As all you international finance gurus know, the dollar is in the proverbial toilet. It is at something like a millenium low in terms of value. This has a number of effects, including (hopefully) less cheap imports and more cheap exports (for the U.S., anyway). This brings me to my first point. While a weak dollar was not such a boon for J-Amy (to whom, by the way, we bid a fond farewell on Thursday), it's like David and I are getting little raises every month. At least for the money that we suppose will one day make it back to the U.S. before the euro tanks. In dollars we are making nearly $400 more a month than when we started. Now that's what I call value.
Although, once the government gets their 40% bite, it's more like a $200 a month raise. But, hey, whatever. If I were spending dollars, I'd have more to spend. Be that as it may though, we are spending euro and until we sally back 'across the pond' as the Brits like to say, wir erwerben, was wir erwerben as the Deutsch like to say. Next point. Since, with a high level of confidence David and I are pretty sure we'll evntually settle in the U.S., we are currently trying to figure out just how to get our big, strong euro back to the U.S. so that they can become wimpy, flabby dollars. This isn't as easy as one might imagine. Short of going to the nearest exchange kiosk (try finding one of these in 2007) to physically change a sack full of euro into dollars and stuffing them all into a 'fat suit' so that we can pass undetected through customs with what would surely be a sum of money that would make homeland security perk up and take notice (any sum greater than $45), I am at a bit of a loss.
Mostly, it seems like we might somehow get stuck tax-wise. Not sure how this works and I can't find a legitimate online source for information. Oh, sure, I can find all kinds of crappy dotcom advice from your choice of random 'certified financial advisors,' but there is a genuine absence of anything reliable short of paying $1000. I think the fat suit is looking more appealing all the time.
What else? As I said, J-Amy left last Thursday. We had a really great time hanging out with them. Stella especially dug having them around. In fact, she stalked them in the morning and threw stuffed animals at them as soon as they were awake. I think Stella was pretty excited to have some company while we were at work.
David got back from Azerbaijan the day J-Amy left. They may have crossed one another over the English channel, they were so close. Unfortunately, David brought back more than some very cool Azeri scarves (which are really pretty, by the way). When I got home from work, David was huddled under a blanket on the couch with an outrageously high fever and a serious case of what seems to be food poisoning. The doctors (to whom David went kicking and screaming on Friday) took blood and said 'yep, you've got an infection. Good luck with that', and summarily sent him on his way.
We are both hoping he is feeling better soon as Wednesday is his birthday. And nobody wants to feel like crap on their birthday, unless it is self-induced by one to many keg-stands and tequila shooters. We are also leaving on Saturday for a five day trip to Florence, Italy. I am really excited to see the Mona Lisa and drink espressos. More on that later.
One final point. As is typical in the northern hemisphere this time of years, I am noticing that the days are getting decidedly shorter. This led me to investigate just how little daylight there is around the winter solstice. You may be shocked and appalled to know it is right around 7 and a half hours (give or take about 5 minutes). Ouch.
I still love Hamburg (even if I won't really be able to see it come December).
Monday, September 24, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Bob Ross and Me
Largely because David is in Azerbaijan at a conference and J-Amy are touring the hinterlands of Germany, I found that I had a good bit of discretionary time this weekend. I had also worked a lot of overtime to submit a proposal and I was feeling both tense and lazy. If anything other than the gas station were open on Sunday in Germany, I probably would have rounded up the ingredients to bake a cake or an apple pie. Man, I've got sweets on the brain more than usual. Dangerous.
Anyway, I don't know what triggered Bob Ross. Maybe something about the way the light filtered through the window at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday - sort of happily. I recalled nostalgically the excitement that would come over me if I were lucky enought to catch The Joy of Painting on a weekend afternoon. Nearly anytime during the day that a free TV was to be had, I would flip to PBS just to see. I'm not sure why I never consulted the trusty TV Guide lovingly placed by the recliner. The mind of a 10 year old.
