Autumn
This is my second stab at writing this diary. I made an ill-fated attempt after I woke up this morning, an attempt that left me wanting for inspiration. I mean, sure I have stuff to talk about, but it is mostly of the "I was here, I did this, I saw these people" variety. And frankly, I've said it all before and you've heard it all before. A lot.
So I went out for a walk.
I'm in Baden-Baden, Germany at the moment, a city that is apparently the "Greenest City in Germany." It's a spa town, nestled about half-way between Karlsruhe in Germany and Strasbourg in France, about 30km (20 miles) from the French border, known largely for the healing waters of its thermal baths. But it is also a great city for walking, and despite my reputation as a largely sedentary individual, I enjoy a constitutional as much as the next guy -- especially if the scenery makes it worthwhile.
About 15 minutes into walking, I had a revelation. It's Autumn. And I love Autumn. It's my favourite season. I just haven't had the chance to enjoy one for a while.
Any of you who was around me last Autumn might remember it as the Autumn of Andrew's discontent. I was run down, tired, emotional, hating work, terrified in the post-September 11 sense, and generally teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown. This culminated in a trip to Chelsea-Westminster hospital on a typically pissy London midnight, which turned out to be the actual nervous breakdown. So strike last year. Last year sucked.
The year before that, London's brief Summer (the middle 2 weeks of July, for those who were wondering) segued right into Winter. A single early-August storm seemed to wipe the leaves directly off the trees overnight, if there were any on the trees in the first place. So strike that year too.
So, anyway, what a thrill to feel that warm sun balanced by the brisk air, and a flurry of leaves dropping in front of me as I walked. It's Autumn, and I'm content. Hallelujah.
And, on a side note: I haven't been in enough places in Germany to weigh in on the "Greenest City in Germany" claim, but I can confirm this: Baden-Baden is a city, and it is green.
What else can I tell you?
I was in Barcelona, I went to Noelia and Mike's wedding, and I saw a lot of people.
Well we'll get to that. Let's see, when last I weighed in I had just left Ibiza and was heading off on another driving odyssey around the continent with the Rt. Hon. Barnaby Watt -- aka the Energizer Bunny. I haven't been back to Madrid since then, so let me give you a recap.
Look, Ma. No Moss!
Our first stop from Madrid was San Sebastian, a beach resort on the north coast of Spain, not far from the French border. Not much going on there, just a vain search for a decent place to eat and have a drink before we retired. For those of you familiar with San Sebastian's reputation as a party town that goes all night, well let's just say that unless all night is over before midnight, that wasn't our experience.
The next day we had intended to make it as far as Tours, on our way to Paris, but Barns wanted to stop off in Biarritz for a swim in the Atlantic and I had some mobile phone business to take care of in France, so we agreed he'd swim and I'd TCB, and then we'd continue on. Except when I got back to the beach to pick him up, the water was just too inviting. So on with the trunks, into the water, and out the window with any hopes of reaching Tours that day. The water was wonderful, despite the fact that the undertow swept me a little too far afield and I had some serious doubts about whether or not I could make it back to shore. We made it to Bordeaux that night (actually just north of there).
Then the next night, Paris to catch up with our new friends Luke and Anninka (Ninx, for those who, like me, prefer to keep it short). Luke was playing his first DJ gig at the Lizard Lounge in Paris, which was a rousing success in my estimation. And then, courtesy of friends Matt and Stephanie, we heard that Sasha (a pretty well-known DJ, for those of you who don't know) was playing at 3am. So we went, got out of there at about 5:30, and immediately headed north to catch our ferry to the UK, without sleep.
Dateline: London, Saturday 14 September, 9pm
I've been awake now for about 36 hours (Barney slept in the car), and was in town to pay tribute to my friend Jason, who is leaving London to seek a better life in New Orleans (Well done, Scoppo). Next thing I know, it's a late dinner at The Living Room with a crew of Yahoos, followed by a visit to a club somewhere in town. My memory is a little bit off as it relates to that evening, for obvious reasons of sleep deprivation and drink. But I think I had a good time, and, well, that will just have to do.
I finally got some sleep that night, then woke up the next day to head to White Hart Lane and see my first football (soccer) match. As the result of a youthful happenstance I really can't be bothered to go into at the moment, I'm a Tottenham Hotspur supporter. Little did I know at age 11 how well I fit in with the typical Spurs fan -- I'm accustomed to supporting heart-breaking, underachieveing teams, and I'm Jewish. These are apparently the telltale signs of Tottenham supporters, especially the Jewish part, which was confirmed by the chant that emanated from the stands on several occasions during the match: "Yids." All in all, I was extremely satisfied with the experience. Spurs won, and none of my worst fears about English football hooligans came to fruition (although my friend Alick noted the spirit is still alive and well, and supposedly lives in a place called Millwall). Mission accomplished.
The next day was a wash, I was still pretty exhausted at this point. However, I still managed to make it out to the pub with Alick, Barney, Morgan, and Caz, who I was especially psyched to get a night out with, since it had been far too long. Then a Tuesday lunch with Shannon, a night in Hove, and the next day on the ferry again back to France.
We stopped in Paris to drop Barney off for his tour of the World War II battlefields in Normandy, and to drop off the keys to my friend Jodi's flat (where we had "stayed" on that sleepless night in Paris the previous Friday. "Dropping off" became late lunch, which was great because I unexpectedly got to see Jodi, but late lunch turned into impossible traffic, and I wound up hanging around Paris for a few hours buying CDs (who, me?). Finally got on the road and made it as far as Clermont-Ferrand (where?!?) before heading on to Barcelona the next morning.
