Preparations
This was my first trip to a foreign country, unless you count Canada and New York. Since I hate traveling alone I invited my Dad to come with me. The main purpose was to visit my brother Vincent who is in the army band and currently stationed in Bamberg, Germany. He had been bugging us to come visit him for some time, and the thought of exploring another country was not a little tempting. The fact that there was a newly opened Cats show in Stuttgart was added incentive. And when asked, Vince admitted that a side trip to London (to see Cats, of course) wouldn't be such a difficult thing to arrange. Upon consulting with various European Internet friends, I found out that many fans from all over would be attending the 20th anniversary show on May 11th, and so we had a date. All that remained was to make the arrangements.
As luck would have it, the day I went to a travel agent to see about getting a flight to Germany, United Airlines was having a special and I got tickets for about half what I might have paid normally. Next Dad and I needed to get passports. We sent our applications out separately, mine going first because we couldn't find his birth certificate and had to order one. And then the post went and lost his it. (The courthouse insists that they sent it, and the passport department insists that they never got it.) So we had to get another birth certificate, another photo, put together another application, and send it off again. It got back to us with about a week to spare. (Geez!)
Vince, being more experienced with trans-Atlantic flights, urged us to take some kind of sleep aid for the trip since we would be leaving the States at 10 PM and arriving in Germany at noon the following day, losing 14 hours over a flight half that long. I preferred instead to try an alcoholic drink with my dinner, and Dad did the same. Since I drink but rarely I ordered a bloody Mary, thinking that would easily put me out. (And incidentally, it was a wonderful feeling to be able to ask for a drink and not have to show my ID. At twenty-five I find it a little annoying.) It didn't quite work that way, though. I was sleepy and I did doze a little bit, but the seat was very cramped (economy class, y'know), and my back had decided to hurt for some reason, and I just couldn't get comfortable. So I resigned myself and watched the little nature program that was playing on one of the in-flight channels. (It happened to be on tigers, my favourite animal.) When that was over I flipped back to the map showing our progress, set my watch to German time, took a couple pictures out the window as the sky got lighter, and ogled the handsome flight attendants.
Around eight or nine in the morning German time the attendants began circulating the cabin, offering croissants and drinks. Feeling a desperate need for caffeine, I asked for coffee. Vince had told me that German coffee is very good, and he was right. The croissant was lovely, too; almost made up for the nearly sleepless flight. Plus our attendant was a very attractive older gentleman with red hair and beard, fair complexion, and darkish blue eyes; I was all too eager for any opportunity to drool (discreetly) over him. (Hey, it was a long flight. I had to entertain myself somehow)
Our plane stopped at Frankfurt and we disembarked to make a transfer to Nuremberg. I don't know how it worked out, but our gate seemed to be on the opposite end of the terminal from where we were dropped off. We speed-walked the whole way and I, at least, was a little winded when we got there, though I rather enjoyed racing along the moving walkways. By this time I was feeling the lack of sleep and tried to doze on the short flight, but it seemed like every time I drifted off the captain came on over the loudspeaker with another announcement and jarred me awake. So much for that. But as I said, the flight was short and before long we were making our way through the terminal in Nuremberg. I quickly found the green doorway Vince had told me to look for that said "nothing to declare" (that's us), and there he was, waiting for us on the other side.
The car ride to Warner Barracks in Bamberg was uneventful. Vince, sweetheart that he is, had thoughtfully brought along some drinks and snacks to keep us going, as it had been a long time since the croissant and coffee. Once we were all signed in at the MP headquarters, Vince took us to the Bamberg Inn Guest House where he had made reservations for us. Our room had TV, VCR, coffee maker, and fridge, and there was a room just down the hall with a microwave, so we were all set.
