day in day out
Sunday nov 20 gent de vooruit
So we get the bus worked on in the early hours and everyone miraculously makes the call. Belgium is freezing this morning and we get the bus parked up lickity split right outside for the day which most of the guys sleep off. Bart and his crew at vooruit have us sorted right out with the hospitality, including tons of Belgian chocolate and delcious deli trays. A right relaxing day with a very professional local crew, the venue reminds me of the inside of st Andrews in Detroit if they gave a shit. That is where the comparisons stop. I/m stuck into the production office getting mac tutorials from whomever is handy. Real nice. Hell we even make telephone calls to the s.o./s on the computer. Very strange,indeed. After a brilliant lamb dinner, the guys play the best show that I have ever seen them play, 90 minutes of blessed out Belgians. A real love fest in the frosty November night. Afterwards we pass on our many thinks and the guys go round the corner to the local beer bar, but alas tis a Sunday and quite frozen to boot, so we move the party on the bus and begin the 1300 mile trek to Portugal.
Monday nov 21 sur la route/san Sebastian
Across france we sleep off the previous nights seisun before getting pulled over by the French police for some odd reason(they like to check the ‘tacho’, hell, who doesn/t), and it is onwards and upwards to san Sebastian, a bit of paradise by the sea. I am straining to remember the name of the restasurant in Anthony bourdain’s book, but it does not come, nor any internet access to chowhound it. But we find a brilliant little tapas joint right at the entrance to a very beautiful old church. Oysters, jamon iberico, tempranillo, verdejo and out the door to some beer bar outside where we enjoy the crisp Spanish night. We manage to bring together everybody but squid and wind up in some place called the old Dutchman which is not what I imagined for the basque country, but the clams and duck confit where pretty damn delicious all the same and that/s where the evening falls apart. Monday night in san Sebastian, god help us. We cannot organize a piss up in the proverbial brewery. We wind up in some ropey bar on the seaside that is either the gayest straight bar ever or vice versa. And boy were they mean. Hopper had to ask the waitress if she was a witch as she was sporting the biggest pentagram of all time outside a trenchcoat mafia reunion tour. I have been abused by an awful lot of barstaff over the years but these two took the torta. Rightfully fucked off, we retired to the bus ensemble and paqssed out for the 14 hour drive to Lisbon. Great town, but the maratimo bar is mierda.
So we get the bus worked on in the early hours and everyone miraculously makes the call. Belgium is freezing this morning and we get the bus parked up lickity split right outside for the day which most of the guys sleep off. Bart and his crew at vooruit have us sorted right out with the hospitality, including tons of Belgian chocolate and delcious deli trays. A right relaxing day with a very professional local crew, the venue reminds me of the inside of st Andrews in Detroit if they gave a shit. That is where the comparisons stop. I/m stuck into the production office getting mac tutorials from whomever is handy. Real nice. Hell we even make telephone calls to the s.o./s on the computer. Very strange,indeed. After a brilliant lamb dinner, the guys play the best show that I have ever seen them play, 90 minutes of blessed out Belgians. A real love fest in the frosty November night. Afterwards we pass on our many thinks and the guys go round the corner to the local beer bar, but alas tis a Sunday and quite frozen to boot, so we move the party on the bus and begin the 1300 mile trek to Portugal.
Monday nov 21 sur la route/san Sebastian
Across france we sleep off the previous nights seisun before getting pulled over by the French police for some odd reason(they like to check the ‘tacho’, hell, who doesn/t), and it is onwards and upwards to san Sebastian, a bit of paradise by the sea. I am straining to remember the name of the restasurant in Anthony bourdain’s book, but it does not come, nor any internet access to chowhound it. But we find a brilliant little tapas joint right at the entrance to a very beautiful old church. Oysters, jamon iberico, tempranillo, verdejo and out the door to some beer bar outside where we enjoy the crisp Spanish night. We manage to bring together everybody but squid and wind up in some place called the old Dutchman which is not what I imagined for the basque country, but the clams and duck confit where pretty damn delicious all the same and that/s where the evening falls apart. Monday night in san Sebastian, god help us. We cannot organize a piss up in the proverbial brewery. We wind up in some ropey bar on the seaside that is either the gayest straight bar ever or vice versa. And boy were they mean. Hopper had to ask the waitress if she was a witch as she was sporting the biggest pentagram of all time outside a trenchcoat mafia reunion tour. I have been abused by an awful lot of barstaff over the years but these two took the torta. Rightfully fucked off, we retired to the bus ensemble and paqssed out for the 14 hour drive to Lisbon. Great town, but the maratimo bar is mierda.
posted by david burton at 11:57 AM
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