As someone who has little experience with German culture and little interest in parties, it was hard to feel as though I had any expectations when I decided to attend Oktoberfest in Birmingham, Alabama. Oh, sure, beer and bratwurst and sauerkraut seemed to be a given, but I approached the event with no conscious idea or opinion on any other aspects of the celebration.

Approaching the site of the Birmingham Oktoberfest, I strained to hear music, to see a swarm of people, to smell a fired up grill turning out dozens and dozens of bratwurst; instead, I heard the shrill whistle of a train as it screeched down the nearby tracks, saw a few people walking their dogs, and smelled only the cloying rose perfume of a woman that had swept past me seconds before. Having already gone to the wrong park once, I was disappointed to have again messed up and was not too keen on trying to search through the event’s Facebook page to find where the event was.

I felt a small body brush past me as I surveyed the park and heard a giggle, followed by a reprimand. “Watch where you’re going, Sarah, and apologize to the lady you just ran into!” But young Sarah was already off.

“I hear it, Mommy, it’s this way! The music is this way!” She called from another twenty yards down the path. Instantly, I felt hope rise, that maybe this family was heading to Oktoberfest. What the heck, I thought to myself at the time. I’m already here, and I have nothing to lose if I follow them.

And sure enough, five minutes (and the petting of one dog) later, I came upon the grounds for Oktoberfest. Two large canopies with a large “Check In” sign directed me forwards, while the calls of a man, “Regular tickets to the left, VIP to the right,” sent me fumbling towards one line. I passed over my ticket and was summarily handed my commemorative beer stein, drink and meal tickets, and voucher to receive my commemorative shirt.

To say I was impressed would be a lie. Admittedly, the weather was less than ideal, with overcast skies hinting, threatening rain, but never following through, and the brisk wind that periodically swept through the grounds had me hunched in on myself. But even in ignoring the weather, I simply could not find myself getting into the event.

For all that the event boasted a large crowd online, and certainly it was early enough yet for the number to grow, the group that hung around was small, the atmosphere subdued. Even with the band playing, no one was dancing, no one was singing, and hardly anyone was talking with others not of their group. But, I comforted myself, most people are probably eating and just listening to the music.

Intent to do the same myself, I entered the line, short but getting longer by the minute, admired the couples and families dressed in the traditional lederhosen and dirndls (I myself was decked out in the American traditional shorts and a t-shirt),  and got myself a plate of food. It was only after I exited the line that I realized the next problem: seating.

While the event boasted a good amount of seating, it definitely did not support the growing crowd, and it definitely suited couples, families and groups more than it suited one person on their own. A few people sat further back along a retaining wall, and, for lack of anywhere else to sit, I joined them.

I shivered, cold wind and brick easily countering the heat of my plate. Placed carefully on the white styrofoam, a clump of pale yellow sauerkraut, a shining black-brown bratwurst, and a golden roll stared up at me. Self-control, I have not, so I almost immediately began shoveling my face full, only to find myself frowning at the plate. The bratwurst was typical of others I’d had at family barbecues: coarse in texture, juicy and briney, with just a hint of smoke from the grill. But the sauerkraut…something was off. It didn’t taste as strongly of vinegar, of something sour, as I had anticipated. While I’ve not had a lot of sauerkraut in the past, I have had it a few times, and this tasted very much like a watered down version of what my tongue told me I should be tasting. And the roll…well, I couldn’t help but think that I could easily have gotten a similar roll from the grocery store. It certainly was nothing to write home about.

Now thoroughly disgruntled with the entire affair, I could only convince myself to stay for a little while more, listening to what sounded like the same song, muffled as it was, and watching as the crowd grew and the space grew ever more limited.

A few weeks now from the experience, I’d like to say my opinion has improved. After all, the food was good, filling and tasty and served hot, and the music was traditional, if lacking in variation. The lack of seating was a problem, but it didn’t seem to bother most people until it came time to eat, and many seemed to prefer standing. Even so, I expected a party, a celebration. I expected dancing and singing along to the music, and, quite frankly, I felt more like I attended a community barbecue. I just didn’t feel as though I attended Oktoberfest, a celebration that has come to embody German culture and identity. While part of that is on me, with my own expectations, I definitely feel as though there are more appropriate, more celebratory Oktoberfests to attend.