Next trip was to the bank to get some German money. Up until now I had been wearing a ball cap, but in the building I took it off and Vince saw for the first time that I had coloured my hair. Formerly dark brown with some coppery highlights, it was now sort of bordering between chestnut and auburn, depending on the light. Vincent's reaction was just what I might expect of him. He glanced at me as I shook out my hair then did a double take. He pointed to his own head with a question mark in his eyes and I nodded. It wasn't till we were back in his car that he demanded, "What on earth possessed you to lighten your hair?"
"I just felt like it," I answered somewhat smugly. "I wanted to see what I'd look like as a redhead." As it turns out, I blended in perfectly with German women, who seem to favour red as an alternate hair colour.
We toured the base after this and bought some breakfast materials at the schoppette to keep in our room. Vince showed us the chapel, the band hall, introduced us to random band mates that we encountered here and there, and took us up to his barrack room (messy, just like at home). After a while we met one of Vincent's best buddies, Matt B., trumpet player, and went into town for dinner.
The restaurant that both Vince and Matt recommended was called Zum Redwitzhaus and was German/Italian. That is, the proprietor (Carlducci) is a native Italian and most of the menu was comprised of Italian food, but there was a small selection of German cuisine to be had. Matt (whose German is better than Vincent's) looked over my shoulder and helped me to translate the German menu.
"Do you like mushrooms?" he asked.
"Oh, yes!" I replied enthusiastically.
"Then you have to try this," he said, pointing on the list of German foods to something called jaegerschnitzel.
"What is it?" I queried, vaguely suspicious.
Matt explained the concept of schnitzel, which is slices of the less desirable parts of the animal, then told me that for jaegerschnitzel (jaeger means hunter btw) these slices were smothered in a sort of mushroom gravy and served with fries. "And the fries over here are wonderful," he added. "Better than anything you get at McDonald's."
So I ended up having the jaegerschnitzel and a cappuccino, and Dad had some sort of pasta with a Pils (a type of beer that's popular over there). I commented on the excellence of the coffee, and stated that just about the only place we could go for halfway decent brewed coffee at home was 7-11.
"And Starbucks," Matt pointed out.
"Well, yes," I agreed, "but we don't have one of those near where we live."
Matt stared at me as if I'd suddenly grown a third eye on my forehead. "No Starbucks?" he exclaimed then turned to Vince, "Boy, you weren't kidding when you said you live out in the sticks."
We chatted amiably over dinner (which was wonderful, Matt was right on all counts), and I learned a little more about Matt. He's a good Catholic; he's also a jazz fan and musician and he dislikes Rockapella. (Well, they can't all be perfect.) After the meal Vince called Carlducci over and attempted, in a strange mixture of German and Italian, to introduce Dad and me as relatives from the States. There was a slight misunderstanding (I think the gentleman might have thought I was Vincent's wife), so Matt jumped in to help and all was satisfactorily explained. Ah, what fun to live in a foreign country.
We left the restaurant and began walking around downtown Bamberg in the twilight. It was very beautiful and very relaxing. Vince showed us the high spots, then promised to show us the rest in daylight in the coming week. We all then returned to the base in Vincent's car.
Vince took us back up to his room and insisted that we watch a movie called Ferris Beuller's Day Off. For some reason he thought I would like it, but I have never been much of a fan of teen flicks and the sophomoric humour therein, and I sat tight-lipped with my arms crossed for most of it. I did watch the whole thing, though, to make Vince happy.
In the meantime, Dad decided to make use of Vincent's bed. Close to the end of the movie Vince and I both became aware of a strange noise, kind of a hissing sound. We weren't sure if it was coming from the soundtrack (though it didn't really fit), the DVD itself, or somewhere else entirely. Vince paused the movie and the noise kept going. We glanced over at Dad, totally dead to the world and obviously the source, looked at each other, snickered quietly, then returned to the movie.
When it was over I woke Dad and dragged him back to the guest house. Or tried to anyway. By this time it was midnight and completely dark, and we discovered that the base, which we were not altogether familiar with, looked very different at night. We got hopelessly lost before we finally retraced our steps to the band hall. On the second floor we met Matt and explained our plight. He laughed sympathetically and called down the hall to Vincent that we were back and wanted to see him. Vince apologized, though we assured him it wasn't his fault, and walked us back to the inn. Once in bed, it didn't take us long at all to go straight to sleep.
