Part 38: ALWAYS READ the small print...
Shopping in Europe (OK girls. You knew I´d get around to this much loved travel activity at some point) is indeed a "pandoric" affair: WHEEEE!!!
Shoes, girls! Shoes!
And dresses...and leather jackets.
Boots! Jesus, yes! Boots!
Exotic stuff. Expensive stuff. Cheap stuff. Bargains! A Continent of "flea" markets!
Or?
You can mortgage your house and hit the major Euro (haute) fashion houses just to look "super-geil" (cool) if only for a (fashion) half-hour!
But...back to Earth, my OWN shopping sprees usually revolve around every day necessities: Cans of Soup. An onion. Basmati rice. Milk, coffee, beer & smokes!
I know. It´s (shoppingly) pitiful.
OK. I ocassionally spring for a new guitar.
...Biggest problem for THIS "sad sap", however, (on the road) is that I´m an impatient shopper; a typical guy.
I never shop for food unless I´m starving, or "jones-ing" for a brew? -only after a 3 day enforced drought (due to penury)...whereby it´s: "Just gimme that frickin´ 6 pack. I´m dying, here!"
-slapping cash on the counter: "Make it snappy, Happy!"
So it will come as NO surprise to "y´all" that when I think I´ve bought a slab of beef, it´s pork...or worse: Soy-tofu! And TWICE on this memorable (sic) Euro-trip I´ve hiked TWO FRICKIN MILES (...AND BACK) to the nearest brew outlet only to find I`ve purchased alcohol-FREE suds, or something called "Radner" (Radler?) which is Pilsner beer mixed with lime juice or god knows what?
Suicidal moments, dear ones, I can tell you.
Cos', like (dude!?) who the frick reads the labels, especially ones IN German, where every label-posted word is TEN syllables long?
"FURSTEN-BRACKEN-BOMISCHES-LÖWEN-
YOUR-BRAU-ROTHAUS-GANTER-BITBURGER-
CITY-BABY-STEIN!"
(alkohol frei)
I mean!?... C´mon!...?
And oddly (lol), these 2 beer purchase mishaps BOTH happened (one in Summer, one in Winter) whilst residing in the South of Germany in Baden-Wurttemberg; actually, the Schwarzwald (Black Forest), a guest of my old Roman Holiday friend, St. Thomas (von Freiburg), who had not so much a "Schloss" (castle or mansion) but almost a Ski Lodge affair with many rooms be-decked with hunting trophies...taxi-dermied to almost "born-again Christian" living excellence!... And thank god my OWN room in this somewhat vast hospice had it´s own bathroom as I would - middle of the night/needing a pee - never have found my way back to my sleeping post.
St. Thomas, these days, incidentally, long since "hied" from a proletarian/bohemian existence...and, to re-iterate, I had known him 7 years previous, in my Roman Holiday (Veni, Vidi, I CRASHED!) days; then, a stalwart of the Freiburg I. Breisgau/Atlantic bar (which still exists), habituee.
Recalled by circumstances/family obligations to his roots (the Schwarzwald), he was still lean, tall (6`- 4"), with scraggy black hair, be-spectackled (test-tackled?) like a dotty professor...and now the "Laird" of his family´s domain; forever attired in flannel shirt, Jodpur pants, riding boots (he stabled a dozen horses). A Hunter! And ever, EVER accompanied by 2 Great Dame hounds; guns, muskets, crossbows decorating his den/study....sharp of wit, quick of humour, though he was a "mensch" who would rarely explode with laughter.
His style was...deadpan.
A huge drinker, of course. Beer, booze. An afficionado of gentle wines; cigars, always!
Anyhow, (French Horns resounding) this epitome of a German hunting lodge was - though in need of a serious dusting/cobwebs in all the right places, not just in the wine cellar - was not without touches of antiquity, evident in St. Thomas´s array of ancestral portraits that punctuated one´s progress on the emphatically solid, grand oak (?) staircase that one ascended-descended twix sleep and waking activity.
About a dozen, if my memory serves me. All ornately framed of course. Some painted by worthy "kunstlers"; others, kind´a amateurish, least ways to MY eyes.
Subject with his horse.
Subject with hunting dogs.
One, seated, holding a bible/tome.
A parade of fashion history, too.
Knee britches. Thigh-high riding boots (with spurs). A three cornered hat, etc., etc. And some of these "snaps" in Oils were reasonably antique; the earliest dated 1725.
