Bonkers 'on tour' in Germany again: The travel bit - Part 3: Augsburg & Berlin

Augsburg (continued)

The next day was mostly taken up with switching hotels and sightseeing - partly on my own and partly with the hospitable support band, Friedrich Sunlight, acting as tour guides. These walkabouts included a good deal more 'standing on street corners' - not to hail a taxi as in Hamburg, but simply to wait for the 'green man' at a pelican crossing.  For the German authorities take a dim view of jay walking, even at 3am with not a car in sight, and most locals are law abiding in this regard.  

That evening, the 'official' Augsburg gig was held upstairs in the achingly stylish City Club.  Its peeling paint and plaster were reminiscent of the therapy room from The King's Speech, while the cafe downstairs thoughtfully provided bike storage at the bar, along with customer mattresses suspended from the ceiling.  

At this venue, the door in the ladies' toilet had been 'customised' to fit the cubicle, but the sink was sadly lacking a tap, prompting me to sidle over to the men's loos instead, emboldened by their conspicuous lack of a door.  

There was no dressing room whatsoever, not even a nanosized cavity, so for any fan who had worked this out for themselves, the area just outside the men's toilets afforded the best glimpses of semi-clothed musicians.

This gig was characterised by that ever present problem of 'very tall German man syndrome', notably in the front rows.  There were in fact some very tall women there too.  Apart from the atmospheric surroundings and the lofty and appreciative audience, the City Club gig will forever stick in my mind - not in a good way - for a misunderstanding between Steve the drummer and me, dubbed 'The Towel Incident'.  

About two thirds of the way through the set, Steve - who wasn't playing throughout a particular song - leant forward over his drum kit, displaying a small towel stretched tightly between his hands.  He caught my eye with what I can only describe as a stern and meaningful glare.  Or it would have been meaningful if I could have discerned his meaning.  And you need to know that it was stiflingly hot in the venue that night - perspiration could be seen pouring off the faces of the players on stage, and many of the audience, so my first thought was that he meant: 'My towel has become sopping wet and disagreeable to use - please fetch me a fresh one at the double.'  

Accordingly, I burrowed my way through the crowd to the bar, where I explained to staff that the drummer needed to wipe his head with a fresh towel as a matter of urgency.  After extensive rummaging, the bar tender could only produce a sticky wet dish cloth, so I ran to the merch table and asked Jane for advice. 'What about a jumbo roll of toilet paper?' she suggested brightly, and we promptly went and stole one from the Ladies.  'Hmm, actually I think he might have problems manhandling that', I replied, 'Why, it's bigger than his snare drum.'  So in desperation we decided to sacrifice a brand new T-shirt from the merch stall. 'Quick, quick, Jane - what's the slowest seller?' I asked. 'Women's small!' she exclaimed, as she ripped open a plastic bag and handed one to me.  Moments later, I had lunged forward across the stage and tossed the T-shirt on the side of a drum, my life and death mission seamlessly accomplished. Strangely though, at no point did Steve retrieve the T-shirt during the remainder of the set.  What had I done wrong?  Could it possibly be that he did not want something approximating to a fresh towel after all?

Reader, he didn't.  I later learnt that he was merely trying to show me the logo on his towel, which commemorated the ill-fated Titanic steamship - he had got it at the museum in Belfast, and - knowing that was my home town - thought to draw my attention to it mid-song.  I would never have seen that coming, not in a million years.  'But...but...', I protested, when we held a post mortem about the incident later that evening; 'I thought it was an emergency.'  'Trust me', the drummer intoned solemnly: 'If I ever do have an emergency, you'd be the last person I would ask for help.'

Berlin

Saturday was the final day of the tour, and we set off early on the long train journey to Berlin.  Though not before Jane had kindly brought my red hair brush from the Grand Hotel Cosmopolis, where it had almost got irretrievably lost in the all-encompassing pink and red decor of my room.  'I have Herr Brush!' she texted cheerily from the tram on the way to the station.  Herr Brush in a little paper bag no less, with my room name on it and 'The Monochrome Set'.  It might be stretching a point in my own case, but Herr Brush is evidently 'with the band'.

On the train up to Berlin I carried on knitting wrist warmers; people read or slept or played silly travel games.  At one point the bass player showed us his unfeasibly large banana, of the existence of which we had been apprised the day before, following his latest fruit-buying spree.  That also morphed into a predictable game of: 'Guess the length of the banana.'  Steve was the winner with his intriguingly precise guess of nine and three quarter inches...

Jane's husband adjudicating the banana challenge

The final gig was at a fast food restaurant called White Trash.  It was always understood that the punters were going to be there primarily for the burgers, but even so, a very respectable crowd of (mostly) first timers formed and a few new converts to the band's music were made by the end of the night.  The White Trash gig was also notable for another toilet-related incident, namely the unexpected presence of a man in the Ladies.  When I remonstrated with him, he explained that his girlfriend was in a cubicle and very ill.  'I have diarrhea!' she exclaimed helpfully through the door, 'and I can't get off the loo'.  It must have been serious, for eventually the paramedics were called, and the blue lights of a waiting ambulance flickered through the window for much of the main set...

Steve waggishly showed me his towel again in another non-drumming moment, but I saw him coming this time.  This one had a little Berlin Ampelmann on it - I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.  The thought occurred to me that if he ever does want someone to fetch him a clean towel mid-gig he is going to be pretty much stuffed.  Oh, and the 'Bunny Lady' was back!  I quizzed her some more and learnt that she is an artist, and that her business has a rabbit for its logo - the whole dancing bunnies thing is in fact an ingenious PR stunt.

The bunnies checking out the burger selection

All too soon, it was the parting of the ways at the tube station nearest our respective hotels, where abrupt but warm goodbyes were exchanged.  The guitarist said I had helped the band 'immeasurably' - presumably for my ad hoc translations and analysis of 'train composition' to determine the most ergonomic spot on the platform for the band to stand with all their luggage and gear.  There again, he had just downed a margarita that he said tasted so strong it probably equated to three.

Herr Brush and his travel bag

For anyone feeling a bit bemused by the last three 'pure travel' posts, perfume-themed blogging will resume shortly!