A German rates the Icelandic Októberfest
I saw a lot in those three days at Októberfest. Maybe too much. I saw Páll Óskar enchanting the crowd with his glittery rainbow-unicorn glory, witnessed ClubDub and Birnir absolutely soaring the untamed horde of mostly young Icelanders, and observed THE ultimate festival classic. You guessed right: people fucking in the porta-potties.
Let’s start with the most obvious thing. Why on earth is it called Októberfest when the festival is literally held in September??? I have so many questions.
O’Zapft is! (Basically: The beer is tapped)
First of all, I am the perfect candidate to rate Októberfest.
Do I originate from the paradise of sausages, patriotism, and the motherland of the original Oktoberfest? (aka Bavaria)
- No, but I am from the neighbouring state and we DO have pretzels!!!
Did I possess deep embarrassment and occasional hatred for Lederhosen and Dirndl (the sexier version of the Icelandic Þjóðbúningur) until I was like 19?
- Indeed. Oddly enough, I still own a dirndl, as peer pressure made me spend over 150 € on one.
Do I detest German Schlager, the type of often sexist folk music that is played at Oktoberfest?
- Absolutely. With that said, enough alcohol makes you lose your own boundaries in musical taste.
Either way, I’m German, so I am still better suited than most to rate the Icelandic Októberfest. Here we go.
Kids’ Camp just drunk(-er)
The first thing I noticed when I stumbled upon the muddy festival pit was the smell of the tent. In a (kind of) melancholic way it reminded me of long summer days in a kids’ camp with a gazillion other loud children. I guess this is also how Októberfest could be summarised. The scent of the earthy, muddy soil mixed with the thick plastic smell of the festival tent created this universally nostalgic damp and stuffy camp scent. Enough of smells though and back to the party.
The first night of Októberfest was supposed to start with THE Icelandic troubadour, Bubbi Morthens (somehow my Icelandic boyfriend got offended by calling Bubbi that?). Unfortunately, he couldn’t make it, so Ásgeir Trausti took over and opened the festival with his soft and melodic compositions. I noticed that, while the status quo at the original Októberfest is wearing some fancy Dirndl and dashing Lederhosen, the Icelandic equivalent is more like having bleached hair, an orangey fake tan and super low pants to enable a sneak-peak at one’s underwear. Though, surprisingly, I did see a few people in Lederhosen and in a Dirndl!
Between the 4 tents, there was something for everyone. In the Siminn tent, there was karaoke, a silent disco, a glitter painting feast, and beer pong. Meanwhile, in the Tuborg and Redbull tents, artists performed non-stop, making it somewhat difficult to choose where to rush next without needing a time-turner. Luckily for me, the Icelandic pop, rap, and folk music played at Októberfest was far more to my taste than the music enjoyed in the original version. Though it could have helped that, while I mimic-screamed the lyrics, I didn’t really understand much of them.
More like Septemberfest
As it is a festival and it is customary for people to be quite drunk, it is worth noting that during the first two nights, my level of alcohol consumption did not really match the other people’s. Most people were out of it, making it difficult to maintain enough space to truly enjoy a performance. After the Birnir concert, I had to elbow my way out of the crowd. It felt like I was fighting for my life in the Icelandic version of the Hunger Games, while fearing the brutal death of being trampled. What a great way to go! (I envision the call to my mum going something like this: “Your daughter was trampled to death at the Icelandic Októberfest!” – Mum: “Oh, not even the original one?! Shame on her!”) The last night was a bit better, perhaps because I gave up on pushing my way to the front of the stage, and maybe because my alcohol consumption finally matched the others’. Overall it did seem like the festival area was a bit too small for the amount of tickets they sold or Icelandic people just love the thrill of death.
But why is Októberfest held in September? From numerous anonymous sources I heard the whisper that apparently the festival used to be held in October. But, then again, we live on an island in the middle of the North Atlantic so, naturally, the weather tends to get shittier the closer we get to the endless winter. Winter is coming, I guess. That is why Októberfest was eventually “preponed” to September. To be fair, the actual Oktoberfest is also mainly held in September (until the first weekend of October though), so I really can’t complain.
One thing that plagued my drunken thoughts throughout the three days of the festival was the fate of the nearby birds in the Vatnsmýri nature reserve. I know the geese are rude brats, acting like they run the city themselves all while attacking innocent pedestrians. But nevertheless, I felt a bit bad for them. The rumbling bass infused the sludgy soil with deep vibrations, probably scaring these poor creatures half to death. But hey, Októberfest needs to come at a price and the geese just need to pay it.
Where are the pretzels???
So overall, can I recommend going to Októberfest? Yes, I absolutely can. If you’re into heavy drunken crowds and mudslides, you’ll have a great time! You’re going to see the crème de la crème of the Icelandic pop scene while meeting a ton of new drunk people that will just ignore you once you soberly bump into them in the uni hallway (might be the lack of memory though)! And the best part: You can stuff yourself with great yet overpriced food from the food trucks! Where are the pretzels though??