One evening, after a select gathering had dined on a spit of recently killed wild boar and some choice clarets, post brandy-cigars, St. Thomas and I viewed this gallery of "dead souls", relaxed (stoned?), and in our cups.
I remark that one of the earliest portrait subject reminded me of Voltaire...?
St.T: "The family knew him, of course."
Me: "Who?"
St.T: ""Voltaire."
ME: "You don´t say?" -my mouth agape, no doubt.
"Indeed:" he continued, dryly, "I believe there´s a picture...in the hallway, by your sleeping quarters." -at which point, the hour being late, he nodded reverently and bade me "good night" and "sleep well", he and his faithful hounds retiring to his den/study.
So, quite indolent from the evening´s sumptuous fare and convivial activity, the other dinner guests having long since departed or posted to their beds, I make for my own, yet resolve to keep my mental "porch light" on so as to note "The Voltaire" in the small corridor leading to my guest room... And am in no way surprised to discover it not ten feet from my very door.
Silly me, for not noticing it before...!
It was a smallish picture. 2 feet by 18 inches, or thereabouts. Gold-gilt edged, ornate frame, illuminated quite softly by an overhead, sunk-ceiling spot light.
Quite respectable and a perfect representation in every way.
Black & White, of course.
The subject, Voltaire (looking uncannily like St. Thomas) in full 18th century regalia, leaning on the hood of a Mercedez-Benz convertible...yakking into a Blackberry Cell phone.
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Offenburg-germany
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 37: Test-Tackles, part 2
Part 37: Test-Tackles, part 2
Call me crazy, but...
...speaking of which, and with YOU, dear blog-fan, and ONLY you, I must confide that - of late - I have been having a slight skin irritation in my "erogenous" zone, (jock-itch?) caused - I believe - partly (probably!) by stress and through travel; not shedding my clothes, 2 days at a time, plus binges & the "sweats"!
Georgie (Gold), and of late, recently released on his own cognizance, from the Linz haupt-kranken-haus, where - incidentally - he was much beloved by the swarms of skin-tight, white uniform-clad...and VERY nubile kranken-swesters...and, again...recently released with a clean bill of health...
(he was ...er, "in-turned" for a cocktail of Bohemian complaints)
....but suffers NO erogenous symptoms outside of really "jones-ing" for a pack of smokes & a keg of schnapps.
So! By pre-arrangement, I pick him up at the haupt-kranken-haus´s main portal using a super-market trolley cart, handing him a much needed bottle of Jack Daniels.
(the latter, "on loan" from the same market the shopping cart came from)
....And... "in the early morning rain"...in Linz...we go in search of an "ashtray" (smokey bar), hopefully open!
It´s, like... 6 a.m.
Of course (I love starting sentences with "of course"...like Soup, first on the menu).... Of course, "in-flight" conversation is initially polite, cursory, minimal. The weather? Your health? Got "laid" lately?, etc., but I DO - man to man - mention (out of the blue) my erogenous zone complaint and...due to Georgie´s (Georgie Gold´s) limited grasp of English, though IN CONCERT he is extremely eloquent...specify most pointedly that I am indeed referring, again, "specifically", to my Ball-bag, my testicles....which I immediately discover "testicles" is indeed a foreign word to the average Austrian, including Georgie von Gold.
Now, I DO say "in-flight" conversation as the trip from the haupt-kranken-haus to the nearest (open) bar in a supermarket trolley cart takes about 45 minutes, yet it´s Georgie (Prozac-Xanax-ed to the gills) riding in the cart, with a bottle of "Jack", cltuching a plastic bag filled with his "meds", and me...behind...Aqualung-scraggy, huffing & puffing, trying to navigate the blessed trolley-cart along cobbled streets, dodging potholes, etc., and LIKE Georgie (Georgie Gold) am "jones-ing" for a keg; in MY case? -Brewskies!
However! -in-flight conversation! My erogenous zone business. Ball.bag. Testicles!
Yup! That trick or treat bag that God gives to every boy at birth.... And, HOLY-MOLEY! -you´d better pray, Lads, it works!
Anyways:
Me: "Erogenous zone."
GG: "Vas!?"
ME: "Ball-bag!"
GG: "Soccer?"
ME: " TESTICLES!... And give me a slug of the `Jack`!"
I pause the "trek", catch breath, take a slug of J.D., fire up a "rollie", then push on ahead.
