Countless kilometres of motorway ahead of us, the radio is blaring Benni’s finest selection of Thrash Metal. Hendrik is editing our concert photos so that the crowd in the audience seems larger. Tim is scratching some bubble gum stains out of his last somehow clean pair of jeans. And Benni is fighting the sleep at the steering wheel, so I have some time to invest into this uncared-for blog.
We were in Groningen. And had a nice jam in the O’Ceallaighs Irish pub. Some gig-facts: Our payment was 12 pints of Guinness and the backstage room was a former brothel. A stranger approached us and invited us to play at a remote and abandoned factory. What seemed like an evil plot to abuse three tender musicians turned out to be one of the coolest experiences we had so far. The “Wolkenfabriek” is a former sugar factory that was refurbished to make it a paradise for families and ravers. We brought along our new awesome friend Jorris, the wacky percussion guru from our trailerpark, to spice up our performance with some dance vibes. We had a remarkable night, that escalated into an ecstatic jam with two further local musicians.
To avoid a Bremen-like situation, we packed our stuff, wrote a farewell song to Groningen (“Goodbye my Love”, a cheesy masterpiece of kitsch) and set off to Amsterdam. The city of efficiency. Everything is so optimised, that you even can pay the usual parking fee via debit card. But not with coins. Even though you are carrying 4 kilos of change in your guitar case. Yay! Without our guide Pietro, we would have been lost.
More by accident we found out, that a musician had cancelled his concert at the “Bajesdorp” bar, a former prison. So we spontaneously filled the gap.
One last breakfast on the rooftops of Amsterdam, and we set forth to Dunkerque, France, to catch our ferry to the promised land.