cincibuck
You kids stay off my lawn!
"I do believe I'm getting better... getting so much better all the time." Which, along with The Slope John B, a bunch of angry, heavy metal shit and other songs on your hit parade, came into my room unexpectedly last night.
Imagine, if you will, the odds on deciding to go to Schwabish Hall (you gotta want to get there to get there), on sitting down at the computer, Googling (yep, it's the prefered browser here im Deutschland) in 'S - H + B&bs,' selecting Der Kron Prinz out of seven possible "in town hotels mit parking", and after a delightful afternoon and evening meal, planning on a quiet evening when all of a fucking sudden party music swells up and fills the room. I was sure it was from the little theatre about a block away, but no, it was in the kellar of the Kron Prinz (!) an otherwise altes fartsian place.
Turns out Saturday ist Musik Nacht in alles Schwabish Hall. One band played the theatre, another band was thumping out tunes from the rock bar just a block above Der Kron Prinz, two more bands were just a five minute walk awy in the altes stadt, and then this Harry Bellefonte/Bob Marley/Pattie LaBelle group in the kellar.
A sudden thunder storm hit and I laughed. This would quiet things down.
Not a chance. Rock on! was the theme.
When, at 01:15, I heard a farily good cover of Celebration Time, Come On, with it's inheirent threat to party all night long, quickly followed by Voulez Vous Couche Avec Moi, C'est Soire, I about had a shit hemmorage.
I picked up my bones and wandered down the Strasse for a block or two and found a refuge in the Der Haller - Lowenbrau Gasthaus for ein Bier and a bit of peace and quiet.
Which brings me to another point: turns out that Haller (Deutsh fur "Hollow" as in a there's a haller 'tween them thar two hills, what 's right purty." Fact, Germany gots Hillbillies!) Also turns out the Lowenbraus of Munich and the Lowenbraus of Schwabish Hall aren't related. Munich is a tad bit older, but the Haller guys done puts out a good product and are quite the thang here in the Holler/Haller/Hollow.
The party in the kellar pooped out about 2:30. Then came the arguing, drunken lovers, beneath my window (no AC in this part of the world), followed by the world championship hill climbing motorcycle runs up the nearby streets -- I kept waiting for the smash up -- and then the church bells kicked in. It was a long, long, long Saturday night. But when Murphy and his damn laws seem to rule your vacations you learn to grin and go on.
That is until the teen age boy and his girl friend had to stand outside my window and argue after the 8 o' clock service in the church next door.
In a very real sense this has been a retreat. Cut off from English for all but the most essential conversations, I've been free to go inside and spend time thinking about all that I'm experiencing.
I couldn't get mad about people wanting to party, especially when one major aspect of their joy was the gift America gave the world in the form of jazz and it's offspring, rock 'n' roll. Especially poingnant was the fact that the leader of the band in the kellar was an African - American ex-pat who could sing the same song in three different languages.
What to do but get along and write in extra sleep during today's schedule.
Imagine, if you will, the odds on deciding to go to Schwabish Hall (you gotta want to get there to get there), on sitting down at the computer, Googling (yep, it's the prefered browser here im Deutschland) in 'S - H + B&bs,' selecting Der Kron Prinz out of seven possible "in town hotels mit parking", and after a delightful afternoon and evening meal, planning on a quiet evening when all of a fucking sudden party music swells up and fills the room. I was sure it was from the little theatre about a block away, but no, it was in the kellar of the Kron Prinz (!) an otherwise altes fartsian place.
Turns out Saturday ist Musik Nacht in alles Schwabish Hall. One band played the theatre, another band was thumping out tunes from the rock bar just a block above Der Kron Prinz, two more bands were just a five minute walk awy in the altes stadt, and then this Harry Bellefonte/Bob Marley/Pattie LaBelle group in the kellar.
A sudden thunder storm hit and I laughed. This would quiet things down.
Not a chance. Rock on! was the theme.
When, at 01:15, I heard a farily good cover of Celebration Time, Come On, with it's inheirent threat to party all night long, quickly followed by Voulez Vous Couche Avec Moi, C'est Soire, I about had a shit hemmorage.
I picked up my bones and wandered down the Strasse for a block or two and found a refuge in the Der Haller - Lowenbrau Gasthaus for ein Bier and a bit of peace and quiet.
Which brings me to another point: turns out that Haller (Deutsh fur "Hollow" as in a there's a haller 'tween them thar two hills, what 's right purty." Fact, Germany gots Hillbillies!) Also turns out the Lowenbraus of Munich and the Lowenbraus of Schwabish Hall aren't related. Munich is a tad bit older, but the Haller guys done puts out a good product and are quite the thang here in the Holler/Haller/Hollow.
The party in the kellar pooped out about 2:30. Then came the arguing, drunken lovers, beneath my window (no AC in this part of the world), followed by the world championship hill climbing motorcycle runs up the nearby streets -- I kept waiting for the smash up -- and then the church bells kicked in. It was a long, long, long Saturday night. But when Murphy and his damn laws seem to rule your vacations you learn to grin and go on.
That is until the teen age boy and his girl friend had to stand outside my window and argue after the 8 o' clock service in the church next door.
In a very real sense this has been a retreat. Cut off from English for all but the most essential conversations, I've been free to go inside and spend time thinking about all that I'm experiencing.
I couldn't get mad about people wanting to party, especially when one major aspect of their joy was the gift America gave the world in the form of jazz and it's offspring, rock 'n' roll. Especially poingnant was the fact that the leader of the band in the kellar was an African - American ex-pat who could sing the same song in three different languages.
What to do but get along and write in extra sleep during today's schedule.
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