But on those fortuitous occasions when I saw his big, orange 'fro brightly contrasted against a prepared canvas, I would blissfully settle in for a half-hour of little kid meditation. Sitting upright and perfectly still, I would zone out while Bob talked me through the stages of some landscape painting, complete with happy little trees and fluffy clouds (as few or as many as you decide). The paint colors rolled off his tongue like exotic bird names or French cakes - thalo blue, cadmium white, yellow ocre. My favorite, for no good reason, was Van Dyke brown. I don't even like brown, but it sounded so great to hear Bob Ross say it while he loaded his fan brush with a combination of oils to bring mountains and trees and bushes to life. I especially liked when he would take this paint knife and sort of cut a line through a gob of paint to collect a perfect little roll of color, which invariably became a rock formation or the outline of some fantasy mountain range.
Bob Ross was no classic painter. In fact, most of his stuff was slightly tacky and might have looked most at home surrounded by shag rugs and animal heads mounted to walls. But Bob had a knack for making you think that you could create a respectable oil painting in 30 minutes, too. And as he moved across the canvas, 'pulling paint' here and 'adding mist' there (as much or as little as you want. It's your world.), I was always convinced that he was just about to ruin the painting. Angst would occassionally intrude on my zen moments with Bob. I would cringe as he added a big rock over the carefully highlighted trees. But everytime, the painting was somehow better for it.
With all of these memories in mind, I YouTube-d Bob to see what was out there. Sure enought, Royal Majesty in three parts was free for the viewing. So I settled in and nearly felt 10 again as Bob tried to inspire the artist in me. It was all the same. The same, nearly intoxicating, effect of watching Bob Ross 'drop' a few clouds in (anywhere he wanted, in his world). Bob also showed his at home viewers where little green grassy things might live and how not to add too much highlighting to trees. Even though, he admitted with a reassuring grin, he did it all the time. The end result was the same, too. A pretty, yet slightly tacky painting left me feeling at ease with the world. And while I know I'll never paint anything but a wall, it's nice to know that if I wanted to, I could drop in happy little trees, fluffy clouds and as few or as many trees as I want, in my world.
And on that note, I think I might watch Royal Majesty again before bed - to put everything right with the world.
I still love Hamburg. And I love the vegan ice cream in the Schanzen quarter now too!
Anyway, I don't know what triggered Bob Ross. Maybe something about the way the light filtered through the window at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday - sort of happily. I recalled nostalgically the excitement that would come over me if I were lucky enought to catch The Joy of Painting on a weekend afternoon. Nearly anytime during the day that a free TV was to be had, I would flip to PBS just to see. I'm not sure why I never consulted the trusty TV Guide lovingly placed by the recliner. The mind of a 10 year old.
But on those fortuitous occasions when I saw his big, orange 'fro brightly contrasted against a prepared canvas, I would blissfully settle in for a half-hour of little kid meditation. Sitting upright and perfectly still, I would zone out while Bob talked me through the stages of some landscape painting, complete with happy little trees and fluffy clouds (as few or as many as you decide). The paint colors rolled off his tongue like exotic bird names or French cakes - thalo blue, cadmium white, yellow ocre. My favorite, for no good reason, was Van Dyke brown. I don't even like brown, but it sounded so great to hear Bob Ross say it while he loaded his fan brush with a combination of oils to bring mountains and trees and bushes to life. I especially liked when he would take this paint knife and sort of cut a line through a gob of paint to collect a perfect little roll of color, which invariably became a rock formation or the outline of some fantasy mountain range.
Bob Ross was no classic painter. In fact, most of his stuff was slightly tacky and might have looked most at home surrounded by shag rugs and animal heads mounted to walls. But Bob had a knack for making you think that you could create a respectable oil painting in 30 minutes, too. And as he moved across the canvas, 'pulling paint' here and 'adding mist' there (as much or as little as you want. It's your world.), I was always convinced that he was just about to ruin the painting. Angst would occassionally intrude on my zen moments with Bob. I would cringe as he added a big rock over the carefully highlighted trees. But everytime, the painting was somehow better for it.
