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Reboot Part 1 – Klaffenkater! Sep 28, 2010

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri, Sentimental journeys, Zorc Wotan.
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Yes folks,

you might be sitting in front of your good friend computer now and ask yourself: “Why is this happening?! The only constant in my life in the last couple of months has just burnt in flames. He did it again: He posted something. ”

Yes. That’s very true. I myself am still a little bit confused about what is happening right now. 10 months ago I was in Reykjavík, enjoying car accidents, hot girls (yeah) and rivers. Today I am in Swabia, enjoying bike accidents, hot food (oh yeah) and music. Life is a lively flow. And right now I want to talk about where this flow can carry you towards: Neverending wells of bavarian beer and dirndls. Swimming pool festivals in Hungary. Witch forests right next to your back door. Hooligan fathers&sons in Austria. Swan-hunting in Luzern. Foot-ticks in the black forest. The epicenter of jazz in Stuttgart. Strontium-tininess in scientific bowls. Posters everywhere. Weddings. The artistry of gluttony. Unfullfilled plans. Fulfilled plans. Like hiking in Austria with Reinhard. Yes, dear reader, I want to talk about five episodes of my life which occured during the last weekend. It centers around the relationship human – animal; sometimes it’s cruel, sometimes it’s heartwarming, sometimes it’s just damn sick. To make this fragments a complete story of the weekend I will add some spicy pictures! Enjoy!

1. Wednesday, 22.9.2010.

20.30: Theresienwiese, Munich. Just arrived, and before we talk too much we enter the Augustiner-tent and make our way towards the first Maß of the evening. Everything is cruel. So many people. So many old people (am I old?). So many dirndl people.  So much music I never wanted to listen to. So much I have to witness, unwillingly. There is the Maß.

21.20: The last drop goes down my throat. I am standing on the bench and singing “Anita”, cheering and dancing with a 60-year old girl with a beer-reddened face. Another Maß seems to be appropriate.

21:50: Ein Prosit, ein Prosit, der Gemütlichkeit! Two maß went well inside and I like how people talk with each other without knowing who they are talking with, it doesn’t matter, because everybody is drunk, this is why everybody came here, to drink, to stand on the bench, to talk to foreign people, to hug foreign people, to tune foreign people, to sing, to be happy. Life is good. A third Maß.

22:30: Hütten-Schorsch is entering the band conductor’s podium, he paid 50 bucks and thus bought the right to conduct the band for one song of his own will. Life sucks. Three was one too much. Maybe a Jägermeister can help.

22:45: Drove Autoscooter. Successfully rammed several people. Conclusion: As long as you have a lot of money in your wallet and a strong will to drink, Oktoberfest can be great fun! But MAYBE it’s not the best idea to go there if you plan to go up 1600 heigt meters the next day.

You may ask – where are the animals? Yes, there are no real animals like hamsters or goats or dogs. Just interaction human – human.

2. Thursday, 23.9.2010.

The food in the Golling-hut tastes quite ok, even though the Leberkäs doesn’t seem to be quite the right thing for my beer-accustomed stomach. Maybe a Zirbenschnaps will help. I tell the young, yet-to-be-castrated cat relaxing on our bench the story of my day; he tries to scrape me. That’s minigolf, man, play with cats, get hurt by cats. But somehow I gain his trust: Later that night I was dreaming about being a hiking-king in Austria, hiking up the Seven Summits in single day trips – with a truck tire bound around my hips. But suddenly  I wake up because my right foot slept in. I look around – where is the summit? Where are my ice axes? Where did my foot get stuck in? And then I see: it got stuck between the hut bed and the sleeping yet-to-be-castrated cat. Damnit, I share my bed with this little cat bastard. How many hikers have you been sleeping with like that!? Anyway. I like it.