Vince had a gig today in Ansbach that he was going to take us along on. Dad and I walked around the base a little (easier to find your way about in daylight) then met Vince at the band hall. He introduced us to a few more band members before taking us to a spot out of the way to wait until the bus was loaded. Since the band's insurance wouldn't cover Dad and me being on the bus, we were going to follow in Vincent's car. (I think Vince was a little relieved at that; he wasn't sure that his band mates would behave, even in the presence of guests.) We were not the only car riders, nor were we the only guests coming along; two other guys were bringing their significant others.
The car ride was uneventful. At the concert hall, Dad and I sat at a table watching as the band set up and then went through a sound check. I found it mildly annoying because not only did the band leader seem to want to hear how every song sounded, he also appeared to think all the instruments needed to be miked, not just the soloists. This was a big band-style group (known as the Big Red One), and in a smallish concert hall, as this one was, I hardly think you would need to mike trumpets and saxophones. There were a couple of numbers they did with a singer (typically one of the trumpet players would put aside his instrument to sing), and they were a bit hard to hear over all the instruments. This was, I found out, a major bone of contention with the band members; apparently this band leader was not their usual one and he liked to do things differently.
Once the sound check was done with we all went to eat at a nearby restaurant. Again Matt graced us with his presence. I had cappuccino and Dad had a Pils; we had each found a safe thing to ask for that we liked and which crossed the language barrier, so we stuck with it. The meal, which had been pre-ordered, started with salad and then a main dish. Dad had salmon while I had lamb schnitzel. I hated it. I can only assume that the schnitzel I had the previous night had been completely drowned in the mushroom gravy so as to mask the taste. This stuff had no such cover-up. I ate about a third of it before I decided I absolutely couldn't stomach it and filled up on the fries instead. Dad, the bottomless pit, ended up finishing it for me.
When it came time to leave Dad and I went up to the cash register to pay for our meals. (Vince had told us that while the band members' meals were paid for already, we would be expected to pay on the spot.) I think it was twenty DM a piece, which hardly would have broken us, but as we were figuring it out the older gentleman who was hosting the concert and who had presumably paid for the band's dinner came up and told us not to worry about it, he would take care of it. Very nice of him. I get the idea from the band members, who have done concerts for this man before, that he is completely loaded.
After dinner we headed back to the concert hall. Complimentary tickets were provided for Dad and myself, as well as Katharine and Melanie (the aforementioned S/O's), and the four of us stood outside chatting while waiting for the band to warm up and the doors to open. The hall was similar to the Birchmere (actually nicer) in that there were tables and chairs rather than theatre seats, and drinks could be ordered. Dad and I elected not to try to order anything without Vincent's help. (We were able to partake of the band's freebies after the concert anyway.)
The concert started and we found, rather to our relief, that when the hall is filled with people it somewhat dampens the sound. Being the doting sister that I am, I had brought along my portable tape recorder and taped most of the performance. I found myself wishing later that I had gotten Vince to loan me his handy-cam for the night, but oh well. The first half I thought was kind of blah. I mean, I like big band music, but I can only take so much in one sitting. Chris, trumpet player, had a singing solo. He was very good, but had a little trouble projecting over the (unnecessarily) miked instruments.
There was a cute little fair-complected boy sitting across from us, looked about seven or eight years old. He was well behaved, but quite clearly bored. He entertained himself for a while by constructing his program into a very complicated airplane. Then he began playing with the lit candle in the middle of the table, flicking his fingers through the flame until Katharine discreetly pulled it away from him. He gave her a look, then laid his head down on his folded hands on the table and closed his eyes. He looked quite angelic and Melanie and Katharine giggled a little bit. He opened one blue eye and fixed them with a disdainful stare, which of course, only caused them to giggle the more. Finally he sat up again and resigned himself to his fate. I guess it shows that I was a little bored myself that I was watching him so much.
