I stopped and starred at him, I wanted to help him I think, but Ski said rapidly:
“Come on… we’re almost there, he can’t be helped, and he’ll sleep it off!” And for the most part, I think for once he was right, and we could see the entrance to the Oktoberfest, and were both getting excited.
Once through the entrance, we found a big beer hall, and we couldn’t pass it up, or I couldn’t, and we stopped in it and had a few giant mug beers. The Oktoberfest was huge, with big beer tents all about. It was perhaps 11:00 AM. We walked about for a while, I didn’t want to get too drunk too quick, so I slowly drank, and found a place to rest under a shady tree, on an embankment, where a lot of hippies were; that evening, Ski and I would return there to rest again, and watch all the hippies sack out for the evening, having their own personal picnics.
Then we went on to the biggest beer tent at the fest. I was getting drunk now, and ended up dancing on the tables with folks I never knew, holding hands, looped within theirs. I was talking to a woman later on at the entrance of a beer tent, I had said a few words in German, and she rattled on for an hour, and she thought I could understand her, but I could only understand every fifth word or so, which I suppose was good enough. Then Ski came along, said he had met this gal, and he’d introduce her to me shortly, and we both went to the bathroom, and some guy took a picture of us, urinating, not a good thing to do, and Ski blew up, grabbed his camera and broke it in front of him, broke it into several pieces, and the guy almost cried, and when he started yelling, Ski leaped towards him, and I had to pull him off he guy before he’d kill him.
“Let’s get out of here quick Ski, German police may somehow take his side…” I told Ski, and out we went into another tent, with a chicken leg and a mug of beer in our hands. As I said, I was getting drunk, but I never say Ski get drunk, not at the fest, or anyplace, not at our base in Augsburg, ever.
And we left the tent, and then the gal showed up, and he introduced her to me; lovely as could be, nice shape.

Our ride back to Augsburg, on the train would not be so exciting, we were both tired, and wanted to rest somewhat. Which was good for me because I didn’t want to be confronted by the conductor, and his comrades again, like on the way down, which I forgot to mention, but we ended up in his cabin, because Ski wanted something, and pushed the porter, and a fight right in his cabin was mounting, and there was three or four of them, and two of us, but I was ready, and Ski was more than ready, but I smoothed it out, at the last second. All in all, the train to Munich, the trip and the fest, was exceptional.