An early rise in Berlin meant foregoing breakfast for the road. We found a lumber-themed rest stop off the Autobahn that featured sausages, potatoes, and a hateful, cute woman behind the counter. She scowled at us with specific contempt and created passive aggressive games about having to make more potatoes. She even scowled at us after her cigarette break.
It was a seven hour drive and we got lost around Hamburg due to a closed road. At a Burger Reich, Alan considered having a Draculaburger while Mike got a bottled water at a pastry shop. Here was his exchange with the pastry girl:
PASTRY GIRL: Would you like that to go?
MIKE: Yes, please.
PASTRY GIRL hands MIKE a bottle of water. MIKE pays and begins to leave.
PASTRY GIRL: Oh, but I must get the bottle back from you before you leave.
MIKE goes to the van to retrieve an empty water bottle to pour the new water into.
We named the van Gorm the Old, in honor of the first King of Denmark, though we still don't have a name for this vacation. A big yellow sign on the road read FARTKONTROL. Yeah, but probably not a good name for the tour...you know...because of Esther classing this whole thing up.
The weather pouted like a bi-polar cat, raining one minute and sunning the next. A terrific hail storm beat down on Gorm the Old, so loud we had to scream over it. Meanwhile Mike slept.
We pulled into Aarhus (a very, very, very fine hus) and located Vox Hall. Under construction, this 750-capacity room uses oil barrels to hold candles, and has great sound. With an hour to kill we found a street festival that proves once again that bad cover bands are a universal language.
"Riiide Sallyyy Riiide!"
People were dressed as anything, mostly black, bright green, fringed or furred and vested. The black metal youth sang "Lo-lo-lo" songs down the canals of Aarhus (in the middle of the street).
Believe it or don't, chili con carne is one of the dishes of choice in Denmark. So for 40 kroners I fuckin' ate some, man.
Our show was better tonight. The energy was higher, and we had some memory fun with the structure of "The Companion."
When some of the kids started dancing to "The Love Letter" Alan joined them for "Vanilla Bean," which put a smile on Jan the terrific soundman.
We don't know where we are staying tonight. We might have to drive to Copenhagen or something. Either way I'm sure Mustang Sally will be joining us in our heads.
***Update***
After the show we were told we could not sleep at the club (imagine that). With that goofy festival going on, nothing was available in Aarhus. Gorm the Old set out to find us a hotel on the highway. After an hour we came upon the town of Horsens, which sounds like a combination of "horse" and "worsens." This small town was in the process of drunkenly tearing itself down, with dudes in Viking face paint wooping, and women in red 10th century dresses hooting, and drinking and singing and kissing discreetly. What GPS, Greg, and an iPhone could not find, Mike did: The Horsens Best Western, located on a brown hay street.
Greg and I walked in to find a beautiful chandeliered lobby, a bunch of towels on the floor, and two older men drunkenly ringing the front desk bell. Eventually they became impatient and walked behind the desk, grabbed their room key and went to their room. Very medieval! Inspired, Greg took the key for Room 208 and we marched to the room.
Oops, there was someone in there.
Undeterred, we returned to the front desk and grabbed the key for Room 212.
Woops, someone in there, too. With nice shoes.
Back at the front desk a very tired, pleasant woman told us there were no vacancies.
So much for the free room.
Another hour later we found a motel that was located in a closed mall. I asked the possibly drunk woman behind the counter about the happening in Horsens. She said there was no English word for it.
We fit 6 in a room for two, sleeping like caterpillars in a submarine. I just learned they have an annual crime festival in Horsens. Maybe we should have just raped and pillaged that town for a room. It woulda saved us a buncha fucken kroners, man.
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