Every street corner has a group proudly performing their repertoire with gusto. As you walk round the town it sounds like the place is being constantly shelled by artillery. Filled with childlike excitement you follow your ears to the next blinding flash mob bombardment. As you get close enough to one group, the rhythms resolve themselves. As you walk away the beats merge again into the cosmic background battery.
We were very lucky to get the opportunity to play with the London School of Samba for the weekend. The plan was to join them for the main parade on the Sunday (check 34:50 onward) but we ended up doing four performances (like here and here!). Sore arms, big cheesy grins and the first time I've been called a kunstler to my face and nodded proudly in agreement. Massive thanks to Maestre Tristan for sorting us out.
Reveling in the adrenaline rushes from performing was one thing. Watching some of the other bands on the main stages was something else. The costumes, choreography, dynamic directors, dancers and drumming were awesome.
From over 80 bands playing, here are a few that rocked: Samba Masala, Aquarela, Bloco X, Misto Quente
We booked six months out, which is way too close to get accommodation anywhere near the town. We ended up in an old East German town called Steinach, which is nearly as remote as you can get while staying in the same country. So when we left the Hungry Highlander (which had non stop drumming madness outside the door) at three in the morning each night we relied on unrivaled German efficiency to bus us to the furthest flung town and then taxi the remainder. Our luck failed on the third night but the Orisha of Travel was obviously with us when a random brother of steel stopped his car and gave us a lift back to the hotel. Respect.
Next time we will be traveling with a fully operational Welly outfit. Coburg 2016, You have been warned!
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