Rattle-rattle, cough-burp, along we go with the super-market (super?) trolley cart like 2 sacks of spuds (potatoes); one splayed IN the cart, the other (ME), huffing and pushing behind.
"Ha-ha!" exclaims Georgie, moments later.
Me: "Wha?"
GG: "Test-tackles!"
"Tess what?"
"TEST-TACKLES!!!"
Thinking Georgie has STILL got his mind on Soccer, least ways, Sports, I refrain from again pausing - to explain/clarify the venacular - and push double quick-time in the direction of a faded yellow neon that spells: BAR., ergo, WE (Georgie Gold & I) "test-tackle" at full speed-a´clatter, crash through the bar´s double doors, cart and all...where I park/abandon Georgie (in cart) AT the actual ancient wooden bar, hit the "john", then return to find his "One-ness" holding court with several all night, chain smoking, binge folks/GG-fans....
...and we, there-on, "test-tackle" our way through a couple of kegs/casks until mid-afternoon, which - of course! - is when the money runs out!
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Schwarzwald-germany
Call me crazy, but...
...speaking of which, and with YOU, dear blog-fan, and ONLY you, I must confide that - of late - I have been having a slight skin irritation in my "erogenous" zone, (jock-itch?) caused - I believe - partly (probably!) by stress and through travel; not shedding my clothes, 2 days at a time, plus binges & the "sweats"!
Georgie (Gold), and of late, recently released on his own cognizance, from the Linz haupt-kranken-haus, where - incidentally - he was much beloved by the swarms of skin-tight, white uniform-clad...and VERY nubile kranken-swesters...and, again...recently released with a clean bill of health...
(he was ...er, "in-turned" for a cocktail of Bohemian complaints)
....but suffers NO erogenous symptoms outside of really "jones-ing" for a pack of smokes & a keg of schnapps.
So! By pre-arrangement, I pick him up at the haupt-kranken-haus´s main portal using a super-market trolley cart, handing him a much needed bottle of Jack Daniels.
(the latter, "on loan" from the same market the shopping cart came from)
....And... "in the early morning rain"...in Linz...we go in search of an "ashtray" (smokey bar), hopefully open!
It´s, like... 6 a.m.
Of course (I love starting sentences with "of course"...like Soup, first on the menu).... Of course, "in-flight" conversation is initially polite, cursory, minimal. The weather? Your health? Got "laid" lately?, etc., but I DO - man to man - mention (out of the blue) my erogenous zone complaint and...due to Georgie´s (Georgie Gold´s) limited grasp of English, though IN CONCERT he is extremely eloquent...specify most pointedly that I am indeed referring, again, "specifically", to my Ball-bag, my testicles....which I immediately discover "testicles" is indeed a foreign word to the average Austrian, including Georgie von Gold.
Now, I DO say "in-flight" conversation as the trip from the haupt-kranken-haus to the nearest (open) bar in a supermarket trolley cart takes about 45 minutes, yet it´s Georgie (Prozac-Xanax-ed to the gills) riding in the cart, with a bottle of "Jack", cltuching a plastic bag filled with his "meds", and me...behind...Aqualung-scraggy, huffing & puffing, trying to navigate the blessed trolley-cart along cobbled streets, dodging potholes, etc., and LIKE Georgie (Georgie Gold) am "jones-ing" for a keg; in MY case? -Brewskies!
However! -in-flight conversation! My erogenous zone business. Ball.bag. Testicles!
Yup! That trick or treat bag that God gives to every boy at birth.... And, HOLY-MOLEY! -you´d better pray, Lads, it works!
Anyways:
Me: "Erogenous zone."
GG: "Vas!?"
ME: "Ball-bag!"
GG: "Soccer?"
ME: " TESTICLES!... And give me a slug of the `Jack`!"
I pause the "trek", catch breath, take a slug of J.D., fire up a "rollie", then push on ahead.
Rattle-rattle, cough-burp, along we go with the super-market (super?) trolley cart like 2 sacks of spuds (potatoes); one splayed IN the cart, the other (ME), huffing and pushing behind.
"Ha-ha!" exclaims Georgie, moments later.
Me: "Wha?"
GG: "Test-tackles!"
"Tess what?"
"TEST-TACKLES!!!"
Thinking Georgie has STILL got his mind on Soccer, least ways, Sports, I refrain from again pausing - to explain/clarify the venacular - and push double quick-time in the direction of a faded yellow neon that spells: BAR., ergo, WE (Georgie Gold & I) "test-tackle" at full speed-a´clatter, crash through the bar´s double doors, cart and all...where I park/abandon Georgie (in cart) AT the actual ancient wooden bar, hit the "john", then return to find his "One-ness" holding court with several all night, chain smoking, binge folks/GG-fans....