3. Friday, 24.9.2010.

“Hey, did you see this? There was a sheep looking round the corner!”. We are relaxing in the last sunrays of the day at a steep slope near our hut, talking about football. Sami Khedira made me fall into deep, meaningful thoughts about football, so I miss the sheep. But it comes back. And it’s not alone. It brought its friends. And they are obviously ANGRY. They come closer step by step, staring at us with their devilish eyes, some of them chewing grass – they do it as cruelly and fiercely as if they would be chewing our brains. Crap, they want us. I back up, away from the path where the beasts are preparing to eat our souls. They follow my movement, slowly, ready to attack, cold sweat runs down my back, and then..!

4. Saturday, 25.9.2010.

What a watery day. No wonder the frogs are in a party mood. But where is the best party? Craig, he is one of the leader frogs in “Tha Gang”, heard from a friend that on the other side of the street there would be a pond where the hoes get craaaazy! Craig instructs his homies: “Ok guys, we all know this pond here is crap. The water’s old and muddy and the band is playing shit. This party is lame. We go check out the pond on the other side…Where my frogs at?!” “Quak, quak, quak!”, the boys of Tha Gang answer furiously and start to move. Poor fools! They never learned to enjoy what they’ve got; the party on the other side sure is no better than the one they have attended so far. No hoes going crazy. The same band playing. The same oily water. But now it’s too late: Craig jumps ahead towards the street, followed by Sean, Dean, Fran, Brett, Joey, Stan, Claus, Peter, Cleve, Paul, Rannigan and Flint. Craig is almost on the other side of the street, he jumps, then there is a light…he can still scream “Hell yeah!” before he hits the car and explodes into thousand frog pieces. And there is the frog stampede! Paul pukes. Fran takes Peter by the leg and starts to jump around. Dean, Rannigan and Joey join them. There comes the next car, this time on their side. It takes puking Paul silently, Peter and Joey with a blast and rips off Bretts legs. Stan, Rannigan, Flint and Sean decide to try it once more (“Party, dudes!!”) and can hardly start jumping before a truck overrides them all. Fran has long disappeared in the dark, so Claus, Dean and Cleve decide to go back to the other party. “Hey guys!” What’s up with me?! Help me! My legs slept in!!” That’s Brett. While Dean and Cleve don’t give a fuck and jump away, Claus goes back and tries to pull Brett away from the street. He is quite heavy. And there is the next blinding light, here comes the sun…

5. Sunday, 26.9.2010.

To round up this whole thing, another human-human story here just a single picture from the game Sturm Graz – Austria Wien. The guy with the umbrella is there to save the player and referee assistant from the loads of  cans, lighters and sticks  which rain onto the green 90 minutes without pause. Quite pragmatic, and apparently quite normal in Austria. Also the children enjoy throwing their stuff onto the field, encouraged by their fathers. Oh yeah!

γειά σου, malaka! Apr 22, 2008

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri, Sentimental journeys.
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Yes, rain sucks. Is life sucking as much as rain? The answer is no. Plenty of great stuff is happening in the moment: Drinking raki with Greek people who don’t understand a word at half ten in the morning; having baths in the chilly Mediterrean Sea; paying seven freaking euros for 0,5 litres of wack Heineken beer in a pub in Athens; stopping to sleep; tagging loads of fresh stones with herra héri-lines; playing theatre and getting drunk at the same time (people were actually paying money to see these memorable scenes)… And yes, believe it or not: The ridiculously genious Herra Héri Orchestra had a promising rehearsal last weekend. Chia! Who knows, if the transcendent beavergod Eyvindur is sympathetic with our enterprise, the world will see a joint of generations, an event that will blast everything that has ever been into crying pieces: a HHO-Gig. Four tracks, well that sounds like 12 minutes you will never forget.

Speaking of four tracks: Despite the fact that our new wicked tune Reality? Where did you get that from? is actually not yet perfectly finished, I think today’s a good day to share this pearl with you. So, take the risk and dip into the marvellous world of herra madness:

Reality? Where did you get that from?!

Well, I will let you go into the gleaming night with some nice herra impressions.