With all of these memories in mind, I YouTube-d Bob to see what was out there. Sure enought, Royal Majesty in three parts was free for the viewing. So I settled in and nearly felt 10 again as Bob tried to inspire the artist in me. It was all the same. The same, nearly intoxicating, effect of watching Bob Ross 'drop' a few clouds in (anywhere he wanted, in his world). Bob also showed his at home viewers where little green grassy things might live and how not to add too much highlighting to trees. Even though, he admitted with a reassuring grin, he did it all the time. The end result was the same, too. A pretty, yet slightly tacky painting left me feeling at ease with the world. And while I know I'll never paint anything but a wall, it's nice to know that if I wanted to, I could drop in happy little trees, fluffy clouds and as few or as many trees as I want, in my world.
And on that note, I think I might watch Royal Majesty again before bed - to put everything right with the world.
I still love Hamburg. And I love the vegan ice cream in the Schanzen quarter now too!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Ahh, Antwerp (or 'Life After #1')
The plan for last weekend (a three day weekend, since we took Friday off) was to take the train to Amsterdam and go experience the city and all of its stereotypical offerings - the Van Gogh museum, a canal tour, buying wooden shoes, and (of course) a visit to a cafe and possibly the red light district. Wednesday we decided it would be cheaper to rent a car. On Thursday the plan went awry, as plans so often do. With a rental car waiting on the street, we got just slightly more ambitions. Instead of Amsterdam and the land of tulips, funny hats and wooden shoes, we put a new destination in our sights.
It's all David's fault. He suggested Belgium in the first place, which was surprising because his only comments on Brussels during a short trip last summer was 'boring' and 'expensive.' Although, to be honest, his assessment of Amsterdam during the same said trip wasn't much (if any) better. I think 'dirty' and 'full of asshole rich kids on European vacation getting high and puking in the gutters' pretty much summed it up. Maybe the slight change in plans wasn't so innocent after all.
Regardless, after some poking around on the web, I discovered that Antwerp, a mere 5 hours' drive from Hamburg, was home to the #1 beer pub in the WORLD! (As ranked by ratebeer.com). As my loyal readers might remember, J-Amy are visiting. And as my loyal friends might remember, J-Amy, David and I all have a proclivity for the sudsy stuff. That settled it. We were on a pilgrimage to our analogous Mecca - The Kulminator - reputed to have over 500 varieties of almost exclusively Belgian beer. It was also reputed to have a nice atmosphere and fair prices.
Again we consulted the internet where we found a camping spot just outside the city and since the weather was supposed to be fair and the hotels outlandishly expensive, we went for the camping option (more cash for beer). Amy graciously agreed to drive the 5 hours in exchange for a three day supply of apples. This turned out to be a challenge as Amy can go through a half-dozen apples in a day, core and all, no problem. As early as humanly possible, we picked up our four-door Kia and hit the road. Almost exactly 5 hours and a few hundred kilometers later, we arrived at the camp spot. As the boys set up the tents, Amy and I toddled over to the Esso station across the way and picked up the cheapest six-pack of beer we could find (just to see, in the name of science, how cheap Belgian beer stacked up, of course). Canned Jupiler turned out pretty darned ok. It certainly puts anything the Germans or the Americans are mass producing to shame.
But, really, we were chomping to get onto bigger and better things and I could fairly hear the Kulminator calling. After the tents went up and the sleeping bags were safely stowed inside, we grabbed the sub-par tram downtown and walked the cobbled streets of Antwerp to the Kulminator. The bar was on an entirely unassuming side street and looked mostly haunted by locals. It had nice, old wooden tables and a similar bar. We took seats in the garden and as we cracked the menus our collective jaws dropped. It was true - well over 500 different beers, nearly all from Belgium. There were Trappists, Abbys, Krieks, 30 or 40 different Chimays (dating all the way back to the 1980's), Lambics, you name it. The vintage beer selection was out of control - it went back to 1979 that I noticed. You could get any year, any variety from any monastary in Belgium. Unglaublich!