...and we, there-on, "test-tackle" our way through a couple of kegs/casks until mid-afternoon, which - of course! - is when the money runs out!
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Schwarzwald-germany
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 36: Test-Tackles, part 1
Part 36: Test-Tackles, part 1
I must hereby state - for a myriad of legal reasons - that this blog/book, DAVE DELACROIX: OUR MAN in EUROPE is, of course, largely a work of fiction (sort´a-kind´a) and that ANY similarity to actual places, names AND people, living or dead OR in the "loony bin"... is purely co-incidental; ergo, don´t bother suing me because outside of a cheap-ass Spanish guitar, I (of no fixed address) have absolutely NO assets whatsoever, anyway....better you buy a case of BREZNAK ORIGINAL BOHMISCH PILS (beer) and go soak your feet!
Call me crazy, but...
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/schwarzwald-germany
I must hereby state - for a myriad of legal reasons - that this blog/book, DAVE DELACROIX: OUR MAN in EUROPE is, of course, largely a work of fiction (sort´a-kind´a) and that ANY similarity to actual places, names AND people, living or dead OR in the "loony bin"... is purely co-incidental; ergo, don´t bother suing me because outside of a cheap-ass Spanish guitar, I (of no fixed address) have absolutely NO assets whatsoever, anyway....better you buy a case of BREZNAK ORIGINAL BOHMISCH PILS (beer) and go soak your feet!
Call me crazy, but...
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/schwarzwald-germany
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 35: Rock the Kasbah!
Part 35: Rock the Kasbah!
In my Creative life, whether in my writings (Roman Holiday: Veni, Vidi, I CRASHED! -the travel-biopic-novel) or in this present work: Dave Delacroix: Our Man in Europe...or in any of my CD music productions; Streets of Denver, The Deadbeat Scrolls, 21st Century, SIX PACK, Sirens, etc., ALL available - online - thru CD BABY.com...I can honestly state that I have never craved "commercial" attention, nor resorted to crass advertizing/commercialism, though often have I pondered the possibilities over succulent lunches at:
McDONALDS
WENDY´S
TACO BELL
& the infamous
CHIK-FIL-A/ QUIZNOS
Or whilst sipping on
STELLA ARTOIS
BITBURGER
EDELSTOFF
GUINESS
BASS
HARP, etc...
Whilst smoking
DRUM
TOP
GOLDEN VIRGINIA
SAMSON
VAN NELLE
JAKORDIA, tobacco...
Usually, whilst strumming a
GIBSON
MARTIN
FENDER
IBANEZ
GRETSCH
RICKENBACHER, guitar...
Whilst riding on
AMTRAK
BRITISH RAIL
DEUTSCH BAHN
GREYHOUND BUS
BRITISH AIRWAYS
US AIRWAYS
KLM/EL-AL/QUANTAS
AIR FRANCE
LUFTHANSA
And wearing
LEVIS
WRANGLERS
CHRISTIAN DIOR
DOC MARTINS/CONVERSE
GAP
FREDRICKS of HOLLYWOOD
VICTORIA´S SECRET
Or anything, from
BARNEYS
MACYS
WOOLWORTHS
MARKS & SPENCERS
WALMART
(Walgreens?)
Being, simultaneously/unhappily, NOT in posession of any product from
KING SOOPERS
SAINSBURYS
TARGET
VONS
7 - 11
CIRCLE K
Or any
SHELL
BP
GULF
CHEVRON
TEXACO
gas station knick-knacks.
Also! I DON´T drive...so I have had no need to mention
ROLLS-ROYCE
MERCEDEZ-BENZ
CHEVROLET
TOYOTA/PORSCHE
FORD, FIAT
...MASSARATI for THAT matter!
Yes, indeed. NO reference to any of the above listed Companies/products would lend themselves to my Creative output...or...like stars to the night, give an added lustre to my unfettered, intellectual freedom, regardless of the potential advertising income...
...whilst staying at the
HILTON
HOLIDAY INN
MOTEL 6
THE RAMADA
THE RITZ-CARLTON
THE DAYS INN
YMCA...
