In which you learn the German for “skid marks”

20 September 2007

Finally we get to the actual reason I was in Bratislava at the end of August: music. I’ve told you about my musician before and having cursed the concert in Vienna with a rainstorm that damaged the stage and equipment, Bratislava was another attempt to see a concert on Hubert’s 2007 tour. And I actually managed it this time … although the sunshine we’d had on the first day of our trip turned to greyness and rain as soon as the ship dropped anchor at the pontoon on the 29th August.

I felt quite rock ‘n’ roll sitting there in the rain enjoying the concert that night. Sure, I was glad to be wearing my mac, but I was way too hardcore to put up my hood. I was going to have wild boat hair again and that’s all there was to it. The local guest band was Druzina, who played a great set. The female singers in particular really knew how to let loose on stage and danced about wildly as if they were performing their music for the very first time.

Then came Hubert and his band – the reason I’d got up at some ungodly hour for my flight the day before. In fact, he’s the reason I’ve got up at many ungodly hours over the past few years. The music was brilliant, I got one of my favourite songs, “Landlertanz” (which rocks by the way), took some good photos, sang loudly (and most likely out of tune, ’cause I couldn’t hear myself) and generally had a whale of a time.

After the concert The Olds and I clambered aboard the boat to hang out on the “Dorfplatz” in the rain. I grabbed Jonas, the tour manager, to ask him if I could have a couple of tour posters to take home with me. Sure thing. He only had posters from Galati left and grabbed me a handful of them. “How many do you want?” he asked. “Just a couple,” I said. He counted how many he was holding. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.” “Just a couple will do,” I said again, not wanting to seem greedy. “Have seven,” he insisted, rolled them up and thrust them into my hand. So, I have seven.

Just before you reach the “Dorfplatz” on the ship, there’s a WC cabin. Inside are a couple of urinals, a sink and two cubicles. I installed myself in a cubicle and just as I was being amused by the word “Bremsspuren” on a notice on the wall, I heard a guy come into the cabin and use the facilities, whistling while he “worked”. Then he left the cabin again – and turned out the light. “Nooooooo! Ohhh God!” I yelped in the dark. Being of a similar age and also female, my neighbour in the next cabin let out similar shrieking. I called “Help!” and she complained, “He did that on purpose!”. A moment later the cabin door opened again and someone switched the light back on. Aaah good, no longer trapped in the dark with my trousers around my ankles. I later discovered that Hubert had been our Saviour of Light. Mum had been talking to him outside when they heard the shrieks from within the cabin. She realised what had happened and told (the slightly startled) Hubert, who opened the door and flipped the light back on. Good times.

Finally we headed home, holding on for dear life as we traversed the side of the boat to get back onto the pontoon. I had been advised by the light saviour that should I fall into the Danube, I should simply let myself sink to the bottom and then push up. Such helpful advice.

On the way back to the hotel I decided that although I had the seven Galati posters that Mum had been sheltering from the rain all evening, I wanted a Bratislava poster too. So, much to my parents’ consternation, I stopped in the underpass to peel a poster off the wall, taking with it bits of other posters to prevent mine tearing, as well as bits of the underpass itself that came away on the back of the poster. Now that’s what I call a souvenir.