Welcome, Welcome Home! Apr 12, 2008

Posted by herraheri in M. L'éléphant, Sentimental journeys.
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I bet it never came to your mind that at home is a little fire burning, heating up beans and meat to warm your stomach while happy birds sing and chant to praise your presence. Yes. Sometimes it is hard to think about better times. Hours lacking the stitching pain, the sour depression, the bitter-sweetness of melancholy tears and desperate nostalgia. – Would it be, won’t it be, it’s getting worse, no remorse, please. Solitude, my friend, is a faithful friend.

Fish, by the way, are not capable of feeling something like melancholy. But as they cannot blink, they will be hardly able to ackknowledge something with an ironic augenzwinkern, to express something comparable to vitality, something Fallstaffian.

Whatever, back to happy birds singing the praise of home: Home sweet home. Welcome says the fire burning and cracking wood, welcome home my friend. My burning heart is passionately happy to see you here. Want some beans? You see…

Bloodshot! Apr 13, 2007

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri, Sentimental journeys.
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Yeah folks – herra héri starts really big business: We are proud to announce that we are sponsoring Tübingen’s (ah well, let’s speak the truth: the world’s) finest Hip Hop Crew Lingua Loca with some exquisit trousers. It will definitely burn the spectator’s eyes! Another step towards the eternal immortality of the herra héri thought!

Herra Lingua
Last night, Lingua Loca played at the Play Live Contest in Mannheim. And with the help of their genuine Herra Héri Pant, they made the 2nd place. Yeah!

Visit Lingua Loca’s official webiste as well as LL’s Myspace Site and get flashed!

Well, and as there are so many more great events taking place in the future days, let me recommend a few of them:

-4/27/2007: The formidable funky hound cats of the Down&Outs are rocking the Bar in Balingen

-4/28/2007: Again the Down&Outs, this time a little chill out at the Fecker Pub in good old Hechingen

-4/30/2007: Well, yeah, it’s getting boring, but this will be a hell of a gig: The Jazz in Town Festival in Rottweil featuring the exhausted but highly motivated Down&Outs.

Be there! (and check out www.down-and-outs.de for more information)

So, that’s that for the next time pretty much; there are more things to come up in June and so on.

Also, let me lighten up your day with some really nice pics from Cologne and Amsterdam, the chillout-town with the odd Russian flair. Up there, the world is still a nice place: The houses ought not be bolt upright, and the red light district is a really cosy, fine district with nice people all around. At least until you start taking photos.

Cologne at sundown Cologne at Sundown

De Wallen The red light district of Amsterdam – now officially herra-pimped!

Yeah, Dutch architecture Yeah, right, fuck 90°!

The legendary grasshopper-tent, which beared all the Icelandic tortures with us, also was reanimated in the – let’s say- nice surroundings of the camping site in Amsterdam. It felt good, really.

Tent reloaded!

For more revelations from the Moscow of the West, check out bl-bilder.de!

Fuck me I’m Irish Mar 27, 2007

Posted by herraheri in Herra the Heri, Sentimental journeys, The Guinness.
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Hey lads!

Everyone likes Ireland, especially on St.Patrick’s day. But not everyone is crazy enough to go straight to Dublin to get drunk on this fine day. Well, The Guinness and Mad Martin definately are this mad.

On Thursday, March 15th, we headed for Dublin for 5 days full of madness, jocoseness and Guinness. And this is pretty much how our arrival passed:

But as we anticipated this scenario, we were cool with it – and of course, we too were looking forward to having some fancy pints in some fancy bars. We had diverse drinking compagnons, for example our host Ken, a 83-year old true Irish lad who was crazy about music, didn’t care about this whole “don’t drink and drive”-rubbish and had a stinking dog. And oh, you remember that fucked-up American-suburb-town Greystones I’ve been writing about last year? Yeah, that’s where we lived this time.

home sweet home

Home sweet home.

(Ok, in fact, it was not that bad. The pub was quite alright, indeed.)

Of course, among other cool stuff like trying to watch Europe’s biggest (not happening) fireworks in 2007, we HAD to do the adorable cliff walk once again.

Ginsterrockangercliffwalk 1

Also, we had a reunion with the friendly cliff on Bray head, where last year’s unforgettable video/photo-shooting took place. Take a look:


Sounds like a nice chillout-trip? Well, I can tell you, we definately had our share in the latest binge-drinking issue.


