And Just Like Warrant, I Saw Red

In the past I've made no secret of the fact that I think Berlin rocks.  It really, seriously does.  The art, the food, the music!  The Berliners!  In Berlin, it's not what you do to earn your keep that counts; you work to live, but art is the thing that sustains you.  The bi-product of such a mentality is a town full to bursting with creative types who spend half their lives in friendly servitude at your favourite bar/restaurant/cafe (who can pick a favourite?!), and their other (real) life at the mercy of their art.  If you are amongst the lucky few, then you are able to combine your work and your passion.  If you are not so lucky, then you work to eat, and you live to create.  

Of course, if you live in Mitte, then maybe you live to procreate instead  (Burnside Belles watch out, the Mitte Mums are hot on your tracks).  Hah!  I crack me up.

Of course, my perspective is slightly warped because everytime I visit, I am priviledged to hang with the loveliness that is Miss Michelle O'Brien and her entourage of hipster artists DJ types. If one is to be judged by the people with whom one chooses to cavort, then consider Michelle the Queen of Cool.

For better or worse, on both of my whirlwind visits to Berlin, I have failed epically to capture the essence of the city from the perpective of the erstwhile tourist.  Don't think it's not through lack of interest, I am a history major after all - Modern Europe was once my bread and butter.  It's just that with all that music, and parklife, street art and weiss beer, I've never found the time to seek out the museums. 

Anyway, on this particular trip, I have a good excuse, it was Michelle's 30th birthday and the reason for my (our, Meredith - The Other One - came too) visit was to help her ring in her Fourth Decade in syle - in RED style.  Some daytime shots of wandering around the town, and then on to the party, which was red-hot awesomeness.

Meredith II

The grumpiest Berliner I met was this ugly pooch.  Man was he mean, he was all: 'Get off my dirt farm'.

Berlin in one block - from old to new.

This boat looked partied out.  The next day, I definitely felt its pain.

Outside the party venue - which was next to one of Berlin's most infamous (and seriously tiny, ramshackle), clubs - Club Der Visionaere.  The venue itself was a rooftop.  The building below was a warehouse/artist studio conversion that was literally a maze of corridors, staircases and studio spaces that made negotiating your way to the toilets after a few bevvies pretty damn funny.  The rooftop was perfectly placed alongside the River Spree and was amped up by masses of red party balloons and the music which played hard all night thanks to an amazing DJ lineup.  Perfection.

Club Der Visionaere

Before the party, outside the venue.

Red or dead.

Michelle (on the right) hot to trot in her raunchy red wig.

So somebody was having too much fun to take many photos during the bulk of the festivities, and the camera only came out again much much later, so ... here we are, still partying with the birds.

Michelle, just before she decided to do the sensible thing and head home for some much needed rest.  Me?  Not quite ready yet.

Still vodka to drink?  I'm still here then.

That's Meredith (The Other One) in there somewhere, pretending the doof doof has finally stopped.

Katrina and me, keeping on keeping on.

Just about out of steam, but still enough beans for a little trip to Club Der Visionaere to see the die hards at 9am.

Nova Kane, our resident red hot superstar DJ.


Back in the studio.

Meredith awakes to a beautiful new day.

Nova still hard at it.

Then my head exploded.

The end.

The Wee Weegie Wonkies

The weekend before last was a winner winner chicken dinner.  Packed in the fun like it was going out of style.  First, a littel stopover in paperwork town (otherwise known as the dodgey end of Glasgow) for a little finger print, eye-scanning frivolity.  I'm IN the matrix.  Incidentally, I now have my new visa, allowing me to camp out here in the Frozen North for another 2 years.  For better or worse, in sickness and in health, it's me, Stu and Eburger for the forseeable future.

After the fun times at the Home Office, we moved on to the Weege city itself.  Great city.  Gritty, funky, flashy.  All the things Edinburgh in its calm, conservative nature is not.  I love them both for different reasons, though I haven't spent nearly enough time in Glasgow to completely appreciate all it has to offer.

We were joined in our Glaswegian adventure by a rag tag bunch of companions, including the delightful Meghan all the way from Toronto on holiday, Stu's 7 month pregnant sister Emma, her partner Tommy, and their little boy Louie, and my friend the feisty Fifer Ross, our source of local knowledge for the duration.

It may surprise few of you that the photographs depict an early group effort to concentrate on cultural pursuits. The high brow content of said pursuits diminishes as the evening progresses, and the death knell would probably be when they brought out the Tequila slammers. 

Meghan is the meat in a Kimsey sandwich.

I play the meat, but really it'a all cheese.

I should mention that earlier in the day, I was shat on from a great height by a pigeon with Delhi Belly.  All over my trench coat.  It was disgusting, and I was in the middle of a busy shopping street literally wailing for Stu to clean it up.  It wasn't my finest moment, but it certainly helped me appreciate the plight of every statue in St Georges Square.

The Glasgow Modern Art Gallery.  I think the traffic cone is meant to be some kind of juxtapositional statement.  Discuss.

We don't know what it means either.

But I love the colours regardless.

Quite frankly the best balloon twisting I've ever seen - he made a very passable Luigi (Mario Brothers) for Louie, who was thrilled and trailed that balloon around for the next two days.  His steps were punctuated with the occassional pop.

Emma, Tommy and Stu.  Can you spot the siblings?

The glorious Meghan.

Seriously delicious food at dinner - pork belly, roasted apple and roasted new potatoes.

More food porn - my pizza was deliciouso.

Umm ... tequila.  Ross, meet Tequila.  Oh, you've met?  And you don't see eye to eye?  Kiss and make up.

Tommy lurves him some Tequila.








Earnest discussion:  Ale vs. Lager.

My contribution to the discussion was poor at best.

 


Time to go home. 

Stu and I dropped Meghan at her hostel in a taxi, and we went back to our dingey hotel over the river (the derro side).  We were all merry, but not outrageously drunk, and it was a good time to go home before things got messy.  However, I got a call from Meghan just after we got back to our hotel.  She had attempted to go through the hostel bar to get up to her room, but the bouncer had refused her entry, stating (I kid you not), that her eyes were 'glassy'. According to the bouncers' manual: Things to Say to Drunk People When Refusing Entry, this was most definitely 'a sign of intoxication'.  Intoxicated.  In a pub.  In Glasgow, Scotland, UK.  You'll forgive my incredulity.

What if she had actually possessed a glass eye? What if she had just been crying and her eyes were wet with tears?  What if she had been legitimately blind, rather than 'bloind'?  Meghan was outraged, considering the night before she had been down in the bar having a few light ales when in stumbled a retchedly drunk couple who had all but vomited on her shoes and were still getting served at the bar!  I'm convinced it was some kind of anti-Canadian conspiracy.  Actually, I'm not, but wouldn't that be something?!

Mid-week Pick-me-up

Stu had his 28th birthday last week, so I baked.  What better excuse to have chocolate fudge cake with butter cream icing and raspberries?

I made him take most of it to work so we wouldn't be tempted to polish off the whole lot.  I have to rely on his word that it actually got there.