Parade beats beer in our Oktoberfest initiation

Opinion amongst my Munich insiders was fairly consistent: Oktoberfest, unless you can score some corporate hospitality, is over-rated.

It's a magnet for foreigners to descend upon Munich to drink themselves silly; like an American college Spring Break, but with an international crowd in Bavarian costume.  It's so packed that the main beer tents are almost impossible to get inside after 10 am, thus you probably can't experience more than one a day, if you get in any at all. The city is stuffed to bursting, everyone raises the prices of everything and hotels book up a year in advance. It's not, the locals sighed, what it used to be.

Thus we scheduled our holiday to end on the day Oktoberfest opened. We broke out the dirndl and lederhosen, saw the opening parade and drank in the atmosphere of the fairground before heading to the airport ... avoiding the price crunch and the worst of the crowds.  This was generally a good solution, though it meant we didn't get into any of the beer tents.  Since they only serve beer to people seated at tables, it means that, ironically, we went to Oktoberfest but didn't get a drink. Despite the fact that the main pavilions seat almost 100,000 people. But we tasted the atmosphere, and decamped to the nearby Hacker Pschorr beer garden for refreshments.

The mobile beer ban was just one of many surprises that made me realise that I actually didn't know that much about the mother of all Oktoberfests. Here are some key points, for others amongst the uninitiated.

• The festival has a rich historical legacy.  It started as a wedding celebration in 1810 when the prince who would become King Ludwig I and his bride Princess Therese decided to include the people in their festivities. The merriment took place in fields outside of the city centre, renamed Theresa's Meadow in the princess' honour. The area is still officially known as Theresienwiese, though almost everyone shortens it to the Wiesn. I found a pleasant continuity in the fact that the man who left the most enduring architectural legacy on the city was also the one responsible for starting its greatest festival.

• Oktoberfest feels a lot like an American state fair.  The Wiesn is a big fairground set aside specifically for the purpose, there's an enormous strip of carnival rides (akin to an American fair midway) and loads of traditional food. The beer tents are fabulous temporary constructions, rising like a stage-set city for the duration of the event.

• Pretty much everyone comes in costume. You'd think you'd feel a bit odd, being a foreigner putting on a local costume ... but you'd feel a lot stranger in regular street clothes. Everyone dresses up, adding to the magic of the scene. The shopkeepers of Munich know this, and make it easy for you. Whether it's a cheap, Chinese-made Holloween costume purchased from a stall outside the train station, a basic outfit from a department store, mix and match from a traditional clothing warehouse or high-end pieces from specialist shops, there are options for every taste and budget.

• Locals have a different experience, and you can spot them easily. Evidently, most of the seats inside the tents can be reserved, and these reservations belong to either corporate hospitality or private clubs and organisations. As with most big events, there's a separate track for well-connected locals, who weave through the Wiesn crowds to take their rightful places.  Their clothing is exquisite. The great and the good's lederhosen might be accented with embroidery and tends to be longer; outfits are  accessorised with knives, badges, boar bristles and other bits and pieces that look like they've been passed down for generations. Women's dirndls are exquisitely tailored with fine detailing, probably from the posh department store Loden Frey. (Even if you have no intention of buying anything, it's great fun to wander through the traditional clothing section here to see what's possible.)

The parade's a big deal for the local kids

• There are two blockbuster parades worth making an effort to see. The first, on the opening Saturday, is a procession of beer wagons heading towards each tent, interspersed with marching bands. Coaches and more wagons filled with well-dressed locals follow the beer wagons; presumably more of the great and the good on their way to those reserved tables.  Getting to the route near the Wiesn entrance about an hour before starting time meant that we had a front row view as the spectacle unfurled. For more than two hours. It was glorious. And it's supposedly the inferior parade.  Sunday's, which is longer and has more than 8,000 marchers, is devoted to celebrating the identity of regions throughout Bavaria, celebrating variations of local costume. The problem with the parades, of course, is that if you stay on the street to watch them you give up your chance of nabbing a seat in any of the beer tents. After the Rose Bowl Parade, the opening day of Oktoberfest was the best parade I've ever seen. I think we made the right choice.

• Talk to people. The festival brings the ethos of the beer gardens to the streets. There are no strangers, only friends you haven't met yet. We struck up a conversation with the American couple we stood next to at the parade, and ended up spending the rest of the day with them. We had a blast, and the company made the day even better.

I liked our Oktoberfest approach, but if I had it to do again, I'd vary our schedule slightly.  I'd put Munich in the centre of our holiday, and I'd stay through the first Monday night of the festival.  I'd go to both parades, decamping to beer gardens off the Wiesn afterwards for lunch and celebration. On Monday, I'd get to the Wiesn early so I could get into a tent. And, maybe, try for two.  Then I'd head down to Schwangau, where the Bavarian Palace Department takes advantage of the influx of tourists to run a short season of concerts in the minstrel's hall at Neuschwanstein. 

Sounds heavenly. That's the plan for next time.