The wash, the dry


A day off, that luxury of the road.

Oh, i know, I know…it’s only been what? 3 shows?
Meanwhile, the Adolescents are going on week nine, or something like that.

But you know us, we can’t stay out that long, especially out here where every meal is offered with delicious mushroom gravy, where every beer is poured minimally at 1.25 liter!
What would become of our girlish figures?

Breakfast is served.
Breakfast is served.

So it’s a jolly farewell to the Hafenklang dorm, after leaving some witty graffiti to be found by the Stitches next week!

We traipse along cobblestone alleys, delighted to have a off day in this breezy port town.
And of course, that means Wash day–yay!


Now here’s another one of those subtle but noteworthy differences from home–why can’t we do laundry at a smart little cafe and drink fine Pilsners during the spin cycle?

We take our time doing the darks and the lights, ordering yet another round as we decide to splurge on an extra 25 minutes of dryer time.


...this is what I call doing the laundry!!
…this is what I call doing the laundry!!

And then we do the tourist thing, stopping at every sidewalk cafe and bakery we see.

And though we lack fuel to grill or pan to sear, we stop into the high end butcher shop to salivate over the racks of cow and pig—time to eat!





We see a passing water taxi and make a run for it, jumping onboard just as gangplank clanks behind us.

The cruise is lovely, and we toast the mansions and hovels as we float past.




It’s a warm evening on the water, and we pop the ceramic cap of another fine lager as a lone sea bird dips into the water and emerges with a silvery prize in beak.

Another victory for the day.

On a fuckin boat, yo!
On a fuckin boat, yo!

We treat ourselves to a corporate chain hotel (oh shut up, you crusties….we have the miles to cash in!)
Then we cap our day of leisure in the serviceable lobby bar.



Behind the bar, Hamburg.
Behind the bar, Hamburg.

We crank down the first thermostat we’ve seen on a European wall, and crawl in bed to the comforting tones of a CNN anchor telling us things are going to be ok.

Not a single distorted chord played this day, not a cd or tee shirt sold.

No Miles added to our body odometer.

But with a pillow mint resting on tongue and piles of clean clothes folded in bag, we drift off satisfied with this day of nothing.

2 thoughts on “The wash, the dry

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