Kölle Alaaf!!!
Weather: Warmer, sunnier, a nicer tomorrow.
CD: Viva Colonia … wir lieben das Leben, die Liebe und die Lust, wir glauben an den lieben Gott und haben immer durst!!!
More Pictures Here:
"Out of control". That’s how the tour book described the mayhem of Karneval in Köln. It was more than enough to pique my interests and I found myself in the middle of the madness after a 6.5 hour hitchhiking ride with the Speaker to the Press for the Berlin faction of the FDP political party. The madness would have to wait however, as we decided to meet in Essen on Friday to help Hilmar’s brother celebrate his 10th annual 21st birthday. As the saying goes, "Essen kannst du vergessen", unless you are a fan of Rene Pascal ("Man nennt mich nur den Schlagergott") who happened to be in town for a very special live performance. I still don’t know which was better, being in the presence of a man of such reknown or knowing that he’s so talented that he even has a "Greatest Hits" CD.
We jumped on the Karneval train Saturday night though, which lead us through the heart of Köln. A surreal scene of Germans, Frenchmen and Afgahnistanis dressed up as Frenchmen confronted us as we: Hilmar, his cousin Freia, Jeff and I waited on Magnus and his girlfriend, in the people clogged streets. No definitions could really fit Karneval: it is nothing like New Orleans — no beads, no Southern Comfort and I was only flashed with one pair of breasts during the entire weekend (not such a dissapointing situation though). Perhaps a closer analogy would be a week long Halloween celebration. EVERYbody was in costume featuring yours truly as a gun-slingin, wife-beater-wearin, whiskey-sippin cowboy. After an evening of shaking booty on the dancefloor, the gracious Freia lead us back home to a warm bed at her mother’s home.
Sunday brought us to the historical center of the city, dropping us off at the massive Kölner Cathedral, a monstrosity of Gothic beauty and sorrow. The festival continued at the base of the cathedral with singing and dancing carrying on throughout the afternoon. We wandered through the city a bit more until we accidently came across a highly recommended pub, which lead to the obligatory "let’s just check it out with a quick drink". Three hours and 2.5 liters of beer later it was decided that we should make our way back home for dinner, away from these masked men and haughty girls and the somewhat homosexual nurse begging me for my hand in marriage, all whilst the Pope himself looked on and approved.
Monday, Rosenmontag, is when things really got cooking, or Double-OC (out of control) as some like to refer to it. The day began with a dusting of snow over the city. A 10.00 am swig of whiskey warmed us up though and would set the tone for the day as our train raced to the parade site. We found ourselves cramped with 400,000 of our closest friends dressed in the most ridiculous of winter attire along the main parade route which carried an endless procession of floats and candy and bützchen, a traditional kiss given in reply to objects thrown from the floats. Jeff got so caught up in the madness that he missed his train that afternoon. The madness didn’t catch me until later that evening. After a warm-me-up pizza and a bit of relaxation, we confronted the streets again and found the destination that will forver live in Karneval history for all of us: Fifty Cent, a club featuring shots of tequila for one euro. Hopefully future political opponents and would-be employers do not come across this entry, and if they should do so, I would politely ask them to stop reading here.
Hilmar grabbed the first shot of tequila and a beer. There MAY have been a second shot thrown in there somewhere along the way, but these are minor, pesky details. The important details involve Freia and the 26 euros that were in her wallet when we entered the club. And perhaps, more importantly, the lack of a single euro that was in her wallet when we left the club. Added to that, the fact that she only bought tequila, three a pop. It doesn’t take a math major to add up the details: we each managed to get about 10 shots down during our 2 hours spent in the club. Further calculations show that equates to roughly one shot every 15 minutes. Albeit the shots were small (what do you expect when you’re paying a buck), a shot’s still a shot and tequila is tequila and I’ve never beaten tequila in my life and I wasn’t going to start on this evening. We stumbled back to the main train station, a train came, and I got on it. The other’s didn’t. Details from this point remain a bit foggy, but sometime around Köln-Mülheim, a suburb so distant they had to add the city’s name in the proper title, I got a call telling me to get back to the Burger King in the Main Station. A bit of time once again dissapeared and I opened up my eyes as the doors swung open on the main station. Thirty minutes of my life dissapeared, completely unaccounted for. It seems to me as if all those scientist searching for black holes have all their shiny instruments pointed in the wrong direction. Look to the eastern fringes of Köln people! Freia’s mom ended up picking us up at one point or another. I bemoaned the fact that I would have to leave for work from Köln the next morning at 7.00 in the am. She decided that that would be impossible, called my boss and explained to her in the most over-honest of ways that I was not fit to deal with children, allowing all of us to sleep in until our closed eyes had had enough of the midday sun.
Tuesday afternoon got us back on the road, and this time I wasn’t alone in my trip back to Berlin. Hilmar and Freia hopped along and our weekend of Karneval streched into a full week. Battered and bruised, I took care of business with work and responsibility and being sure to take the guests out into the town. It all comes down to living fast and dying slow…Karneval is the greatest holiday of all time. I think I’m going to be Catholic. But not until Lent is over. That forty days of purity thing isn’t really my style. God Bless Catholicism!!!