And St.Patrick’s day wasn’t that easy, neither. Slightly too many people, a little too much carnival, quite too hard to get drunk.


As you can see on the last picture, there were some pals from good old Mordor visiting Dublin, too. What a pleasure!

So much for the little dia show of our trip – check out www.bl-bilder.de for more stuff about St.Patricks day, and why don’t you have a closer look at last year’s more detailed travelogue while nipping your pint of Guinness?

In this spirit,


Nice One – Cheers Jul 1, 2006

Posted by mlelephant in M. L'éléphant, Sentimental journeys.
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Just the day before yesterday – or – hold on – I think it was the day before the day before yesterday when I suddenly woke up in a beautiful area. From this eye-opening seconde my brain was situated in the middle of May with exciting flowers in full bloom and a soft and subtle sun touching my winter-crumpled skin carefully.

I need a Herra Injection

It was beautiful. It was France. Just the mountains of the area around Nice and Menton between me and a beautiful salad fruit de mér. Voilà – Le piscine. Very important, if the mountains threaten to prevail me from water – humans need tools!


I breathe in

I breathe out

The pool is nice as well but….
I need a Herra injection – watch it.


Freie Liebe! Mar 29, 2006

Posted by herraheri in Sentimental journeys.

Dear Diary,

Monday was a big day.

I got up at eight in the morning. Considering that I didn't have to work, you would say that I'm fucking crazy. Well, that might be true, but besides, we had big plans: We (me and three other drug-addicts) wanted to go to Strasbourg where the fabulous Youngblood Brass Band was playing a concert in the course of their Is that a riot?-all-across-Europe-tour.

We spent a nice day bumming around in Strasbourg. Before we went to the location the concert took place, we visited "ATAC", the anti-globalization supermarket, and bought some 100% French Baguette, Coulommiers cheese, bacon, vine and Prinzen cakes. Haw.


It was a great pleasure for us to spread the breadcrumbs all over the interior of my car. Then it was time to get things started. A little nose-powdering at the toilet of the club and the party could begin.

(!Attention: If you are not interested in a serious review of this concert, please stop reading now and, if you like, try later at the end of the text!)

The evening began with French singer/songwriter/producer David Walters. His roots are in the West Indies, and as a consequence, his music is inspired and influenced by reggae; but also afrobeat, hiphop and some kind of Ben Harper-Style flows into his compositions. So far so good. On stage he had arranged a strange assortment of "instruments": a glass harmonica with a self made resonator, a don't-no-what metal cylinder, a game-boy-like…thing (which made sounds, surprisingly), a kazoo, and such boring things like a guitar, his voice, a shaking banana…oh yeah, and about 8 delayers.

His performance was memorable. I've never seen anybody with such an uncroyable amount of rhythm corpuscles in his blood. He built up his songs by "recording" some beats of music, then delaying it, and recording the next track, delaying it and mixing it with the first one and so on. Unbelievable what came out. Very complex and amazingly exact music, and the sickest of all: it grooved hard. The beat never ran out of round. How can one do this? He kind of records his songs every time he does a gig, without the slightest error. It was exceptionnel. That's the modern kind of one-man-band. The fact that his singing wasn't really my case didn't bother the great impression. At the end of the show, he offered some freestyles to the more or less enthusiastic crowd. All in all, David Walters did a great job and was worth getting to hear.

David Walters 2

Then it was time for the warriors of Youngblood Brass Band to come out and play. YBBB is not a common Brass Band, even if the line-up is (almost) that of a Brass Band in common sense: two trumpets, two trombones, one saxophone, one sousaphone, three percussionists, one of whom is also the rapper of the band. They do hiphop/afrobeat/latin/"riotjazz"/"posthype"/New orleans – Jazz, which may sound awkward right now, but in fact really makes the bear dancing till his feet bleed. No one who has ever been at a concert of YBBB will deny that.