NO SIR-EEEE! It just wouldn´t do!....:)
c 2011, jan./dave delacroix/our man in europe/offenburg, germany
In my Creative life, whether in my writings (Roman Holiday: Veni, Vidi, I CRASHED! -the travel-biopic-novel) or in this present work: Dave Delacroix: Our Man in Europe...or in any of my CD music productions; Streets of Denver, The Deadbeat Scrolls, 21st Century, SIX PACK, Sirens, etc., ALL available - online - thru CD BABY.com...I can honestly state that I have never craved "commercial" attention, nor resorted to crass advertizing/commercialism, though often have I pondered the possibilities over succulent lunches at:
McDONALDS
WENDY´S
TACO BELL
& the infamous
CHIK-FIL-A/ QUIZNOS
Or whilst sipping on
STELLA ARTOIS
BITBURGER
EDELSTOFF
GUINESS
BASS
HARP, etc...
Whilst smoking
DRUM
TOP
GOLDEN VIRGINIA
SAMSON
VAN NELLE
JAKORDIA, tobacco...
Usually, whilst strumming a
GIBSON
MARTIN
FENDER
IBANEZ
GRETSCH
RICKENBACHER, guitar...
Whilst riding on
AMTRAK
BRITISH RAIL
DEUTSCH BAHN
GREYHOUND BUS
BRITISH AIRWAYS
US AIRWAYS
KLM/EL-AL/QUANTAS
AIR FRANCE
LUFTHANSA
And wearing
LEVIS
WRANGLERS
CHRISTIAN DIOR
DOC MARTINS/CONVERSE
GAP
FREDRICKS of HOLLYWOOD
VICTORIA´S SECRET
Or anything, from
BARNEYS
MACYS
WOOLWORTHS
MARKS & SPENCERS
WALMART
(Walgreens?)
Being, simultaneously/unhappily, NOT in posession of any product from
KING SOOPERS
SAINSBURYS
TARGET
VONS
7 - 11
CIRCLE K
Or any
SHELL
BP
GULF
CHEVRON
TEXACO
gas station knick-knacks.
Also! I DON´T drive...so I have had no need to mention
ROLLS-ROYCE
MERCEDEZ-BENZ
CHEVROLET
TOYOTA/PORSCHE
FORD, FIAT
...MASSARATI for THAT matter!
Yes, indeed. NO reference to any of the above listed Companies/products would lend themselves to my Creative output...or...like stars to the night, give an added lustre to my unfettered, intellectual freedom, regardless of the potential advertising income...
...whilst staying at the
HILTON
HOLIDAY INN
MOTEL 6
THE RAMADA
THE RITZ-CARLTON
THE DAYS INN
YMCA...
NO SIR-EEEE! It just wouldn´t do!....:)
c 2011, jan./dave delacroix/our man in europe/offenburg, germany
Thursday, January 20, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 34: Kasablanka Kool
Part 34: Kasablanka Kool (the road to Georgie Gold)
Today, Helena, the barkeep at the Cafe Max...in Linz...SINGS!....but I don´t... She´s a full blooded, red-haired Austrian gal (a lot of red heads in Austria, by x by...) Nice change from the uniform Deutsche blondes, though I confess, I believe they ARE my - eye candy - favourites.
Everyone in German speaking Europe, incidentally, bycycles, (cycles!) probably almost daily and - who knows? - could possibly have been conceived ON one!... A lot like the average American....conceived, that is...in the back seat of a 1957 Chevrolet (truck or car), ergo, they (the German speaking population) have (the Girls, that is) legs up to their neck....From the exercise...And God bless ´em!
Moving along. As You, dear reader, have probably noticed...outside of my imbibing gargantuan amounts of beer (good stuff, not Coors) I´m something of a chain smoker and can happily report that Austria (near Switzerland, east of Germany, north of Italy, and most definitely EAST of New York City) is Smoker´s heaven!
....But!....(there´s always a "but", "butt"?)... Alas, the drinking dens and bars, least ways here in Linz, are NOT required to install any kind of ventilation system,
ergo, not only do these beer havens smell like yesterday´s ashtray but the current cigarette smoke/fog pervades like a good ol´ Jazz club of yore.
Forget the Camels/Marlboro stench in your clothes; even MY eyes are strained, scorched, and constantly watering!
YAY! Come and have a pint in Linz!
Fortunately, here at the Cafe Max....in Linz...there´s some other red-haired hottie, who, whilst herself a smoker, sits by, and keep opening the door to the frigid cold Strasse, thus venting the place, providing a minutes´ - smoking hell - respite!
