Thursday, December 26, 2013

In which it is still Christmas in Germany.



Greetings to all! I'm still alive but have not been prone to posting as per late thanks to arranging a new flatmate (as fate would have it, a neighboring-college friend from the States!), re-equipping our apartment, and -- surprise -- having to find a new apartment due to circumstances out of our control. Thankfully, a new home sweet home in the area was secured last week, enabling us to breathe easy for the holidays before moving next month. (And then there was work and Dublin und dies und das.)

Here are a few festive shots from the season, which I have been celebrating with some dear people in Hamburg. The first is the dancing greeter from the company Christmas market. (I took a few pictures at the legit xmas markets this year, but none of them came out as well as those from last year). The second is from December Brunch our casa, classic Kekse, silly Santas, and the last are from the Weihnachtszug -- an antique S-Bahn decked out in Christmas decoratings, complete with the Weihnachtsmann, uniformed conductors and tasty treats -- that seemingly appeared out of the past one day after I had just missed the train I was aiming for. Thank goodness for that.









And with that, merry holidays to all and happy sliding into the new year.
 

Thursday, October 31, 2013

In which we share a smattering of late summer.

Here are a few scenes from Hamburg in later-to-late summer: skateboarding in the Schanze, a 2-D pug spewing tic-tac-toes/hugs 'n' kisses, general jollity at this year's Alstervergnügen (including fabulous, stilted sea creatures and the breaking of the world record for the number of people holding inflated balls up in the air {of which I am skeptical}), and the neighborhood park abask in the last of summer's golden yummliness.










Saturday, October 26, 2013

In which the tourists missed this Rome (Part II).



June 2013. Here's a people-heavy post to make up for the lack of personalness in most of my other posts -- I'll even go so far as to use a name, Jesse, to represent my brother (though that may or may not be his real name... 'kay, Jess?). Righto, back to Roma.

The rest of our Roma days were spent in an overlooked suburb of the city with a giant, multinational blob of blasting brass bands -- an event otherwise known as Sbandata Romana 2013 (and this promo video is very silly, particularly with regard to Rome in June).

Saturday started out playing in the heart of the neighborhood with one of the Roman bands, which then turned into a surprise parade around town, led by one of the event organizers.





 

The first parade destination was an indoor market, and MY weren't they surprised. The band filed in, more than filling the echoey room. I followed behind, all smiles, and had a shock of my own when an adorable, Roley-Poley Butcher rushed out from behind his stand and grabbed me by the waist, swinging me around to the cheering and delight of the crowd. Once my brain caught up with the situation, I happily obliged and danced along before thanking him with a grin and a curtsy and catching up with the band. They played a few tunes amidst a bustling audience while the Sbandata organizer spread the word about the festival in town, inviting everyone to come to events. I liked the guy sitting on the bench with the green shirt and oxygen tank.


Another happy moment came as I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the Roley-Poley Butcher snatch another surprise dance partner -- the surprise being entirely hers.


Next we paraded to a café where we were joined by another band and a bald street performer. The café owner was delighted and brought out bottle after bottle of wine, foccacia, olives, and other fine treats. He then asked the bands to play in front of the bakery across the street, an act which was met with similar hospitality.






The main event of the afternoon was a parade through the neighborhood with all the bands, many of which were costumed. As someone not playing an instrument, I had the pleasure of observing the effects of the parade on the locals. Balconies filled, people of all ages peeking out of windows with expressions of great surprise, confusion, wonder. All smiles.

















Jesse and I decided to pass on the long lines for dinner that night and went to the little downtown for pizza. By pizza, I mean the tastiest pizza we had ever eaten, purchased by weight and dished out by a hilarious pizza fellow. When walking back to the park for the night's concerts, we were tickled to see a designated "jazz tram" at the usual tram stop, equipped with mood lighting and leaking smooth tunes.



There were four performance areas in the park, all of which were packed with bouncing people of all ages. Each band had their own set with some musicians invited to play around with new friends.










The final day began gently with a giant brunch for all musicians and tagalongs. Jesse's mind was blown by the GIANT BOWL OF PARMESAN that would have cost a hefty sum in Germany and an even heftier sum in the States. My being was blown by the natural jam session that ensued, as one naturally does when you put hundreds of well-fed musicians together with instruments. This big jam then split off into smaller jams around the park, with musicians migrating from one to another.





Jesse tried to entertain the little children by playing something they'd recognize and started twinkletwinklelittlestarring. Nothing but blank faces and arms crossed over adorabley rounded bellies. Luckily a musician better versed in European children came to the rescue with the Pippi Langstrumpf theme song, and, well, check it out:



The day proceeded like this until night fell and the final round-robinesque hoo-hah began. The invisible music-playing stick was tossed from band to band, though it was hard to tell where one band ended and another began. Solos were thrown to new friends and invitations to play common hits with one group or another only upped the integration and made the musical swarm all the warmer and swarmier.



We flew back north the next morning, luckily training out of the city just before a public transportation strike that ended up kinking the travel plans of many other musicians. Out the Train window, the City turned to fields and buildings to hay bales. Out the plane window, sunny Italy turned to chilly, rainy Hamburg, making the memories of the weekend all the more memorable.