Daughter of the Revolution Joe Goltz

YBBB changed his line-up for the last record (Is that a riot?), which was more experimental than the last ones, so I was curios if the new line-up would still be this loud and intoxicating as they used to be. Well, they are. They rocked the place. It was the fourth Youngblood concert I've been to, and I've never jumped around this much. Ok, you have to be jumping if you are standing in the second row. My ears were bleeding. So what. I still feel like a hearing aid would be great. But it was worth it.

The first three songs were killing it, including their "anthem" Brooklyn (it was in the top ten in Belgium and the Netherlands), which they changed slightly. By that time, I didn't feel my legs any more. It really was a riot, but a friendly one. Some more calm songs followed, and the saxophonist, who seems to be a little introverted in real life, performed a couple of crazy soli.

During the first third of the concert, the crowd was a little stiff (except for the first rows), and the following tribute to New Orleans didn't change that neither. In fact, they are solid at playing traditional New Orleans Jazz, but there are things they can do better.

It's clear that the people at the club didn't know the new album, so they kind of didn't know what to do when YBBB played songs out of it. But later, they played a couple of songs from the old record (Avalanche & Camouflage: YEAH!), and now the people knew what to do: they went crazy, all screaming and jumping around…it was sick. In the end, Youngblood could play what they wanted, the people were enthusiastic about it. I was sweating blood.

Youngblood 1
Now that the rush of blood has gone, I can say that YBBB is now performing better than in Darmstadt (one and a half years ago). Ok, when the former sousaphonist was still playing, the band seemed to play more exactly, they sounded as one big sound box. Now, it's a little confused from time to time (to be precise: the New-orleans-tracks and some new stuff), and some of the songs don't groove this hard any more. However, they still know how to make a crowd go scream and dance the souls out of them. The line-up as a whole is better than in old days: the saxophonist knows what he does, the trombonists are insane animals as usual and the sousaphonist is getting better and better. Additionally, D.H.Skogen really polished up his rapping skills. But despite their musical development, they didn't loose their energy playing live.

For me, they are at least one of the best (live-)bands existing nowadays, no doubt.

The concert was a ball and worth every euro paid.


herra? héri!

P.S: For more frankanatic pictures from the show go to herra's pic corner!

In the net of the spider Mar 26, 2006

Posted by herraheri in Dublin 06.
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Heyho pals,

Time for part three of Fear and Loathing in Dublin.

Tuesday, March 21st

I forgot what happened in the morning; when I regained consciousness, I noticed we were wearing gumboots, yellow raincoats, miner helmets and Wanderers F.C Rugby Club-Scarfs. Whatever. We were hungry, so we ate. That happened at Café en Seine, an unbelievable place. Dimmed lights, enormous plants, huge mirrors, jazz and French Chansons – it was the true 1920-businessman-experience.

Café en Seine

En plus, you could eat traditional Irish food. It was probably the most bizarre experience we made in D to the n. Ok, it sounds a little bit boring, so I will add some spice:

Next to our table, an old, poorly shaved man with an old-fashioned hat and a worn out suit was sitting around, in front of him a gorgonzola sandwich and a glass of red wine. He was wearing sunglasses; additionally, he made use of a spyglass constantly. He covered the whole room with his spyglass-views. From time to time, he made some notes. I started to feel a little uncomfortable when he stared at us for about 10 minutes. He asked for the waitress and told her that somebody was smoking inside the cafe. Then he fetched a revolver out of his suit, whispered "April is the cruellest month.", put the gun into his mouth and fired.

James Joyce

When we had finished eating, we decided that it was time for a good pint of Guinness, so we headed for the Guinness Storehouse. It was awesome. They tried to make you drink all the time ("Oh, hello, fancy a sample of Guinness?"). Unfortunately, we hadn't much time. In the Gravity Bar, the upmost floor of the brewery, we enjoyed our free pint of Guinness and a great view over Dublin.

