Oktoberfest Alone

By Alexandra Blanter

Until coming to study at St. Andrews, I had never really travelled alone. Sure, there were family trips over spring break and camping trips with big groups of friends during summer. But never had I decided to pack my bags and fly to a different country on a whim, with only another person to accompany me. So when my friend and I decided to go to Munich for a weekend to attend the infamous Oktoberfest beer festival, we were ecstatic. Just two girls jetting off to a different country for a weekend.  

Oktoberfest was amazing. Filled with thousands of people in traditional German dress, clinking together giant glasses of beers and singing songs in unison, it was truly a unique experience I’ve never had before, and one I don’t think I’ll have again.

At the same time, there was a feeling that I couldn’t shake. A feeling of uncomfortableness, of feeling out of my element. And if I’m being honest, being one of two young women travelling together at a festival focused primarily around rowdy and excessive drinking, and a room largely filled with men, a small feeling of being unsafe. A feeling of being stared at, being watched, and at times, the literal feeling of being touched by people I did not know and in ways that I did not want. Even in my most carefree moments throughout the day, I always felt a part of me was alert, looking out for myself. And in my most tense, I felt scared.

Here’s the thing about my experience at Oktoberfest. Yes, I had fun. Yes, I felt like every stereotypical girl you see on Instagram, decked out in my blue patterned dirndl, a stein of beer in one hand, giant pretzel in the other, dancing on tabletops with new friends throughout the day and into the night. But most of the time, there’s more to things than how they seem on an Instagram feed, with a carefully planned camera angle and a meticulously chosen filter. For me, Oktoberfest was surreal, and I loved it. But it was also a weekend that reminded me of my vulnerability as a woman, and the uncomfortable truth of travelling as a woman to a place I did not know. It reminded me that sometimes I do not have the luxury of living like a carefree and ideal photograph on social media. And here’s the thing. I realized that when I travel by myself, or with a small group of girls, I am always scared. Even if it’s just a little bit, even if it’s just at the back of my head. I am scared that I’ll be viewed as too helpless, too vulnerable, or too alone. I am told to never be out at night alone, to be careful who I talk to, to pick my accommodation wisely.

But I must acknowledge that as awful as I feel sometimes, that when I travel as a white woman, whether I am alone or with a group, I am always protected by my own whiteness. As hard as it is and uncomfortable as I may feel, I never have to worry about facing racism or prejudice in a foreign city, violence, even discrimination at hotels, planes, or Airbnbs. I don’t have to worry about being stared at because of my skin color. And furthermore, I must acknowledge that I am lucky to be able to travel at all, to be able to afford to jet off to Munich or Budapest or London for the weekend because I need a weekend away from my University town. So as hard as it is for me, I have to acknowledge that for others it is so, so much worse.

The sad thing was a part of me had always known all of this; the uncomfortableness and anxiety women experience travelling. A part of me wasn’t surprised, and a part of me wanted to accept it for what it was, and that made me angry. It made me angry to find myself subconsciously submitting to my own discomfort, to find myself telling myself that “this is just the way things are, deal with it.” And so while a part of me had always known all that, and had expected all that, I had never truly felt it before that weekend. It was not a feeling I ever wanted to have.