And.... here's Germany

Wow! What a time in Germany. Here’s a concise summation of our time in Hamburg through a series of words, pictures and videos. So, to get to Hamburg, we had to get on more planes than the Spice Girls did on their 1997 world tour for “Spiceworld”. The greatest thing about having to go through 6000 customs officers and security check points in Canada, US, and Germany was that we had this with us as carry on:

Good thing it doesn’t even closely resemble a bomb or destructive weapon from the future. Well, at least it led to a lot of man on man frisking, pat downs and interrogation – just the way we like it.

What we learned on all the plane rides was that the bigger you are, the smaller the seat you get, there’s no remote control lawnmowers allowed, if you look like a poor musician the flight attendants will give you extra food (thanks, kind women of the world!), and if we happen to plummet into the Atlantic Ocean at 500 miles an hour, crash into the sea and somehow manage to survive, the seats float. Thanks, plane!

So, our planes went 6 for 6 and we made it there. Thanks to the pilots for sticking the landings. Hamburg, in a nutshell, is filled with incredibly friendly, helpful and beautiful people, and, as a side note, the most hookers of anywhere in the world (just sayin’). The architecture is amazing, Schnitzel and Sausage tasty, beer scrumptious (you can drink it everywhere.... like literally everywhere: the street, church, daycare centers, etc...). They dress pretty snazzy over there too. If we weren’t the worst dressed dudes in all of Germany, I’d love to see the guys who beat us out. My “holier than the Pope” jeans have been the talk of the town since we got there. Every guy wears a suit and the girls are all apparently runway models from Fashion TV... not that we ever watched that show... or pretended we were sick and stayed home from Church when we were kids because it was on... but really, those Germans make a guy wonder about his wardrobe decisions. Ripped jeans and melted snickers bars on t-shirts might fly well in Cape Breton, but in the motherland, the Cape Breton Tuxedo is either ahead of the times or really, really far behind. And oh yeah, about the Snickers bar, it’s actually the second time in my life I ate chocolate in bed, didn’t notice that a piece broke off, slept on it and melted it over my entire favourite white t-shirt and bed sheets... and, I apologize once again to the housekeeping, but the note “It’s just chocolate”, really was true.

Now for the reason we went over... MUSIC! The Reeperbahn Festival was amazing. The streets and bars were filled with thousands upon thousands of cool people and we got to see a tonne of great bands and artists from all over the world. And, our showcase went awesome. Some important fellas in the European music scene saw us and liked us a lot. We’re hoping to snag a European booking agent so we’ll see how our follow-ups go. We know we’re just getting our feet wet in this scene and have lots of work ahead of us to do, but the response so far has been overly positive and that’s a great feeling. We had a whole bunch of interviews, live radio performances and an appearance on German TV. Everyone involved in the Reeperbahn Festival was helpful, courteous, and organized. Big thanks to Music Nova Scotia, CIMA, FACTOR and everyone involved in the festival. We can’t wait to go back.

This was an entirely successful trip, where we got to see a new part of the world while doing something we love. We’re grateful for the opportunity and can’t wait to see where else this will take us. Thanks so much for all the support, everyone!

And now, for the one bad thing we experienced: Every aspect of Germany was completely amazing until we decided to order the Fish and Chips. Yeah, this was a grave mistake. You may be asking yourself why two Cape Bretoners would order such an east coast Canada style dish while in a foreign country and there are two answers: 1. It was 8 bucks and one of the two dishes we could read from the menu, and, 2. The other thing we could read on the menu was “Chicken Nuts”, which translated into English as “Chicken Nuts”. So, Fish and Chips it was. It came out looking moderately normal, a little “Germanization” to it, but hey, that worked for everything else so far. So we started on the chips, which were good, good as anything in life. Bruce was the first to try the fish. After two chews, he spit it up yelling “they forgot to f@%$’in cook it!” I looked at him, confused. “Wha?” I asked. “It’s ice cold... and slimy,” he said through a series of gags, “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.” I didn’t believe him. I was cocky. I never had a meal in the last 10 years that I didn’t like, and that includes various foods that aren’t supposed to be consumed by humans. “Can’t be that bad,” I told him. His face turned purple and his eyes glazed over with a glossy white – he told me to go no further. “Jesus Mike... don’t f@%$’in do it... it’s gonna kill ya!” he warned. I cut a small piece of fish, laughing at Mr. Gillis and plopped it into my mouth as a slow motion and resonating “NOOOO!” channelled from the last bits of strength left in Bruce’s body. The cold was the first thing that hit me. It felt like a strong winter storm churning through my gums, blasting pain into my sensitive teeth, colder than anything I’ve ever experienced. Then it was the slime. As cold as it was, it was just as gooey. I felt like Dan Aykroyd must have felt in the movie “Ghostbusters”, but in my mouth. Boy, it was bad. “It’s worse than World War Two,” Bruce yelled through the smoky haze of mouth warfare. I began to gag, the flavour hit me. It swelled through my body like a rush of “my cat just died” kind of melancholy, but in the form of SUPER INTENSE CONCENTRATED FISH TANG, or, fish heroin. “It’s still movin’... it’s still f@%$’in movin!” the Mabou Assassin screamed. I knew it was supposed to be fresh, but right outta the toxic ice river is a little too fresh for me. So, as the story goes, we choked and screamed and complained and cried, all the while coming up with analogies. Here are some:

“It made me want to kiss that 30 dollar hooker with the black teeth outside of Burger King just to get the taste out of my mouth.”

“It felt like the movie ‘Alive’ happened on my taste buds.”

“If they make ya eat that fish in hell, I’m gonna start goin’ ta church a lot more.”

“Every moment from now on will be good, because nothin’ can ever be that bad again.”

“Hitler never even did anythin’ that awful!”

“Like tasting wet cancer.”

“If you dropped a raw hot dog in a port-a-potty on the last day of EVOLVE and were forced to eat it... it would still be 10 times better.”

“Tasted worse than the remnants of two fat people having sex.”

Shortly after the taste bud genocide, the hallucinations began. Whatever was in that fish, that cold, disgusting, slimy mouth nightmare, caused a bizarre and hallucinogenic reaction to occur in our Canadian brains. Moments later we were walking down a cobblestone road, wobbly in the knees, beer in our hands, red lights guiding our way. All around us, in the windows, were scantily clad, beautiful women – all of them trying vainly to get our attention. And for some reason, we just smiled and walked along, content in our own dementia, the fish having its way with our weak minds.

That’s it for now folks. Thanks so much for everything. Here’s a video of a few things we couldn’t capture with words.