News and Special Feelings!

This is the third installment of my European Tour Diary.

May 2, 2008

We woke up early, thinking we'd get a jump on the day. We had a long drive to Darmstadt ahead of us and were due to arrive in the afternoon so we'd be ready to play on a radio show that started at 6.

But this was not to be. The Parisian gods intervened in their tricky way and had our car towed during the night. The Dans had gone ahead to load our first batch of luggage (they were always doing that kind of wonderful stuff) and found that the large yellow X that Arnaud had assured us was nothing to worry about was, in fact, "une problemme".

The car was gone. Merde.


Luckily, Arnaud and the Dans were able to track it down to a tow yard that wasn't too far away. They went off to retrieve it. But what were Andrew, Julie and I to do with a free sunshiney morning in Paris? Off to Sacre Coeur!

We bought some pastries, took in the views and then shuffled into the cathedral with the other tourists.

We were just about to flip out from all the pushing and illegal-photo-taking when Julie found us a bench to flop on. The minute we sat down a whole superfluity of nuns marched in for a nice, old-fashioned chanting concert. We all felt that we'd landed in a pot of particularly tasty French jam.

This mood lasted for an hour or so. But just as our spirits lagged, here came the Dans, Arnaud and our beautiful car! We were 137 Euros poorer but wiser.

Dany put the pedal to the metal and we blasted out of Paris and off to Darmstadt!

It was a long drive. Almost 7 hours. The time pretty much flew by, though, so intent were we on our goal. If it had been any other show, we could have been late. But this was our one scheduled radio appearance.

Just as we rolled into town "We Are The Champions" came on the radio and we sang it triumphantly as we pulled up to the radio station only 20 minutes late. The DJ had been stalling, playing old recordings etc. Someone had to get up there so I leapt infront of the mic and started my set. I don't even remember how it went. I think it rocked. I remember drinking a giant beer.

Peter (our friend from Berlin) had set up the show and he was there to meet us. Here are the things Peter likes:
1) Bauhaus architecture
2) nude bathing
3) redistributing the means of production amongst the larger community

He is an excellent specimen of Germanitude and though he comes off like an especially vigalent Stassi agent, with a little teasing he will giggle like a schoolgirl. An excellent host, he had prepared a huge spread of bread, cheese and pickles with little American flags stuck in them (lord knows where he got those).

We were all a little loopy after the show and this led to doing both the chicken dance and the hokey pokey outside the station. One stranger told us that he thought our dance was very moving and that we'd made him feel like he might be happy again some day in the future. Now, THAT is a fan. A crazy, crazy fan.

Peter had arranged for us to spend the night at the Socialist Youth Center on the outskirts of town. It had the feel of a summercamp rec. building- a little musty and chilly but full of boardgames, flags and (after we arrived) beer. We sat up for a long time with Peter and his surly, socialist pals. They explained why they were in favor of the Iraq war and disapproved of the Dali Lama. Eventually, we passed out.

May 3, 2008

Early in the morning, these seemingly grumpy gusses woke us up by running around the cabin, hooting like ghosts and banging on the walls. We were very scared (though maybe in a different way than they intended.)

Everyone sat around for a lazy breakfast in the backyard.

Lis had come to meet us and she now was campaigning hard to be allowed to travel with us to Castrop for our next show. She cited her impressive smallness and her eagerness to not visit a palace with Peter, claiming that she didn't like palaces- only castles. We couldn't put her in the car but Julie and the Dans drove her to the train station to see if she could get there that way. Andrew, Peter and I tried to squeeze in a quick game of Enchanted Forrest.


The train mission was a failure and Lis had to resign herself to meeting us in Cologne. But we were off to parts unknown: The Wilds of Castrop!

This is the second installment of my European Tour Diary. It only concerns one day. If you want to know what happened before this, read the previous entry. Or you can read this part first and then pretend you have a time machine and journey to the past.

5/1/8

MAY DAY! MAY DAY! We're going to Paris!

We start this day of labor in a pretty laborious manner. It's work to pry ourselves away from Piwi's happy home in Frankfurt and it's work to get out of town when the state is busy being smashed. Luckily, we are headed off on the prettiest drive in the world. People who care about Germany are always going on about the Rhineland and what a big frickin' joy it is to behold. Now I know why. Rolling hills, quaint villages with all the trimmings.

Our spirits were quite high even when we crossed into France and were confronted with a series of toll roads. Champagne country. I felt bubbly.

I'd never driven into Paris and was interested to note how the outskirts are as un-charming as any other city's. Julie was on the verge of declaring the place a shithole. But then we got into the city proper and everyone shut up.

Paris is a nice-looking town. I don't care what you say.

As we pulled into the neighborhood of our venue (Le Zebra), Andrew declared that he had to pee. So he leaped out of the car and said he would meet us at Le Zebra, which was supposedly just down the street.

But we didn't foresee the charming French custom of having an intersecting "Rue" named the same as a "Boulevard". Of course, Zebra was on the Boulevard, not the Rue. How was he going to find us? I volunteer to troll the rue looking ostensibly for Andrew but actually for a tarte citron. I found only the latter. I also found the doorway where Edith Piaf was first discovered singing for change. Not bad for my first stroll. (Andrew was later found, like all good things, by the Dans).


The Dans had parked in front of a most delightful bistro and we figured we'd better French it up right away.

I got to translate. That always feels good. We had the choice of cous-cous or duck with noodles. Everyone got duck- even Andrew who declared himself on "meat holiday". Red wine. Mmm.

We loaded our stuff into the basement. Andrew and I went on a little walk and talked about Camus.

The club was a tad douchey. Only 3 drink tickets per person- WHAT??? and the ska band that played first seemed non-plussed by our style. But a couple frans (friend/fans) showed up. Andrew was hoping that Belowski (his nutty British poet buddy) would appear but we were content with our interweb pals.

People talked a lot through the show. Even people who claimed to love it and bought CDs. I guess those French are just chatterbugs.

After the show, we drove to Arnaud's place which was right in the heart of Montmartre, just down the hill from Sacre Coeur. Tres romantic. (Arnaud was the lovely French boy who put the show together at the last minute.) We parked on top of a big yellow X but he assured us it would be "non problemme".

Up in his picturesque apartment, Arnaud made us spaghetti with pesto and then he and I went on a wine run. He told me stories of the neighborhood and hooligans and why he disapproves of prostitution. Tres charmant.