Beautiful Belgian Beer:
Say 'cheese' happy beer drinkers:
We spent Friday evening at the Kulminator sampling several beers and eating cheese with Trappist mustard (a real treat). I'm hear to tell you, I don't know if I can ever be bothered to drink the rubbish Pils that Germany tries to foist on me. I have officially crossed into beer-snob land and I may never come back. Hurray for Belgium!
Saturday we spent doing the gratuitous tourist things - looking at old buildings, museums and churches and generally prowling the streets to get a feel for the city. Antwerp is slightly dingier and slightly less well run than anywhere I've been in Germany. It has more of an exotic feel - like you are somewhere different. I loved it. The farmers market was great - a hundred (seriously) different kinds of olives, heaps of apples, cheap avocados and lots of produce we just don't see up north. Around 2, we couldn't take it anymore - we moved onto the next pub on the list (Oud Arsenaal). It was more crowded than the Kulminator and didn't have nearly the beer selection. Although, honestly, who could?
Oud Arsenaal:
Ah, the other great thing about beer in Belgium is that each and every single beer gets it's own glass. Over the course of the weekend, we had beers in maybe 30 different styles of glasses, all designed for maximal enjoyment of the particuarl beer you are drinking.
During the course of the day, we hit two other pubs. Afspanning ’t Waagstuk was very cool. It had lots of beers, was located in a great old building and had a pretty little beer garden. Paters Vaetje was just ok (by Belgian beer pub standards). One theme of the weekend was the folly we committed by starting out at the #1 Kulminator. I mean, it's all down hill from there. And it was. Deliciously, enjoyably, wonderfully downhill. I imagine the other pubs would have knocked out socks off had it not been for the Kulimantor. BUT, alas, our socks remained firmly on.
Lovely Waagstuck pub:
In any event, Antwerp was excellent - both the city and the beer. Oh, and did I mention that Belgium is also famous for chocolate and waffles? Oh, lord, I must have died.
I still love Hamburg (and I love Antwerp, now, too!)
Pretty Antwerp:
For the beer geeks on my readership, here is a list of the beers we tried. These were jotted on the back of a receipt and a coaster - apologies for mispellings and other errors. Read 'em and weep:
At The Kulminator:
Orval Trappist Ale
Saint Feuillien Tripel
Corsendonk Agnus
Avec Les Bons Voeux
Sint Bernardus Tripel
Rochefort Rodestop 6 (1998)
Karmeleit Tripel
Cuvee des Trolls
Chimay Grand Reserve 2003
Caracole Bruin
At Oud Arsenaaal:
De Koninck Winter
Kappitel Bruin
Troubador
Jessenhofke
Ename Cuvee
Ename Dunker
Rochefort 80
Westmalle Tripel
At Afspanning 't Waagstuck
Saison Dupont
Zeppelin
De Koninck
Trappist Achel
Grimbergen Cuvee de l'Ermitage
Grimbergen Dubbel
De Koninck
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Paters Vaetje
Westmalle Dubbel
Corsendonk Agnus
Chimay Red
La Trappe Tripel
It's all David's fault. He suggested Belgium in the first place, which was surprising because his only comments on Brussels during a short trip last summer was 'boring' and 'expensive.' Although, to be honest, his assessment of Amsterdam during the same said trip wasn't much (if any) better. I think 'dirty' and 'full of asshole rich kids on European vacation getting high and puking in the gutters' pretty much summed it up. Maybe the slight change in plans wasn't so innocent after all.
