Steps from where we parked in a big field, there were tens of beautifully decorated horse-drawn wagons. Each wagon represented a nearby Bavarian village. We were at an annual event called Gautrachtenfest. A “Tracht” is a traditional garment, and each village’s is unique. Each year, the fest is held in a different participating village in this “gau” (region) of Germany.

We found a shady spot right before the parade started. Beautiful horses, traditional Bavarian marching bands, creative village specialties displayed on wagon floats (usually the village church, or some villagers showing off their local trade – mending a fish net, chopping wood, or threshing grain), and children and adults dressed in their village tracht started to go by.

Males of all ages from the same village are dressed the same, but unmarried and married females have very different tracht. Sometimes, little girls have a different one from young ladies. Within ten minutes, a fine village horse showed off its multitasking skill of walking and pooping at the same time. I knew we were downwind because sometimes there was a tiny breeze on this 85-degree day (30 degrees Celsius).

After the parade, we went to the tent area. It was like what I’ve seen of Oktoberfest on TV, but I was told Oktoberfest is much, much bigger, and internationally known, but people who attend this event are almost all locals. Oh yeah, I didn’t see any other Asians except for the two in the parade representing their respective village, and very few people had cameras. Tourists!

The place was so packed we shared a table with some other people. The man I sat next to started talking to me in English. He’s pretty cool, and was from a few villages over. He said San Francisco is his favorite city in the U.S. His favorite country is New Zealand, the most expensive is Japan, he lived in Guatemala for about a year, and traveled all over South America.

We had some really good roast chicken with a Kaiser roll. My new friend encouraged me to just use my hands because it’s tastier that way. Kenric, who almost never eats chicken skin (more for me!), ate it yesterday. The lean chicken was that good.

After a liter of really good beer, I went to use the bathroom. I came back, sat down, and my new friend smiled and asked, “Do you like cocaine?”

We’re so glad we stayed an extra day. I take back what I said about blindly trusting the locals.