Gravity Bar Gravity Bar viewsick

By then, it was already time to go to the airport. In the meantime, here are some more great pics from Ireland's pulsing capital:

the hostelsight-seeing 2sight-seeing

All could have been so mellow. But waiting for the airplane, we met some nice Americans in the twenties. They were so cool. One of them was wearing a shirt showing a tricycle: "My other ride is your mom". Great entertainment. If I decided to go to another country, I would surely choose this very t-shirt to gain new friends. His mate, whose idiocy and limited horizon sprang out of his face, was wearing a beret, which made him look even dumber. As if they didn't bother me enough with their look, they started to talk. It was like…like ya know what I mean, like: you wanna like…do something, pal? – man, fuck it, our, like, our plane is like flying soon. – Man, shut the fuck up! – You kidding me?

Totally awesome! I had so much fun, these guys had such a great personality! Thank you X for pimping my ride! Now get the hell outta here!

Enough of these unholy prejudices and this disgusting social criticism. I challenged them to a duel and managed it my way – with swords not words. Hu-ha.

So. I'd like to write something concluding, but I don't no what. Dublin was fucking amazing.

Sun is shining.


What the hill?! Mar 25, 2006

Posted by herraheri in Dublin 06.
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Good evening, my appreciated friends, and good evening also to you, my lovliest enemy, DR. MORIARTY! Always a pleasure.

My pipe is enlightened and the cognac has just the right temperature, so it's the best possible time to sit down in my brazenly comfortable leather armchair right next to the fireplace where a cozy little fire glimmers and tell you some devilarious and untold stories about HELL… – well, no, that's next week…about DUBLIN.

Monday, March 20th

You can't imagine the unclouded delight I felt when I woke up at around half eight (that's the real Irish slang, check it out: half eight, homie. Means: 8:30). In my heart, the birds sang and I felt that spring stepped closer and closer. It was inspiring.
Without having to think, my thoughts were a wild river, blasting its way through the unviolated Irish landscapes. I had to write a little poem instantly to express my emotions:

My brain is dead,
my stomach's mad,
I feel bad;
bad –

I was inspired, indeed.
(It was raining.)

Fresh like a deer I jumped into my clothes and had breakfast. It ruled.
We were both full of pleasant anticipation to do some challenging hiking in Bray, that's about 30 km south of Dublin. In fact, I had enough when we had walked to the station from which the train went to Bray. First appetite for a pint of Guinness flourished.

I believe we were not the first people who asked the friendly guys at the station where the ominous "cliff walk" started. They changed glances and rolled their eyes, "Oh man, these stupid idiots will never learn it.", then showed us the way.
We spent some time at the rough sea (I found a golf ball – exciting), then started the walk. Since we are two fisted warriors, we weren't satisfied with simply doing the walk, no, we decided to climb Bray Head, a chainsaw of a mountain, the emblem of Ireland: approximately 9000 m over sea level, acid springs and rivers all over the sides, caves with bloodthirsty bears in it and deadly rifts hidden for human eyes. And all that bare-footed! (We had eaten our shoes for second breakfast.)

The path was a thrill: dead bodies, smashed human bones, oxygen bottles, a lot of beer cans and bottles, cigarettes and other essential equipment. A cold, fresh Guinness at Bray Station would have been less challenging. Damnit!

But, you see, the moments of torture climbing this hell of a hill were highly awarded, i can tell thee. An amazing panorama extended to horizon.

Panorama 2 Panorama 1
The ocean was really sea-like, and the landscape was truely Irish. There were some great cliffs to stand on and feel like the king of the world. This lucky circumstance allowed us to execute the ingenious plan of doing a dramatic video shoot upon the mountain. The result was eye-burning. Herra héri was on the set, too. Take a licensed look at pics from the shoot:
Video shoot 1Video Shoot 2
When we felt that we had spent enough time screaming at the peak of this mountain, we headed back to the cliff path. Friendly tortoises and the well-known Guinness toucan accompanied us. We had a great conversation.