The second half picked up. Tom, trumpet player, came forward to sing What a Wonderful World, at the end of which he did his best Louis Armstrong impression. He was better at projecting than Chris, and seemed to have more stage presence besides. He also sang a medley of 50's pop songs. He was looking into the audience and making eyes at the girls, and I thought toward the end I caught him looking at me.
When the official concert was over the audience enthusiastically began calling for encores. Not vocally, though, this is how the Germans do it: almost as one man they will start clapping in a steady rhythm, and they keep it up until they get their encores. Dad and I joined in and I seriously don't know how they kept it up; my hands and arms were quite sore by the time we finished. Encores included Sing, Sing, Sing, In the Mood, and of course, Stars and Stripes Forever, swing style.
After the show we went outside to wait for the guys to pack up so we could leave. While we waited, Vince pointed us to several cases of Pils, Coca Cola, and orange juice that had been given to the band and told us to help ourselves. We each independently chose a Pils. I am not a beer drinker, but I figured I had to at least try German beer. It is quite good, a lot better than any of the stuff I've tasted over here. It has a better body I think.
Speaking of the freebies that the band got, Matt came out of the hall with a bottle of red wine in each hand. When asked how he had come by them he explained that he had been walking past a couple of the staff who were packing it away for later use, and they were talking about race car drivers, in particular one who drives a Ferrari. Matt caught their eye as he walked through and he nodded at them, pointing to his red Ferrari ball cap, so as to say, "Yes, Ferrari is a very good car." Or something like that. They promptly handed him two bottles of wine, presumably for being an American with good taste. Matt joked to us that he was thinking of pulling the cork out with his teeth and drinking it straight from the bottle. "Shouldn't it be in a paper bag if you're gonna do that?" some smart aleck commented.
We chatted a bit with the band members while they packed up. (Vince told us later that they were on their best behaviour for us.) One of the big questions that everyone was asking was, "How was the sound? Was it too loud?" We assured them that it sounded just fine, better than when they'd done the sound check.
Tom found me and said, "I sang to you tonight! Did you notice?"
Aha, I thought, so it wasn't my imagination after all. "Yes, I did," I told him. "Thank you. It was very sweet of you."
Tom had been described to me by both Matt and Vince as very hyperactive, and I found him to be something of a flirt. He is married, happily so according to Vince, so I doubt he means anything by it. Though I did have to turn down two offers to grope him.
As we stood there talking one of the sergeants called to Vince, using his last name only (a common military practice). Dad commented that he almost answered to it since, of course, he goes by that name, too. "Well, don't just stand there drinkin' beer," the sergeant said jokingly, "get your butt movin' and pack the gear!" Careful, Dad, you may end up back in the service if you keep that up.
Some of the band members asked us how we were dealing with the jet lag. Dad and I looked at each other and stated together that we really hadn't had a problem with it. I added that we were both used to working night shift and not necessarily getting a lot of sleep in the daytime, so staying up all night and into the day was nothing new and we could handle it pretty well.
"Night shift?" Tom said. "What do you guys do?"
"I'm a nurse and he's with the state police," I answered.
"Wow, what an all-American family!" Tom exclaimed with glee. "A nurse, a cop, and an army boy!"
Very true. I should have also added that our brother Gordon is a relief postmaster and Mom works in the information office of our local community college, which pretty much completes the circle.
Once Vince had performed his obligation of helping with the packing he took us to his car and we headed back to the base. Vince was hoping to get back before the bus did, but he was foiled in that when he started going the wrong way on the Autobahn. (Why they can't label the darn signs North, South, East, and West is beyond me!) He was fuming over this; he said it was a matter of pride getting back before the bus did, since buses can only go 100 kph on the Autobahn and Vince, in his 1983 Toyota Starlet, averages around 130 kph. He eventually decided that if his band mates questioned why he didn't get back to the barrack till late, he would simply tell them that he had spent some time with us at the guest house after dropping us there, which was not untrue. ;~)
This was the day we had chosen to go see Cats in Stuttgart, a 2-3 hour drive from Bamberg. The band had played a gig there a few weeks before so Vince was able to scout out the theatre and other local attractions. We left right after lunch, intending to do a little sightseeing before the show.