Barcelona, Part I: The Bachelor Party
I made it to Barcelona completely wiped out, but just in time for the craziness to ensue. Thursday night was the night of a bachelor party, one for Michael S. Riley, Esq., my friend of 5-plus years and former flatmate. There was a plan that consisted of dinner, followed by drinking, and then a trip to a, er, "gentlemen's club." Mike has a reputation, well deserved, for going big early, so with the plan in place we also had our motto, "Slow and steady wins the race."
Well we made it to dinner OK. Listen, what goes on tour stays on tour and all that, so I can't get too specific about the whole evening. But let's say these few things:
1. Dinner was excellent.
2. Mike passed out on the bus shortly after midnight.
3. There are some very beautiful bartenders and dancers in the bars at the Port Olimpic.
4. I passed out at about 4.
5. An attempt was made to wake me up at around 6.
6. I woke up at 10 when the bride's cousin Hector climbed into bed with me.
Barcelona, Part II: The Dinner
On Friday night, I had decided to invite several of my non-Spanish friends to a dinner I would cook at the hotel. I didn't count on 2 things, though. One, that I would have a crippling hangover (this, I should have known). Two, that apparently one of the bachelor party guests made such an impression on the hotel management that they tried to stop me from having the party.
Undeterred, I did the shopping, managed to get everything put together, and even used some verbal legerdemain to get the hotel on my side. The dinner went off without a hitch, and without running too late and keeping the groom up. A wonderful night, and big thanks to everybody who came.
Barcelona, Part III: The Wedding Day
The wedding itself was beautiful. If you have a look in the picture gallery, two moments stand out for me: Noelia unable to hold on to her emotions as she was walking down the aisle toward Mike, and a speechless Mike standing on the dance floor at the reception as Noe sang the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody" to him.
It was a wonderful day, and I got to see and talk to many people I hadn't seen or spoken to in months or years. My personal highlight was doing a duet with Noe's brother Dani on an acapella rendition of "The Love Boat" theme toward the end of the reception. In short: what was I thinking?
Barcelona, Part IV: The Wedding Night
So the reception ended at 8, and we were all gearing up for a night out at Pacha in Sitges (the wedding and reception were actually in Sitges, about a half-hour south of Barcelona itself). I went back to Alick's hotel room, since I was staying in Barcelona, to chill out and shower before going out. The plan was to leave at around midnight for the club. It was all sensible and organised.
However, when I woke up at 3am, it wasn't all that organised.
First question: "Where am I?" OK, I'm at the Melia.
Second question: "What time is it?" 3am. SHIT!
Third question: "Where is everybody?" I checked my mobile to find several messages from Alick indicating that they were, in fact, at Pacha and had been unable to wake me up.
So I pulled my act together, stumbled on the bus still half-asleep, and made it to the club. People were, in fact, still there. The music was great, the company was great, and if you scour that picture gallery closely, you'll notice a picture of me dancing in a cage. Don't get your hopes up -- it was a one-off.
Barcelona, Part V: The Aftermath
Pain. This is the one word to describe that Sunday. Evil, wretched, horrible, miserable pain. I managed to walk from the hotel to a restaurant for lunch with some friends, and then got a cab back to Barcelona to chill out. A bunch of people came up to the room for drinks and leftovers that night, but I was really useless, uncomfortable standing up, too hurt to sit down.
Monday I had planned to leave for Madrid, and true to the prediction of one Joe MacFarland, I fell in and wound up spending Monday night in Barcelona, had a nice dinner, and then headed off in the morning...
...but not to Madrid
I had made plans to meet my friend Jeremy from New Orleans in Amsterdam later that week, and on Tuesday morning my e-mail revealed that he had moved up his schedule and was planning to head back to the US on Friday. So I printed out some directions, and headed to Amsterdam.
Unfortunately, my attempts to get on the phone with Jeremy fell short, and I arrived in Amsterdam on Wednesday night with no idea where he was or what he was doing. I sent another e-mail with my contact info at the hotel, and went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, I found out that Jeremy was in Haarlem (about a half-hour from Amsterdam) and leaving for the US that day. We got to have lunch, a chat, and a ride to the airport, and it was definitely worth the trip despite the snafu.
Then what?
That brings us pretty much up to now, except that Jeremy's early departure left me with a few days to kill, since I'm headed to Munich for Oktoberfest this Tuesday, and it would be completely absurd (even for me) to drive back to Madrid and then back to Munich in the space of 5 days. So I decided to take it easy.
The past few days, I've been driving very slowly south, through the Netherlands into Belgium (I stayed in Spa, and I recommend it) on Thursday, and then straddling the Luxembourg-Germany border on Friday. In fact on Friday, I started in Belgium, crossed into Luxembourg, then into Germany, back into Luxembourg. Then Germany, Luxembourg again, Germany, France, Germany, Luxembourg, and finally on into France, where I stayed in Thionville (I don't recommend it, despite a lovely Saturday-morning market). And now, I'm in Baden-Baden, where I'll stay and walk and enjoy the Autumn until I head to Munich.
Next moves...
It's Oktoberfest, dummy! Munich until 7 October or so, and then FINALLY back to Madrid. And next time I'll try to remember it's a diary, not a novel.
--Andrew