Regardless, after some poking around on the web, I discovered that Antwerp, a mere 5 hours' drive from Hamburg, was home to the #1 beer pub in the WORLD! (As ranked by ratebeer.com). As my loyal readers might remember, J-Amy are visiting. And as my loyal friends might remember, J-Amy, David and I all have a proclivity for the sudsy stuff. That settled it. We were on a pilgrimage to our analogous Mecca - The Kulminator - reputed to have over 500 varieties of almost exclusively Belgian beer. It was also reputed to have a nice atmosphere and fair prices.
Again we consulted the internet where we found a camping spot just outside the city and since the weather was supposed to be fair and the hotels outlandishly expensive, we went for the camping option (more cash for beer). Amy graciously agreed to drive the 5 hours in exchange for a three day supply of apples. This turned out to be a challenge as Amy can go through a half-dozen apples in a day, core and all, no problem. As early as humanly possible, we picked up our four-door Kia and hit the road. Almost exactly 5 hours and a few hundred kilometers later, we arrived at the camp spot. As the boys set up the tents, Amy and I toddled over to the Esso station across the way and picked up the cheapest six-pack of beer we could find (just to see, in the name of science, how cheap Belgian beer stacked up, of course). Canned Jupiler turned out pretty darned ok. It certainly puts anything the Germans or the Americans are mass producing to shame.
But, really, we were chomping to get onto bigger and better things and I could fairly hear the Kulminator calling. After the tents went up and the sleeping bags were safely stowed inside, we grabbed the sub-par tram downtown and walked the cobbled streets of Antwerp to the Kulminator. The bar was on an entirely unassuming side street and looked mostly haunted by locals. It had nice, old wooden tables and a similar bar. We took seats in the garden and as we cracked the menus our collective jaws dropped. It was true - well over 500 different beers, nearly all from Belgium. There were Trappists, Abbys, Krieks, 30 or 40 different Chimays (dating all the way back to the 1980's), Lambics, you name it. The vintage beer selection was out of control - it went back to 1979 that I noticed. You could get any year, any variety from any monastary in Belgium. Unglaublich!
Beautiful Belgian Beer:
Say 'cheese' happy beer drinkers:
We spent Friday evening at the Kulminator sampling several beers and eating cheese with Trappist mustard (a real treat). I'm hear to tell you, I don't know if I can ever be bothered to drink the rubbish Pils that Germany tries to foist on me. I have officially crossed into beer-snob land and I may never come back. Hurray for Belgium!
Saturday we spent doing the gratuitous tourist things - looking at old buildings, museums and churches and generally prowling the streets to get a feel for the city. Antwerp is slightly dingier and slightly less well run than anywhere I've been in Germany. It has more of an exotic feel - like you are somewhere different. I loved it. The farmers market was great - a hundred (seriously) different kinds of olives, heaps of apples, cheap avocados and lots of produce we just don't see up north. Around 2, we couldn't take it anymore - we moved onto the next pub on the list (Oud Arsenaal). It was more crowded than the Kulminator and didn't have nearly the beer selection. Although, honestly, who could?
Oud Arsenaal:
Ah, the other great thing about beer in Belgium is that each and every single beer gets it's own glass. Over the course of the weekend, we had beers in maybe 30 different styles of glasses, all designed for maximal enjoyment of the particuarl beer you are drinking.
During the course of the day, we hit two other pubs. Afspanning ’t Waagstuk was very cool. It had lots of beers, was located in a great old building and had a pretty little beer garden. Paters Vaetje was just ok (by Belgian beer pub standards). One theme of the weekend was the folly we committed by starting out at the #1 Kulminator. I mean, it's all down hill from there. And it was. Deliciously, enjoyably, wonderfully downhill. I imagine the other pubs would have knocked out socks off had it not been for the Kulimantor. BUT, alas, our socks remained firmly on.
Lovely Waagstuck pub:
In any event, Antwerp was excellent - both the city and the beer. Oh, and did I mention that Belgium is also famous for chocolate and waffles? Oh, lord, I must have died.