I gotta chuckle when I think of the average Cheech & Chong movie...and the hell the film crew must have endured.
To smoke, or not to smoke? -THAT really is the question.
As for Cheech & Chong? God bless ´em, too; who would probably tell you: smokers dont die. Cigarettes do. Joints prevail...even after they are done. And EX-smokers, usually...sadly...die prematurely, either thru being stressed out or in want of a cigarette!
(Smokers DO die, of course, in DROVES)
Anno-domini, spiritus; as anyone got a light?
Linz?... Meeting Natasha is a bust, for after 5 minutes of hugs:
"You´re a week LATE!"
"I know."
"Fucker!"
"Bitch!"
"I love you, you asshole."
"I love you, too."
"I have to fly back to Paris, tomorrow."
"I know...It sucks."
"So do you."
"I know."
"So?"
"In the next Life..."
"Yes."
"We´ll always have Paris...!"
"We always DO." she says, finally.
And our faces grow/go pale.
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/cafe max/linz-austria
Today, Helena, the barkeep at the Cafe Max...in Linz...SINGS!....but I don´t... She´s a full blooded, red-haired Austrian gal (a lot of red heads in Austria, by x by...) Nice change from the uniform Deutsche blondes, though I confess, I believe they ARE my - eye candy - favourites.
Everyone in German speaking Europe, incidentally, bycycles, (cycles!) probably almost daily and - who knows? - could possibly have been conceived ON one!... A lot like the average American....conceived, that is...in the back seat of a 1957 Chevrolet (truck or car), ergo, they (the German speaking population) have (the Girls, that is) legs up to their neck....From the exercise...And God bless ´em!
Moving along. As You, dear reader, have probably noticed...outside of my imbibing gargantuan amounts of beer (good stuff, not Coors) I´m something of a chain smoker and can happily report that Austria (near Switzerland, east of Germany, north of Italy, and most definitely EAST of New York City) is Smoker´s heaven!
....But!....(there´s always a "but", "butt"?)... Alas, the drinking dens and bars, least ways here in Linz, are NOT required to install any kind of ventilation system,
ergo, not only do these beer havens smell like yesterday´s ashtray but the current cigarette smoke/fog pervades like a good ol´ Jazz club of yore.
Forget the Camels/Marlboro stench in your clothes; even MY eyes are strained, scorched, and constantly watering!
YAY! Come and have a pint in Linz!
Fortunately, here at the Cafe Max....in Linz...there´s some other red-haired hottie, who, whilst herself a smoker, sits by, and keep opening the door to the frigid cold Strasse, thus venting the place, providing a minutes´ - smoking hell - respite!
I gotta chuckle when I think of the average Cheech & Chong movie...and the hell the film crew must have endured.
To smoke, or not to smoke? -THAT really is the question.
As for Cheech & Chong? God bless ´em, too; who would probably tell you: smokers dont die. Cigarettes do. Joints prevail...even after they are done. And EX-smokers, usually...sadly...die prematurely, either thru being stressed out or in want of a cigarette!
(Smokers DO die, of course, in DROVES)
Anno-domini, spiritus; as anyone got a light?
Linz?... Meeting Natasha is a bust, for after 5 minutes of hugs:
"You´re a week LATE!"
"I know."
"Fucker!"
"Bitch!"
"I love you, you asshole."
"I love you, too."
"I have to fly back to Paris, tomorrow."
"I know...It sucks."
"So do you."
"I know."
"So?"
"In the next Life..."
"Yes."
"We´ll always have Paris...!"
"We always DO." she says, finally.
And our faces grow/go pale.
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/cafe max/linz-austria
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 33: The MAGI
Part 33: The MAGI (on the road to Georgie Gold)
Twix Xmas and (St.) "Silvester" (New Year) and with a clock ticking on my health and travel programme, it´s "crunch" time and..."laissez-fair" (spell?)...or outright LAZY, for which ALL Artists are renown, I must for-go a period of perfect Augsburgian peace where I have, this last week spent/enjoyed, with new brothers (the Magi), Linus, Martin & Karli, 3 dudes of the First Order/beer officiandos, who - during the bleak Xmas week - took me under their wing (whilst definitely ill from the cold), fed me the finest Bavarian cuisine...and had me on a strict medicinal regimen of Drum tobacco and Edelstoff pilsner!
