Baltic Run ’08
The TV tower appeared on the horizon and I was genuinely glad to be home. We blew past the Brandenburg Gate and the Victory Column, Revolverheld’s Mit dir chill’n
playing in the CD player like always, and I closed my eyes. I was already nostalgic for the week that had just ended—the nights we’d burned through, my ears still ringing from singing our lungs out at karaoke, my head pounding from tequila shots, the image of all those hairy nudists seared into my brain forever.
Saturday afternoon we pulled into what felt like the most deserted town on the northern hemisphere. The sun was brutal, the Baltic sent waves to greet us, and we had the whole house to ourselves for a week of pure debauchery. PlayStation went in, speakers cranked, food and booze spread across the kitchen and deck. Norman and Jini brought their little firecracker Ewa—without her, we’d have had maybe half the chaos. She was our mascot, this tiny thing who kept yelling Ewa here! Ewa here!
We screamed commentary at Germany’s World Cup matches (one brilliant, one catastrophic), grilled cheap discount meat, baked ourselves on the beach, got absurdly good at swatting seagulls, let that amazing gasoline-powered whatever-it-was rescue us from the worst situations again and again, witnessed a beautiful couple form (sorry Anne—Tom and Slady were unstoppable), massacred mutant spiders in some video game, used the windows for way more than just looking out of them, and played Mario Kart knockoffs when the wind got too vicious. I destroyed Tommy every single time, obviously.
Seven days of that hits different. After all the themed nights and Anna’s triumph over an open window, a shitty cold started creeping in. By Friday I was done—holed up inside watching MTV’s gaming marathons (I love those guys from Game One, by the way; I nearly worked with them once before Berlin happened, so yeah, look at me), and I caught a bunch of music videos I wouldn’t see at home. Somewhere in there I noticed I had a thing for Mandy from Monrose, and the Uschi from Aloha From Hell wasn’t bad either when she’s not playing a teenager. Sido had put out some solid tracks. Though I’ve still got Anna’s voice stuck in my head from when she was singing along to everything.
Now I’m back here wanting the hot sand and the sprawling bed and all those voices and faces crowded around me for days—people groaning Look at you!,
throwing stupid insults (I’m your mother, you son of a bitch!,
If there’s no milk left, put the bottle back!
), making up words (Lolomat,
Moon protection factor
), hitting each other, making out, taking the piss, laughing until they couldn’t breathe or just staring at each other like idiots. And where the hell did Gayman go?
That was genuinely one of the best weeks. Anyone who didn’t go or backed out at the last second—whether because you were scared your relationship would fall apart or you had to feed your cat or water your stupid plants or the group vibe freaked you out—you only have yourself to blame. I’m already thinking about next year.