The rest of the walk was really soul-uplifting. It seemed like the landscape had just been jumping out of a tourist brochure about the impressive nature of Ireland. The hangover had been forgotten for a while.
Cliff walk
Hangover came back shortly when we reached Greystones, a rather ugly all-American village. We were badly in need for the one-hour-ride back to Dublin. Life continued not until we where back in O'Neill's, the pub of our confidence, where we had a pint of Bulmer's Cider and, oh yeah, believe it or not, something to eat (Irish stew). What followed was a really laid-back evening including (in order of appearance) another pint of Bulmer's, football, a pint of Kilkenny, football (second half), some dumbass Americans, a pint of Guinness, two Irish guitarists (m/w), another pint of Bulmer's, a completing pint of Guinness and sleep.
Guinness TimeChilling
Next time: Looking out for shoes, Guinness-loving lobsters and more American fun.

Good night and may the herra be with you.

Sweet as a nut Mar 23, 2006

Posted by herraheri in Dublin 06.
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Faílte compañeros!

The time has come to do a little report about the short visit to Dublin of mine and my brother (oh yes, herra héri was with us, too). Since these 3 days were so full of experiences, I'm going to split them up into 3 posts (uäih!). Exciting, what? It's also kind of a test for the huge 6-week-Iceland-journey-coverage.

I'm not gonna bother you with interesting stuff but merely with ineffectual details. That's what you want, isn't it ??!! Well, there you go.

Sunday, March 19th

The flight from Stuttgart was great. Great entertainment. A young super-christian couple prayed in the course of take-off. Then, safely flying around (with God's help), they took a short inspiration read out of their premium-edition bible (with leather case), presumably written by Jesus himself. Nice people, I liked them at once. I believe they are young, ambitious Americans who have just finished their 3-year bible-school. Now they are on their Europa-missionary tour, with unbroken enthusiasm. Great.

But there were other highlights on the flight. The monitors were not showing solely boring maps and facts, no, they loosened the atmosphere with some undemonstrative ads: "HÖHNER 6:0 – DAS NEUE ALBUM! HIER IM FLUGZEUG ZU KAUFEN!" It was spiced up with a great picture of this amazing band. As you can imagine, I didn't hesitate to buy 6 records. It was well worth the investment.

In the bus from airport to O'Connell Street, there were some extremely kind Germans. One of them had lived in Dublin for half a year and he left no doubt that he was the king of Dublin. He simply knew everything about Dublin and Ireland. Small example: "Wisst ihr, auf dieser Autobahn hat es eigentlich immer Stau. Deshalb nennen wir Iren sie auch den größten Parkplatz der Welt. Das is doch mal n Ding, wa? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! – Übrigens, falls ihr es noch nicht mitbekommen habt, ich weiß alles über Dublin." I made the purpose to beat the seven shades of shit out of him, but he wasn't in the mood for it. it's a shame, we could have had so much fun.

Know what: foosball tables in Ireland don't use the generally accepted 2-5-3 system, but, attention please, a 3-5-2 system…fuck me I'm Irish.

Our hostel was nice, with a great view over town:
panorama view
I'm going to leave out the boring sight-seeing-hours between hostel check-in and serious drinking, aight?
EATpanorama view 2

So: Right after checking in in the hostel, we met Betti, who is Au-Pair 30 km South of Dublin since 2 weeks. After a short salutation ceremony we started drinking in the next best Pub, O'Neill's. It's quite a huge Pub, but very comfortable. It was 5 pm when we ordered our first pint (0,568l) of Guinness (€4,10). Another pint later we changed the place of drinking, feeling the need to eat something (I didn't eat the whole day, besides one pretzel and a Whopper Cheese).

We failed, so we had to continue drinking. At 9, I was plastered.

plastered view
At around 1 am, after 7 pints of Guinness and one Power's Whiskey, I felt the desire to puke. But nah, I'm too cool for stuff like that. Betti and some of her Au-Pair-friends including a Maltese speech therapist (?) had gone by then, and we hooked up with an Irishman, who dragged us to Viperroom. It's the place to be. We stayed 5 mintues and went home, drunk as hill. What followed was not sleeping but coma.

The first evening was a ball, so stay tuned for new extreme sport "hangover-hill-climbing" and more fine drinking experiences.


Dublin 103.jpg