But!...And Life marches on! Tomorrow calling, etc., thru a myriad of e-mails, I must proceed with these travels....and...er...like Heidi, when Grandma says; "Hey, bitch! How´d you like to go live with my estranged husband (your Grand-father) in the Alps (mountains)....It´s really NICE there?..."
And like Heidi, I say: "Ooo! Can we?"
Grandma: "Not WE, bitch! Just you!"
I go: "Ooo-wheee-OW!"
....But for the curisity of seeing (Paris) Natasha in her "kunster-heimat", Linz, Austria, I bow to the insanity of the frigid Winter´s journey, costs & all, full knowing that I´ll be riding a train full of leder-hosen, white-teeth, skiing fanatics...singing: "O Tannenbaum, O Tannebaum", yet certain in my mind that - like Heidi - I will return to the flatlands full of stories of HOW - like Heidi - I went nuts/gone bad up there in Austria, discovered a chain-saw, ran amok, and where/when - gasoline for chain-saw permitting - I cut off the heads of leder-hosen health nuts, snow-boarders and miscellaneous tourists...I then run into the absconding Family von Trapp who, fleeing - in THIS case - excessive Taxation, am immediately adopted for thje purposes of robbing provincial Post Offices FOR the purposes of financing the whole (von Trapp family) gangs sucessful immigration to the United States & would thereby live - for many decades - quietly...until Momma (Maria) von Trapp ( a Xanex fiend) would pen "The Sound of Muzak", draw the gaze of Hollywood...and ruin EVERYTHING!....whereby....
Sorry. My mind wanders... Where was I?
Oh yes. On my way to Linz, Austria. On the Road to Georgie Gold.
...And for now, brother MAGI´s: Farewell!...:)
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/munich, I think...
Twix Xmas and (St.) "Silvester" (New Year) and with a clock ticking on my health and travel programme, it´s "crunch" time and..."laissez-fair" (spell?)...or outright LAZY, for which ALL Artists are renown, I must for-go a period of perfect Augsburgian peace where I have, this last week spent/enjoyed, with new brothers (the Magi), Linus, Martin & Karli, 3 dudes of the First Order/beer officiandos, who - during the bleak Xmas week - took me under their wing (whilst definitely ill from the cold), fed me the finest Bavarian cuisine...and had me on a strict medicinal regimen of Drum tobacco and Edelstoff pilsner!
But!...And Life marches on! Tomorrow calling, etc., thru a myriad of e-mails, I must proceed with these travels....and...er...like Heidi, when Grandma says; "Hey, bitch! How´d you like to go live with my estranged husband (your Grand-father) in the Alps (mountains)....It´s really NICE there?..."
And like Heidi, I say: "Ooo! Can we?"
Grandma: "Not WE, bitch! Just you!"
I go: "Ooo-wheee-OW!"
....But for the curisity of seeing (Paris) Natasha in her "kunster-heimat", Linz, Austria, I bow to the insanity of the frigid Winter´s journey, costs & all, full knowing that I´ll be riding a train full of leder-hosen, white-teeth, skiing fanatics...singing: "O Tannenbaum, O Tannebaum", yet certain in my mind that - like Heidi - I will return to the flatlands full of stories of HOW - like Heidi - I went nuts/gone bad up there in Austria, discovered a chain-saw, ran amok, and where/when - gasoline for chain-saw permitting - I cut off the heads of leder-hosen health nuts, snow-boarders and miscellaneous tourists...I then run into the absconding Family von Trapp who, fleeing - in THIS case - excessive Taxation, am immediately adopted for thje purposes of robbing provincial Post Offices FOR the purposes of financing the whole (von Trapp family) gangs sucessful immigration to the United States & would thereby live - for many decades - quietly...until Momma (Maria) von Trapp ( a Xanex fiend) would pen "The Sound of Muzak", draw the gaze of Hollywood...and ruin EVERYTHING!....whereby....
Sorry. My mind wanders... Where was I?
Oh yes. On my way to Linz, Austria. On the Road to Georgie Gold.
...And for now, brother MAGI´s: Farewell!...:)
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/munich, I think...
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 32: The Nativity Scene
Part 32: The Nativity Scene (...the Road to Georgie Gold)
Twas a dark, cold and (stormy) lonely night; nee´ry a 12 pack had passed my lips (sometimes I´m known by my honary Lakota Indian name: "Ten Beers!")...
Anyways; jammin on the streets of Worms (here after, please pronounce as "Wharms" so as not to be distracted by the English connotation), I garner 20 euros, pack it in (it´s freezing!), hop it down Main St. and encounter a Russkie Wake (funeral for a dead guy) and, trust me, the term "wake" is really quite misleading for a Russki (Russian) passing!
