HellTrek Diary, Part Three

[mad_andy]

Part three: So where the hell are we, again?


Seven in the morning.

Not a particularly salubrious time to be awake.

And I am not a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination; still, being awoken by the scent of a mug of tea shoved under my nose does much to sweeten my disposition. Being able to fumble alight a cigarette before I’ve had to open both eyes helps, too.

Being pounced by Lia’s evil kitten does not, on the other hand.

Said evil kitten must be used to running away from people shouting at her, because no matter how hard I tried to squash her flat I never quite managed it. Lilith would dance in, grab whatever bit of me she could reach, bite and/or scratch it and then swirl away like a leaf in the breeze, laughing at my clumsy attempts at reprisal; despite being used to this with three mental moggies of my own, it doesn’t exactly make one immune.

A multitude of smokes, three mugs of tea and some toast later I felt a little more human. Almost ready to face the world, even; prepared for the travel to collect the car, then the drive to Milan, then the long cold wait outside the venue then the gig itself.

“You have got the tickets?”

Lia rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Yes!”

Back down in the coffin - the experience not improved by daylight - and off we went to try and catch a bus. Of course, this was where our worlds collided; I had no bus ticket and unlike in the UK you can’t just buy one when you board, as I’d assumed. While Lia muttered and cursed under her breath I looked around the place, trying to fill up my senses with the essence of the place. Loud, vibrant, cold; voices called across the market, the sun gleamed from the grubby buildings and the city rolled and chattered on around us while the pair of us tried to figure out our next move.

“We can go get a ticket from--”

Bugger that.

“What about a taxi?”

As luck would have it, we’d come to rest by a taxi rank, and being not only a lazy bastard but moderately unfond of travelling by bus my vote was firmly on jumping in the back of a strange man’s car. One brief discussion later and I won; Lia approached the driver and off we went, once she’d checked with Motty what the street was called where the school she taught at - and thus, the car was parked - was called. Lia spoke to the driver, who, on hearing me speak, had used a word I was to become very familiar with over the next few days.

“Inglese?”

“Si, Inglese...”

And off they chattered while I stared out the window, practically shoving my nose against the window in my efforts to see it all; more of the tall apartment buildings, and one enormous wall punctuated by very Mediterranean-looking houses, or rather roofs over half-hidden structures behind said wall. It actually took me a couple of trips to figure out what was behind that long, imposing blank wall that wasn’t - like every other wall in Torino - extensively daubed with graffiti; it appeared to be a cemetary, which may well account for the huge number of monumental masons in that part of town. Damn, but I want to see some of those carvings - the ones on display in the mason’s windows were impressive enough. Through the huge wrought iron gates I caught glimpses of mausoleums and the sweep of stone wings - I want to go in there, next time. With a camera. And a notebook.

Other things were more puzzling. Why, I asked, are there enormous grubby curtains in some sort of green plastic across so many of the balconies? Lia considered this for a moment, and shrugged. There just are, she said.

Righto then....

We spilled from the taxi and hunted down the car, piling in and sorting ourselves out; ah, it’s been a long time since I’ve bounced down a road, singing happily at the top of my voice to a creaky tape player and flicking cigarette ash out of the window! Quite took me back, it did. Took ten years off me - almost fifteen.

And thus refreshed and rejuvenated, we headed for Milan - and Helloween!

~*~

We got lost.

We found Milan - not even we can miss a city that size - but I did have to restrain an urge to groan and hide my head in my hands when I realised that Lia’s directions consisted of two hand-written lines in a notebook. Compare and contrast this, if you will, to when Amanda and I pursued Def Leppard across the UK; we had roadmaps scribbled on with highlighter pen, AA routemaps, the works. Here?

Well. We’d find it.

Eventually.

~*~

The beauty of getting lost with a female friend is that there is no screaming and yelling, no blame tossing, no anger and very little angst. You just kind of wander around a strange city, cursing other drivers who have the audacity to know exactly where they’re going, singing very loudly and smoking yourself blind. It’s rather fun, truth be told, and when you eventually find the venue you’re looking for it makes victory all the sweeter.

Full marks must go to Lia for sharp reflexes; I yelled ‘THERE!’ and wallop, she’d made the turn and we were cruising past Club Alcatraz, the venue for the gig. Three people sitting outside, no sign of any other activity. Huzzah!

