Tales from the Berg II: Ran into a chum, with a bottle of rum....

And wound up drinking all night. I blame Martin. Will post about Mexican restaurant soon, though.

Went out for lunch at Carpaccio. An Italian restaurant with actual Italians. Great little courtyard, with lattice and umbrellas (it was sunny here, by the way; a miracle!) The boys and I went, along with Martin, the lovely Ulla (who should have known better) and the indomitable Dominik.

Martin insists on ordering a whole liter of chianti, even though he was the only one who wanted any. Well, actually, I did that. Martin was kind enough to go along. But I need to work something like a chum with a bottle of rum in here, to make the Buffet allusion work. Really great lunch, first rate, kind of Martin to suggest it.

Our waiter was hilarious. Funny, insulting, did a little dance. Long hair pulled back, oiled down, about five foot ten and 150 pounds, looked like an Italian waiter should look. Kept checking back, brought the food quickly. I briefly forgot I was in Germany, with such service. The pizzas and pasta all very good.

Then we climbed the Huguenot Church in the main square. Yes, we did. It's tall.
. Amazing view.

Then the boys and I went back to the Hotelchen, where I immediately napped for 20 minutes. Fortunately, Hajo called and woke me up. He was at Berg, waiting for us. We didn't get up there until nearly 17:00, and it was really hard to find a table. Martin was going to join us later (after HIS nappie). Finally found a table, near "The Kessel" at Entla's Keller. This description is funny, both the "boiling" and the list of cheesy sing-along songs. Here is the Kessel (yes, that's really what is going on; our table was above a bit, though, not in the boiling):

After we found a table, shared with some other folks (Ha-Jo did this, crucial to be quick and speak German), we sat for quite a while (Ha-Jo had some entla, which was cool). Our table companions left, leaving half a table open. This is like a pretty girl in a tight tube top sitting alone at a dance for sailors just back from the sea. LOTS of people were hitting on us, though of course they only wanted us for our table. We were trying to hold seats for Martin, Ulla, and Dominik, but we were under constant attack. Apparently (Martin insists) I left a phone message for him (he was still napping) that was like a call for an air strike in a bad war movie: "Martin! You have to get here. We can't (loud noise)...Wow! That was close. We can't hold on much longer. Please...(loud crashing and banging)... You have got to get here!"

And then they did get there, and it was all good, and we sang and danced on the tables at the Kessel.

Goomsbah!

So, Erlangen is never like this, EXCEPT during Berg. Then your Bavarian getaway is exactly like this.

(No, I have no idea what this is about. Blame Martin)

Last night Berg was so crowded I literally could not move. And some really drunk guys were doing the "throw the shoulder and elbow" thing to try to start fights.

On the other hand, I also walked by "The Worst Mexican Restaurant in the World," with fond memories.

The admirable T.G. took us last night to a different Mexican restaurant. I have two posts later today about the experience. Stay tuned.

Tales From Berg I: Martin

So, frequent commenter and KPC BFF Martin and I had spent nearly 4 hours at a table at Berg, eating the chocolates that Der Geist (Scrounger forever) demanded I open and drinking mass biers (Maßkrüge). (By "mass biers" I don't mean many, or Spanish for more, I mean 1 liter bier glasses, which are different from bier goggles).

Anyway, Martin and I were walking back toward town from Berg, along the Haupstrasse, with 10,000 or so other merry folks. The atmosphere is a little charged, a lot inebriated.

Some moron decided he was going to drive. A car. On the Hauptsrasse. Now, it was so crowded, curb to curb, that you really couldn't walk. Drive a car? Really? Goofball in the car, and his passenger, are yelling, revving engine, squealing brakes, and going exactly the same speed as the people walking.

I got out of the way, but Martin (you have to know Martin; he is basically a psychological twin of Angus, if Angus were a German Socialist) not only didn't get out of the way but walked a little slower. Goofball in the car keeps revving/braking, finally actually touches Martin's leg with the car.

More happened then. I was watching Martin, who turned,gave an excellent wind up and released a nice high arching spit onto the car's windshield. I followed the trajectory, like a camera cut, to...pandemonium. The crowd was enraged that one of its own had been touched intentionally by a car. There were 2 or 3 guys with their legs sticking out of both front windows. They had dived (diven?) into the car, turned it off, put it in neutral, and were now beating the crap out of the occupants.

Martin and I walked on. Half a km later, we looked back, and the car was in exactly the same place, though by now the flashers were on. (Nice touch). Martin felt bad about the spitting (which I thought was fully called for). The beating... hard to say.

And der Geist ate all my damned chocolates. Scrounger.