...Candles, of course. Snackeroos, cookies, joints. Grim faces. Usual stuff: everyone´s freezing. But this is also a Punk Rocker Wake and a Saturnalia...or Bachanalia, of sorts...and is evident and in full force.
Ivans.
Sergeis.
Demetri (some kind of Gladiator)
Petruskas!
-Some nebulous dude named,
"Ahmed".
And an adjournment to an All-Nite Kebab gig, (so as to get warm in:) Wharm´s by the main rail station; Pilsner for 1 euro: drink all you can, prevails....!
But...alas... by 4 a.m., the Wake is over. Street candles, dead or extinguished, offerings of cookies/cake, devoured, and the ALL-nite Kebab dude, wanting to close.
It´s a bust!
And yet, it´s WEINACHTS (Xmas: Holy Water night) time; christmas Eve, in fact, in Deutschland. The inner-city pedestrian zones are crammed with little wooden huts that, during business hours and evenings, are host to vendors selling ALL THINGS XMAS.....yet at 4 a.m., it´s a "shack" ghost town INCLUDING the wooden, open-front cabin that houses the straw bales & All -Nativity Scene; birth place of little ol´ handsome, white boy, Jesus, surrounded by plastic lambs, goats, sheep-dudes, etc.
Thus! (And: BEHOLD!) I espy my Motel 6 for the night with warm - real - hay, even a blanket, and - Lodry-Lordy! - they even left the Porch light (Motel 6 ad) on for me and...Yes! There WAS, I repeat, Was a blanket (for some real lamb, goat, or me) which, come the dawn, I purloin in the finest Bohemian fashion and take it all the way South to Karlsruhr...and, spent this Holy night, feeling warm, fine, definitely Spiritual, and - ecconomy size - divine!
Like you would!.....(?).... And the beat goes on.
c 2010 davedelacroix/our man in europe/ Linz-Austria/cafe MAX
Twas a dark, cold and (stormy) lonely night; nee´ry a 12 pack had passed my lips (sometimes I´m known by my honary Lakota Indian name: "Ten Beers!")...
Anyways; jammin on the streets of Worms (here after, please pronounce as "Wharms" so as not to be distracted by the English connotation), I garner 20 euros, pack it in (it´s freezing!), hop it down Main St. and encounter a Russkie Wake (funeral for a dead guy) and, trust me, the term "wake" is really quite misleading for a Russki (Russian) passing!
...Candles, of course. Snackeroos, cookies, joints. Grim faces. Usual stuff: everyone´s freezing. But this is also a Punk Rocker Wake and a Saturnalia...or Bachanalia, of sorts...and is evident and in full force.
Ivans.
Sergeis.
Demetri (some kind of Gladiator)
Petruskas!
-Some nebulous dude named,
"Ahmed".
And an adjournment to an All-Nite Kebab gig, (so as to get warm in:) Wharm´s by the main rail station; Pilsner for 1 euro: drink all you can, prevails....!
But...alas... by 4 a.m., the Wake is over. Street candles, dead or extinguished, offerings of cookies/cake, devoured, and the ALL-nite Kebab dude, wanting to close.
It´s a bust!
And yet, it´s WEINACHTS (Xmas: Holy Water night) time; christmas Eve, in fact, in Deutschland. The inner-city pedestrian zones are crammed with little wooden huts that, during business hours and evenings, are host to vendors selling ALL THINGS XMAS.....yet at 4 a.m., it´s a "shack" ghost town INCLUDING the wooden, open-front cabin that houses the straw bales & All -Nativity Scene; birth place of little ol´ handsome, white boy, Jesus, surrounded by plastic lambs, goats, sheep-dudes, etc.
Thus! (And: BEHOLD!) I espy my Motel 6 for the night with warm - real - hay, even a blanket, and - Lodry-Lordy! - they even left the Porch light (Motel 6 ad) on for me and...Yes! There WAS, I repeat, Was a blanket (for some real lamb, goat, or me) which, come the dawn, I purloin in the finest Bohemian fashion and take it all the way South to Karlsruhr...and, spent this Holy night, feeling warm, fine, definitely Spiritual, and - ecconomy size - divine!
Like you would!.....(?).... And the beat goes on.
c 2010 davedelacroix/our man in europe/ Linz-Austria/cafe MAX
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