It was about midday; by the time we’d parked up and wandered back there was a dirty great truck parked outside, the sides of which bore an enormous Helloween logo and the legend - The Keeper is on the road again!

Subtle it ain’t.





(Clicky!)

I initially thought that the three people waiting were part of the road crew; it turned out later that one was just a fairly random nutter whose name I never did catch, but the other two were Luca and Benedette, who had not only attended the Edguy concert here the night before but had been in position since two am. Do what, John?!

That, my friends, is dedication. To the point of lunacy some would say, but there I was half a continent away from home freezing my tits off in a place where very few people spoke my language, so who am I to judge?

It was fascinating to watch the crew begin to assemble the stage; first item in was a ramp, presumably so that all they big cases could be rolled up on stage. After that the whole truck went in, and it all went pretty quiet outside. Just a cold wind, and the company of the guy now labelled in my mind as Random Italian Nutjob (hereafter known as RIN) who kept yakking at Lia, much to her disgust. The other two had assumed the sort of hunched, energy conserving pose that one learns to adopt outside a venue in the winter; I knew it wouldn’t be long before Lia and I were doing the same.

So we cheated. Lunch? Damn fine idea. Indoors in the warm. Blinder.

We’d passed many, many small bars during our haphazard wander through the streets of Milan (which is as grubby and crowded and yet alive as is Torino), and settled on the nearest one which didn’t look too expensive or indeed too cheap. First customers in, and eyes widened a little when I spoke.

“Inglese?”

Yeah, yeah, I know...

Panini are starting to catch on here in the UK, but the ones I’ve had over here are yet to be a patch on the ones I had over there. This one was typical of its kind, nicely filling, good blend of textures and tastes and warm, not scald-your-mouth hot or freezing in the middle. Of course, once we’d ordered I gave them a damn sight more to look at than just this strange, wandering English person; we took a seat, and I took my jacket off.

Breaths hissed in, but not in an unfriendly fashion. Surprise, yes. Lia grinned, grey eyes sparkling at me.

“This is not usual here. Tattoos like yours.”

“It’s not that common anywhere, mate. They OK about it, though?”

The grin got wider. “Seem to be.”

I relaxed. Curiousity I can handle.

Lia couldn’t eat. I’m not surprised; once gig-excitement starts to grip your guts food is out of the question. I am - not to blow my own trumpet, but ‘tis true - rather more of an old hand at this sort of thing than she is, and knew how important it was to eat. I sure as hell didn’t fancy going headfirst over the barrier in a country where the chances of the first-aiders speaking my language were low to nil. God alone knew what might happen, so I ate and I relaxed and tried to soak up as much heat as I could in preparation for the long, cold wait ahead of us.

Fed and warmed, I shrugged back into my jacket and wrapped my scarf around myself, picking up another pack of smokes and thanking the staff with a smile - in English. You could see their eyes alight with curiousity, but none of them had the words to speak to me or the bravery to confront Lia, and so they remained unsatisfied. We’d be back, though - a good warming/feeding/toilet stop is never wasted on one of these long waits! - and they’d get their chance then.

And when we returned to the proto-queue, the tourbus had arrived....

~*~

Comments

[bella-cheval.livejournal.com]

Yay!!!

More, pweese?

[kelpierocks.livejournal.com]

"You have got the tickets?"

This made me ROFL. I need to go back and reread that LeppTrek. This is so much fun, to experience the whole gig, the wait, the people, and everything. Without having to experience the cold.

And I'm afraid I'm like Lia. Not usually eating anytime near a gig. Fortunately, haven't yet suffered ill effects from it, but then again, there's seldom a barrier at the concerts I see, and if there is, I'm not on it. ;)

[mayqueen517.livejournal.com]

Ahhhh I learned my lesson last year at the Vans Warped Tour about not eating.

We got there at like 12 pm and didn't leave til like 9:30 pm that night. I didn't eat until 5, and I nearly passed out. I had my friend shoving chocolate into me so I wouldn't.

So I now eat before a gig.

And getting lost with a female friend can be quite lovely.

[silicondreams.livejournal.com]

Pfah. We *did* reach the venue or not? ;)

...

...

*burp!*