Long trip train travel is a noble pursuit that just asks for the Harris tweed to be cracked-out, along with the smoking pipe, a thoughtful tome and the odd knowing wink to fellow passengers. I didn't pack the first two items, the locals probably didn't care what I was reading (most were vacuously glued to their iDevice) and I thought it best not to try the latter without expecting carriage rage. Most locals still seem to fly or drive, but if you do have some spare time on your hands it's much more scenic, comfortable and affordable way to go.
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| Brief encounter |
Although I'd completely ballsed up, rather than spend the whole evening cursing myself, I realised I was close to the Neptune where The Heavy, a favourite over recent years, were playing. Strangely, the venue didn't have a coat check so I had to walk around the venue with my damned caixa in tow. One security guard actually asked me if I was part of the crew. The indignity!! I am bloody artiste! I fielded a few worried glances from the crowd until they realised the drummer had joined the band from stage left. The Heavy rocked the joint.
I have also been stalking Kristi, professionally, for years, so it only seemed right that I tracked her down since she moved to Seattle. She kindly took me to some cool cocktail bars and for some very nice pub grub. It was great to see a familiar face, get past the typical traveler's small talk, straight into the meat and potatoes.
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| Gas Works |
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| Gas Works |
And, at least I now knew where I needed to be for Wednesday practice! Vamola were rehearsing a set for a gig on the weekend and had a really interesting and diverse repertoire. I especially liked the Maracatu piece (it sounded a bit like this). It was good to see that the post samba pub session was also a staple, even on a school night. Thanks guys!
Caught the Amtrak again to Vancouver, but the samba train stops here. I assume the locals are either at Brazil Camp or had already been forewarned.
Either way, all was not lost on the music front: The barmaid at Funky Winker Beans recommended I go to Burger Fest, where diabolical, brootal metal meets a BBQ and plenty of beer - the holy trinity, right there. Although, I now question my faith, as I didn't make it through all 36 bands on the lineup. The next day countered with Latin Fest, which was definitely more family friendly, but had a distinct lack of body odour, piercings, where's Wally style tattoo coverage, and the loos didn't resemble a Trainspotting prop Danny Boyle turned down because they looked unrealistically gruesome. It was probably worse off for all those points.
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| Alone, I was the only man or woman without extensive tats or facial hair at Burger Fest |
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| Beaver and tails, they got it all covered down at the Latin Fest. |
Last but not least, a big shout goes out to Perry and Trish who were rocking out on their porch, myself being the third person in 15 years to; A) demonstrate an interest and chill out with them, and, B) relieve Perry of one is beers for the pleasure. That is a criminal statistic, which has the following moral:
Throw away your social media crutch! Turn off your internet connected, banal, brain numbing content delivery device! (pause to note irony) And go down the pub, listen to some music and talk to real people! Someone you haven't spoken to before! Engage with the world!! DRINK!!!!
