Who celebrates better: city or country? ? The experiment
I really feel understood by Hartmut Engler at this moment. ? Lena, you often do not have it easy ?, his voice from the box behind me sounds. And I realize with a start that my foot is bobbing in time to and fro. Yes, I'm really struggling right now. Because the demon in me wants to get out, my suppressed Ballermann-I, which always pushes to the surface, if something catchy runs with plain text. Dr. Banners from my 80s favorite series? The incredible Hulk? knows this feeling when he transforms into the green monster. The trigger for the transformation is not stress for me like my TV hero, but hits from the Backstreet Boys or MC Hammer? Pure, however, never got me. So far. Here in Lower Pampa I am in a situation of acute musical threat. I went to the village to walk between corn fields and cowsheds in the Vielstedter farmhouse in the? Mai (k)? to dance ? so the wordplay in the title of the event, in which DJ Maik from Ganderkesee will hang up. Why do I expose myself to such a danger? To find out if harder (or possibly even better!) Celebrations take place in the countryside than in the legendary Berlin Berghain. Will I still dance in ecstasy here at just under 39, go crazy? Wait and drink beer. A lot of beer. And get to the grill buffet, create a foundation!
No pomposity. Nothing superimposed. I like that.
Together with my stepbrother Denis, whom I persuaded to accompany me using various means of pressure, I set course for schnitzel, bratwurst and bacon beans for 160 other guests. I do not know anybody. Friends from school have long since moved away. Many far. Apart from us, almost all men have come to the old farmhouse, where long boards frame the dance floor. But the shooting club is still room. Our plates do not even touch the tablecloth, that's where we belong. "We stood outside with the maypole sitting next to you, in front of the telescopic loader," notes the young farmer with the broad cross and the hair color of Michel from Lönneberga. And with a view to his fork:? Can cook the real! Have you ever been to Kohlfahrt? I'm six different every year, but the kale here is amazing !? He shines. And I am strangely touched by this unadulteratedness. From him and the club members, we learn that we notice with our beer here immediately, because real country eggs? Charly ?, So brandy with coke, drink, which incidentally was already in 1996? which I already found incomprehensible at that time. Could we imagine that at the fire department last week, 30 crates left the fuel? (Yes, yes, yes.) Nobody wants to know what we are doing. Only if the food tastes good and we like the music. No pomposity. Nothing superimposed. I like that.
Fried potatoes with twee eggs and succulent cucumber
But my roots are also here, so: right here. Although I camouflage myself for 20 years as a cosmopolitan city dweller, but come from the province. Grown up in 15 miles away Delmenhorst, hometown of Sarah Connor and Mallorca-Jensen Daniela, I was often with my grandmother Hilde in Vielstedt. Leaving her to decide which restaurant we wanted to go to, the choice always fell on this inn, where? Roast potatoes with twee eggs and luscious Gurk ?? standing on the map. Of course, everyone has basic knowledge of Platt. And who has ever experienced me, if I have a neat wreath, knows about my popularity mentality?
A mix of Love Parade and dance tea
At 21 PM, DJ Maik's star lights up in the party sky above the Hasbro Forest. He's going in with Roland Kaisers, why did not you say no, then really jump on, dream of Amsterdam? and? Breathless ?. For a man like him, there is only one gas? Full throttle. At a time when you are still wondering at home in Hamburg, whether you go to the bar in front of the club or rather a few episodes? Homeland? looks, stands in the district Oldenburg the hut in flames. It is 9 pm, and the floor of the hall is shaking under the pounding Discofox, which I fear because I did not attend a dance class. Age spectrum: about 18 to 70? or, to put it in the words of DJ rocket Maik, "a mix of love parade and dance tea". There is a reunion with white bootcut jeans that I have not encountered in that abundance since the '90s, the older seasons wearing dresses with glittering effects and shiny suits, around the wrists glowing neon-colored inlet tabs with taxi numbers. And over agricultural equipment from times of great-grandparents and blue and white farm tiles tremble disco light. An? Charly? and Korn-Fanta, I half-heartedly touched, but after the first palate contact distance. Too bad the taste, too embarrassing the memories that are directly related to these drinks. But even on beer basis, it is confidential, they invite us to the threshing floor and the tractor-cinema.We stand at the counter and have a group of young men, each other? even though they do not work together, call into conversation about the world record of the longest Pinkelwurstkette entangled? which was set up here. Meanwhile, I nod unashamedly to chart hits, stumble with strangers, slowly get going.
The night has claimed her first per thousand victim.
As the stall fills and the liquor is delivered in tray-style by the three barmaids in non-slip service sandals, the standard dancers retreat. Now it's here, my? Hulk? Moment. In the first beats of? Mister Vain? I'm in the middle of it, yanking up beside the man in this incredible jacket with "tree root milling" lettering and even singing the rap passages that no one with no MC experience should really go for. Dr. I also take Alban and Vanilla Ice with me. But with Andrea Berg I have to go to the bathroom.
Along the way, I watch one of the wildest expressive dancers of the early evening trying to keep her balance while pointing in the direction of the open toilet door until she resolutely throws herself forward and, after heavy physical contact with the frame, enters the venue. We will never see you again. The night has claimed her first per thousand victim. I am sobered. Because from the dance floor Dieter Thomas Kuhn drones with? Above the clouds ?. He and his followers are the reason why I put off the breakdance moves of my youth today. Always just before I turn it on properly, Denis on the floor? More pressure, Lenchen !? comes, a dance-like compulsory break in the form of Mitklatsch sound, which brakes me out. Better isses, because of self-esteem.
People are standing much less in the way of celebrating than some trendy city dwellers
Although there was potential, we do not end up dancing barefoot over cracked fields at dawn but taking a taxi at 2am. One thing is clear: Celebrating here is definitely more compressed. Do not lose any time, do not torch for long. Whether it has to do with the fact that in the country at 12 o'clock lunch is on the table? May be. At least keeping pace with this number is less a question of the year of birth than the condition. And personal passion. But one thing must be left to the rural party crowd: People are far less in the way of celebrating than many a scene-city dweller, who only allows himself to walk properly, if it? S independent enough. In the past, I was better off letting go, never worried about the aftermath, only the moment was important. I rarely reach this state today. Maybe I really have to come back to the cabbage ride and look again exactly how that works.
At 8:15 am I wake up slightly disturbed in my old children's room, in which now black and white prints instead of posters by Wu-Tang clan hang. Why can not I sleep properly anymore? Are Schlager headaches among the 37 types of suffering against which these tablets are meant to help in advertising? And why did my mother travel today, instead of helping me with this night's work? As I sneak down to see if Denis is fine on the sofa, I find he's already gone. Did I ask too much for him? "Why did not you say no ??, the battle-hymn from yesterday still sounds in my ear. I will ask him. If he still talks to me.
