The alarm clock goes off too early. I am tired as hell, but I need to catch a train to see my favorite place in the world. I am happy that I got the better ticket and am now able to take a later train, but it is still feeling like middle of the night.
I gather my stuff together, check out and go to the bakery where I had a coffee yesterday. I find a bus to the train station and am right on time to get in line for boarding. Like last year, I am amazed that they charge you 6 Euros for a little bottle of orange juice here and people are okay with that. And I am also amazed that the two main food groups in Spain seem to be dead animal and sugar. You can get sandwiches with all kinds of ham and meat and everything or croissants dipped in every kind of chocolate plus an additional sugar coating, but something as simple as a cheese sandwich? Just bread and cheese? No way. I have to find Spanish vegetarians and vegans and ask them how they do it.
The train is as I remembered it. Space without end, air condition, luxury seats, clean. If I tell people at home that I paid about 15 Euros for this, including changing to the later train without additional charge and that it is the highspeed train which is also on time, they’ll accuse me of lying straight to their faces. I offer the couple who just got in to change seats with them so they can sit next to each other and cuddle, while I sit in the single seat and we are all happy about it. Time flies by so fast that I nearly forget to get off the train in Zaragoza, but of course I don’t. It’s why I am here. On the platform I need a second to process. It’s already beautiful here.
I get on the bus because I am already a pro and own a „tarjeta bus“ as you know and decide to take a little shopping tour before I can check in at my hotel. What I didn’t expect was that I already have five blisters on my feet. I brought a pair of shoes for travel and one pair for the concerts so they can dry up between. But this plan just went to hell. I try to find another cheap pair, but everything here is outside my budget. Instead I get some blister patches and decide to switch to the concert sneakers as soon as I arrive at the hotel. Before that I do the planned round – the basilica (I have been there now like four or five times and there has always been a mass. Are they doing it 24/7?) and some of the stores my kids loved so much in July. Lunch are some croquetas at the place we went to eight weeks ago (was this only eight weeks ago???) and they are still delicious. The hotel lets me check in half an hour early and I find myself in the most luxurious place – it has a balcony from where I can see the whole town. This is something else than the hostal with the steep stairs and the irritating night cough. And still cheaper than the room in Barcelona … I decide to have a little siesta after I called home and then get ready for the night. The nap is great and I am already looking forward to the night, the bed is extraordinary comfortable.
In the evening we go to see a Héroes del Silencio tribute band called „Bendecida“. I don’t have dinner because I can’t keep up with the Spanish restaurant schedules. It’s either open for a short period around lunch and then again at 9 at night or it’s open until noon and then closed for the rest for the day. Or only at night. Or open all day, but most of the time you can only get drinks. I plan on croquetas after the concert and get something from the bakery to eat on the balcony before we meet.
My friend and her husband pick me up and we walk to the bar which is only a few metres away. It’s a cool place, like Hardrock Café style, but much more local and with more heart and soul to it. We find a corner with oldschool cinema seats in front of the stage. Left side of the stage, needless to say. I found out earlier that the guitarrist is a friend of one of our fellow Bogofans and he tells us to say hello. There are some people at the bar, some of them wearing band shirts, but I can’t really tell if they are musicians or fans or part of their crew. Except for one – it’s painfully obvious that this must be the singer. Quite a young chap, curly dark hear, cute face, astonishing resemblance to a young Bunbury. I can’t help but to smile. How is it possible that so many tribute bands seem to have a clone of him? They are definitely not old enough to be some kind of souvenir from the band’s wild days, if you get the hint. Maybe it’s just the good Spanish genes, I’m not sure.
I don’t know what to expect, I just glanced at their Insta, and since I already kind of bonded with the guys from the other tribute band who thought they had met me last year, I don’t know what the policy is here. Are you allowed to like more than one of them? Is this like the other polytheistic cult I am part of? We just love them all, no matter what? And if you have stronger feelings for one of them on one day and the next day for another one, it’s still fine because we’re just spreading our affection evenly? I am a bit confused. But not for long, because our drinks arrive. I finally get to taste Tinto de Verano and it’s just magic in a glass. I don’t ever want to leave this city again!
We finally find out which of the two guitarrists is the other Bogofan’s friend and it just happens to be the one who plays right in front of us. We have the chance to talk to him and he’s very nice. The place is packed and I decide to put on the mask again. Better safe than sorry, took me long enough to recover from last time and I still am not at 100%. Then the show is about to start and I think I notice that they kind of do some extra cheering for their lead guitarrist before they go on stage and wonder what it might be about (apparently he wasn’t the band’s regular guitarrist, so maybe he was nervous to jump in, but he did an incredible job!). Just a few minutes later it is clear that I stumbled into some kind of time machine. This is not 2025 Zaragoza and a semi-professional tribute band. This is 1995 Héroes del Silencio, you can’t convince me otherwise. I have to blink several times. It’s crazy, about an armlength away on the stage I can see the young Bunbury, even with the shiny pants from their Avalancha era. I can also hear them. Only if I look very closely, I think I can see that the other band members look different than the original, but with eyes closed or focused on the front man, the illusion is perfect. Now this is how it must have felt back then. It’s amazing.
For the rest of the night I am two people at once. My 14-year old me finally enjoying her favorite band live and my 44-year old me being proud having it made this far – thanks to exactly this music. And constantly aware that it is a f*ing privilege to have a family having my back on this and the possibility to afford such a trip. I don’t go to the movies or restaurants, I wear my clothes until they are broken, I live on a tight budget the whole year to experience moments like this. It might not be for everyone, but it is for me. This trip is recharging my mental battery more quickly than I would have hoped. Others sometimes accuse me of not being a people person, being anti-social or even a party pooper, but maybe there is a reason if I don’t feel comfortable around you, just think about it. All I can say that in Spain I apparently am a very peoply people person around the people who share my obsessions.
Speaking of obsessions, this concert is fabulous. Those with the band shirts seem to be part of the show, they do like a little crowdsurfing skit – the singer leans over and they tear on his body like the crowd must have done with the original back in the days. During Avalancha the crowdsurfing actually happens and the people are thrilled. While I recognise most of the movements and gesturing, I am not sure about a certain one and I think I have to blindfold the 14-year old me when I research this. It has something to do with him shoving his hand down his pants … I’m trying to close my eyes every time and remembering the mantra, „I am a honorable married woman and also about twice your age“ to keep me away from trouble with law and decency tonight, but this feeling might also have something to do with the Tinto de Verano which obviously also contributes to me being a party person and foremost unlocking my ability to speak and understand Spanish.
After the impeccable show, we try to find the guitarrist to maybe take a picture with him and the rest of the band, but he kind of disappeared. So I get on the stage and take a picture with the singer and I am not really sure if this is the kid with the cute face from before the show or the beast from the stage. They wear the same pants though. It’s like meeting Arde in July, cute and shy kids backstage, but the greatest rock stars once they hold their instruments. It’s just amazing.