I still love Hamburg (and I love Antwerp, now, too!)
Pretty Antwerp:
For the beer geeks on my readership, here is a list of the beers we tried. These were jotted on the back of a receipt and a coaster - apologies for mispellings and other errors. Read 'em and weep:
At The Kulminator:
Orval Trappist Ale
Saint Feuillien Tripel
Corsendonk Agnus
Avec Les Bons Voeux
Sint Bernardus Tripel
Rochefort Rodestop 6 (1998)
Karmeleit Tripel
Cuvee des Trolls
Chimay Grand Reserve 2003
Caracole Bruin
At Oud Arsenaaal:
De Koninck Winter
Kappitel Bruin
Troubador
Jessenhofke
Ename Cuvee
Ename Dunker
Rochefort 80
Westmalle Tripel
At Afspanning 't Waagstuck
Saison Dupont
Zeppelin
De Koninck
Trappist Achel
Grimbergen Cuvee de l'Ermitage
Grimbergen Dubbel
De Koninck
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Paters Vaetje
Westmalle Dubbel
Corsendonk Agnus
Chimay Red
La Trappe Tripel
Monday, September 3, 2007
Too old for all-nighters
As many in my faithful readership know, J-Amy (aka Jeff & Amy) have landed in Hamburg. Many thanks to all who sent care packages for Jeff (not so thankful) to carry. We are fairly awash in maple syrup, vacuum cleaner bags and Adidas deodorant (everyone is thankful for that). Unfortunately, many brain cells were sacrificed this weekend in our quest to show J-Amy a nice time. As a result this post may be slightly lacking in flair. I'll do my best.
Fortunately, it's festival time in Hamburg. And there was a world-class triathlon here this weekend. We participated in the festivals. Not so much in the triathlon. Go figure. On Friday we did attend the triathlon where we watched the under-23 men's triathlon. There were beers all around. It made us feel only slightly guilty watching all these elite athletes while we swilled beer and woo-hooed the Americans. The athletics were followed by dinner at an Afghani restaurant (more beers) and a visit to a reggae festival (and more beers). This was our "playing it cool" since we were scheduled for an all nighter followed by the Fisch Markt on Saturday and we wanted to save energy.
Saturday rolled around gloomy and rainy (TIH - This is Hamburg). The nice thing is that the rain doesn't usually last all day and the clouds broke in time for us to attend the Methfesselstrasse fest right around the corner from our apartment. This was the start of our 6-to-6. Here we saw an awful band, drank beer and Jeff ate festival sausage. The rest of us had really great falafel - made fresh right there. Amy was convinced that the lady in the band was just plucked out of the audience for the occasion. It was embarrassing to watch, really.
We next hit up the reggae fest from Friday night. The band was excellent, Dubtari, I think they were. And the show was free. This is something that is common around here and really nice. Lots of festivals fund their shows with beer. Reasonably priced beer (3 euro). The reggae fest might have been about the time that we decided each person would be designated "party director" for some set period of time. The PD would decide where to go and how long to stay. Amy took first shift and the moniker "PDA."
Anyway, we went to a bar that was reminiscent of Colors. It was dark, shabby, and you could DJ. This was followed by a trip to a Hooka Bar (Amy's idea). By this time we'd been drinking for many hours and hadn't eaten in nearly as many. As a result, we all sort of felt like we were hit by a small truck after huffing on the hooka. This might have been the start of my demise.
But we knew we had to last until AT LEAST 5 am, when the Fischmarkt opened. So, I had to stay strong. About this time Amy, who was PDA as you might remember, was summarily impeached with a 3/4 majority as a result of bad Hooka decisions and because she was drunk on power (or something like that). I was the next PD and after much consultation with Amy we decided we really needed a snack to keep it going another 3 hours. While Amy and I ate delicious Turkish snacks, David and Jeff took this opportunity to investigate Davidstrasse (see earlier post). The report is that Davidstrasse features beautiful, scantily-clad women sitting on stools in windows applying make-up and nail polish. I'm not sure why that's off limits to women.
