Day two: playing music

To elaborate on the last post, entered around 3:00 last night, we spent our first two nights in Belgium above the garage at one of The Violet's friends' house. He's a stoney dude who smokes alot of weed, on top of a seizeless consumption of cigarettes, beer and Belgian cuisine (more on that later.)
In Belgium, smoking weed is not uncommon or especially frowned upon, and drinking is allowed from the age of 15. They also have no ban against smoking in bars (or indeed anywhere), which is one of my favorite laws in Sweden.
As nice as this guy is (and make no mistake - he has been a saint to us) his cold attic was not the Ritz, and my jacket still smells like hemp.

And so it was that we awoke on saturday, cold and frightened, to find that the actual house itself was beautiful. In the kitchen, some kind of military-class Mom Machine was preparing breakfast for 12 people (she just smiled at any attempt to give thanks and kept making more food) and there was a shower.

The show in Tienen on saturday was crap, in many ways.
First off, it was cold as hell and there was no backstage area so we had to spend most of the day either checking out the bands or sitting in our car outside. Somehow, the latter ended up being the favored of the two.
The bands weren't bad, especially Centurion were pretty cool, and it was great to finally hear The Violet live. They were good, but like us have since improved.
After they were done we got hurried on to the stage and hooked up our stuff to The Violet's backline, which we had never used before.
I think we did as well as we could just then, but it wasn't a good show. Unfortunately, the audience shared our disappointment. I managed to slash Devon across the eyebrow with my bass, the tuning keys carving a nice bloody gash above his eye. Whoops.
Max beat his own lip with his mic, it bled pretty good too.
Afterwards, there was much drinking to be done for everyone but me, and we tried our first Belgian pizza. The cheese is more tangy and flavoury, very different indeed.

The next day we woke up, again sensing the sweet stench of weed everywhere. This time there was no Supermom to feed us, so we decided to try a traditional Belgian breakfast at McDonald's.
At least they have veggie burgers.

To get to the concert venue we had a bit of a drive (like, half an hour, if that) so we took off early (like, four o'clock in the afternoon).
This sunday night, five bands would grace the eardrums of Lommel's innocent citizens: Rival, Hearts Alive, Verify, The Violet and Jesaiah.
We were the headliners, which has often meant alot of people leaving before the last band plays. This was not to be the case.
Hearts Alive are Swedes just like us (well, a bit different as they don't speak proper Swedish) and really nice guys. I've heard their old-school-hardcore-meets-metal two nights in a row and it's not bad.
The Violet played a blistering set. With most of their friends present, the locals got the crowd warmed up in expert style. I think they should have played last, but I guess we're the foreigners.
I don't know what makes a really good show for us. I used to think it was mostly up to the crowd, but this was not an overly enthusiastic gang by any means.
No, rather I think it's the overall vibe. The five of us were all in good spirit and form, and even though most of the audience stood still, they kept looking at us throughout the set. It was great, and we didn't even injure ourselves that bad.

We spent the following night in a nearby youth-center-something, unfurling our sleeping bags once more on the cold brick floor. I went to bed at 4:00 after a few games of poker (no real money involved).

After about five hours of sleep, we were treated to a somewhat traditional Belgian breakfast: fresh chocolate criossants bought at a bakery, washed down with chocolate milk. Basically, a heart-attack on a plate. Lovely.

Even though it was monday, the schools are closed this week, so alot of kids showed up at our monday night gig in Lanaken.
Again, we shared stage with Hearts Alive and Verify, but this time the crowd was more tailored so to speak. Alot of serious moshing and dancing. One dude even climbed on to the bar counter and dove into the crowd, landing square center on my head. Ouch, asshole.
Even though I was very tired and unexcited prior to the gig, we had fun. Apparently, it was our best gig yet. It's extremely encouraging when random people tell you how great it was after a show, it makes such a huge difference.

We then went to unload our stuff at a house, where it will stay for a few days. We now have a good base of operations where we can sleep in sofas, shower, and make our own damn breakfast like real grown-ups do. It's nice. There's also a cute black cat and really suspicious-looking garden gnomes.

Today was our day off (it's not like we work any other day, but today we don't have a gig) so we've visited Einhoven, Holland (no one did drugs - fuck me!) and eaten more insane, fried Belgium food. Having The Violet as our guides is fantastic, we really get the shortcuts to great Belgian culture.
Like bowling.

To be continued.

Status report: this keyboard is mqking ,e diwy

So! We're in Belgium. Braving this unreasonably foreign keyboard, I'll try to jot down the happenings of the first day.

The trip from Stockholm began simply with a train journey to Jönköping, during which I learnt two useful pieces of information:
1. It takes a good long while.
2. Patton Oswalt has indeed got his shit together. Funny man.

Our luxurious tour bus (a van) was supplied by an odd indian man who, I've been told, looks like a Bollywood Supafly. This exciting day was finished off nicely by sleeping on the floor - in my case under the kitchen table - at a friend's house, making use for the first time of my brand new sleeping bag and inflatable matress.
We got up the next day, real early, to get started on the long drive to Lommel, Belgium.

The trip was mostly uneventful, in fact I didn't even notice when we crossed the border from one country to the next (Sweden, Denmark, Germany and Belgium.)
It was with regret that we firmly established one German stereotype as being accurate: Germans want you dead.
We just wanted fries, and we knew some broken German, but those old, angry ladies off the autobahn didn't take kindly to strangers. Wierd.

Our first impression of Belgium and the band The Violet was to be a very representative one.
We got in touch with them as we approached Lommel and were told to come to a party. Sure, what the hell, we might as well make it a full 24-hour day.
Max got so hammered he tried to get out of a moving car and still denies any memory of that particular evening.
The place we stayed at gave me another insightful tip about Belgium in general: all of Belgium smells like weed, all the time.
It was cold, too.