It didn't work out quite like that, though. First off, the weather, which had been unseasonably warm and sunny since our arrival, suddenly decided to turn chilly. It was also raining off and on, which made for a very unpleasant walk to the train station. Though I did snap a picture of the Mercedes building as we went by it. And when we got to the train station, poor Vince could make no sense of the ticket machines. He tried asking a couple young boys to help him, but they weren't able to satisfactorily explain it. Then a train arrived and the boys told us that this was the train we wanted if we were heading downtown, which we were. So we jumped on, no tickets, and prayed like heck that they wouldn't come through asking for tickets before we got to the next stop where we would make a transfer. They didn't.
At the next station Vince was finally able to work out how to use the ticket machines and we relaxed a little. Then I suddenly remembered that it was our grandmother's (Dad's mother) birthday and said we ought to call her to wish her a happy birthday. After checking the time to make sure she would be awake, Vince whipped out his cell phone and rang her up. We each talked to her briefly, then Dad suggested that we sing Happy Birthday to her. Vince and I were somewhat loathe to do it in such a public place, but with some coaxing Dad got us to crowd around the phone and sing it quietly to her. We got a lot of stares for it, but she loved it, so that was the important thing.
Our train arrived soon after and we got on to head downtown. Once there we wandered around aimlessly, kind of lost and not knowing what to do. It was still cold and nasty, which didn't exactly put us in the mood for sightseeing. We then decided that we should put an effort into finding somewhere to have dinner. I was open to just about anything, but my male relatives were less than cooperative. Dad was offering to treat us, but he didn't want to spend too much on it. Finally Vince commented, "Well, we could cap this afternoon off perfectly by eating at McDonald's." I regarded this idea with some scorn, but neither Dad nor Vince seemed much interested in any of the nicer eating establishments so that's what we did. It was here that I got my first bit of real culture shock. At the German McDonald's you have to pay extra if you want catsup for your fries, such a far cry from the liberal way they hand it out over here.
After dinner we took a cab back to Kelly Barracks (where Vince had parked his car) so that he and Dad could discreetly put on their jackets and ties and I could exchange my walking shoes for dress shoes. Vince then decided that whatever the parking garage at the SI Centrum cost, it had to be worth it to not have to walk to and from in the cold and wet, so we drove there.
For a detailed report of the Cats performance please click here.
After the show we got on the Autobahn to head home, and found ourselves heading the wrong way again. What is wrong with those Germans? Would it kill them to indicate a direction on the signs? All they say is Autobahn 80 (or whatever) to Berlin, Munich, etc, which is not very helpful if you don't happen to know where those places are in relation to where you want to go. Not very tourist friendly in other words, though that may be the point, who knows.
So anyway, Vince gets off the Autobahn and tries to figure out how to get back on in the right direction. We were sitting at a stop light on a four lane road when he noticed right at the intersection on the other side a right lane exit (or ausfahrt, what an awful word!) which was exactly the one that we wanted. Rather than trying to make a U-turn at the next intersection, Vince elected to make an illegal left turn onto that exit after the light turned green. Dad nearly had a heart attack, but it was late and there was absolutely no one around, nor did we hear any sirens, so we got away with it.
Now we were on the Autobahn, going the right way, we thought we were home free. Not so. We got to the tunnel just outside of Stuttgart and encountered a major traffic jam caused, we assumed because of the sirens we heard periodically, by an accident that was being cleared up. So much for getting to bed at a halfway reasonable hour. I think we spent forty-five minutes just getting through the tunnel; we got back to Warner Barracks around 3:30 AM. (Urgh!) But like the good little Christians that we are, we got up in time for nine AM Mass.