After our delicious Turkish snack we proceeded to the next Colors-like bar where we got our asses kicked at fussball by some kid and his girlfriend. Well, it was actually David and Jeff. Amy and I watched. By this time, I was really dragging (and clock watching). Finally, it was 5am and we marched ourselves down to the River Elbe and the Fischmarkt, which turns out to be pretty lame at 5am. Or maybe I was too drunk and tired to really appreciate it. And I had the hiccups. In any event, we muddled around for about an hour and then caught the train home.
Sunday sucked, but I still love Hamburg.
Amy and Jeff are day-tripping around Hamburg and we are planning a long weekend to Amsterdam. Ugh. More brain cells.
Fortunately, it's festival time in Hamburg. And there was a world-class triathlon here this weekend. We participated in the festivals. Not so much in the triathlon. Go figure. On Friday we did attend the triathlon where we watched the under-23 men's triathlon. There were beers all around. It made us feel only slightly guilty watching all these elite athletes while we swilled beer and woo-hooed the Americans. The athletics were followed by dinner at an Afghani restaurant (more beers) and a visit to a reggae festival (and more beers). This was our "playing it cool" since we were scheduled for an all nighter followed by the Fisch Markt on Saturday and we wanted to save energy.
Saturday rolled around gloomy and rainy (TIH - This is Hamburg). The nice thing is that the rain doesn't usually last all day and the clouds broke in time for us to attend the Methfesselstrasse fest right around the corner from our apartment. This was the start of our 6-to-6. Here we saw an awful band, drank beer and Jeff ate festival sausage. The rest of us had really great falafel - made fresh right there. Amy was convinced that the lady in the band was just plucked out of the audience for the occasion. It was embarrassing to watch, really.
We next hit up the reggae fest from Friday night. The band was excellent, Dubtari, I think they were. And the show was free. This is something that is common around here and really nice. Lots of festivals fund their shows with beer. Reasonably priced beer (3 euro). The reggae fest might have been about the time that we decided each person would be designated "party director" for some set period of time. The PD would decide where to go and how long to stay. Amy took first shift and the moniker "PDA."
Anyway, we went to a bar that was reminiscent of Colors. It was dark, shabby, and you could DJ. This was followed by a trip to a Hooka Bar (Amy's idea). By this time we'd been drinking for many hours and hadn't eaten in nearly as many. As a result, we all sort of felt like we were hit by a small truck after huffing on the hooka. This might have been the start of my demise.
But we knew we had to last until AT LEAST 5 am, when the Fischmarkt opened. So, I had to stay strong. About this time Amy, who was PDA as you might remember, was summarily impeached with a 3/4 majority as a result of bad Hooka decisions and because she was drunk on power (or something like that). I was the next PD and after much consultation with Amy we decided we really needed a snack to keep it going another 3 hours. While Amy and I ate delicious Turkish snacks, David and Jeff took this opportunity to investigate Davidstrasse (see earlier post). The report is that Davidstrasse features beautiful, scantily-clad women sitting on stools in windows applying make-up and nail polish. I'm not sure why that's off limits to women.
After our delicious Turkish snack we proceeded to the next Colors-like bar where we got our asses kicked at fussball by some kid and his girlfriend. Well, it was actually David and Jeff. Amy and I watched. By this time, I was really dragging (and clock watching). Finally, it was 5am and we marched ourselves down to the River Elbe and the Fischmarkt, which turns out to be pretty lame at 5am. Or maybe I was too drunk and tired to really appreciate it. And I had the hiccups. In any event, we muddled around for about an hour and then caught the train home.
Sunday sucked, but I still love Hamburg.
Amy and Jeff are day-tripping around Hamburg and we are planning a long weekend to Amsterdam. Ugh. More brain cells.
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