Concert

4 days, 3 concerts! Part 3: Singing in the queue with strangers

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Saturday arrives just too soon. I still have some things on my list I want to do on this trip. So I get up quite early, find a café where they serve croquetas and have some breakfast. The churros are not as tasty as the ones from the other place near Aljaferia, but according to Maps that one has closed. I ask for croquetas, but they only open the kitchen at 1. So I decide to come back. I just happen to be near the starting point of the bus turístico and decide to take another tour of the city. Without hat (which I left in Alemania anyway), sunglasses or sunscreen or food or water I get on the bus and see the beautiful places again, but the audio commentary is as wrecked as it was in summer. What a shame, I would have loved to listen to more details.

After the tour I buy a lottery ticket and did the whole conversation in Spanish which makes me incredibly proud. I feel I am not afraid of talking and understanding per se, but more of being asked something I didn’t prepare in my head over and over again. So now I know that’s something I can work on. I take a bus to get to one more place on my list, but the connection bus is late. I get a delicious chocolate covered palmera from a nearby bakery for the wait and get scolded by an older man for eating it in public. I think. I didn’t understand him and he didn’t answer when I asked him. Maybe he was just admiring my t*ts and got angry that the days of men being able to touch whatever they want are over? They are very strict here in Spain about stuff like this, I love it.

The bus finally arrives, and some stops later, I find myself in kind of a pilgrimage. It’s the Héroes del Silencio monument and there are quite a few fans here taking pictures. They are asking me if I wanted them to take a photo of me, but I hesitate to give others my phone. Only the sun is shining so bright and I can’t take a selfie because I don’t see anything on the screen and I ask the girls who are next in line for help. Since there are so many people waiting, I cut the trip short, and instead have a chat with the group who asked first. They went to all the concerts in Spain and are clearly excited about the one tonight. They seem a bit older than me and are pretty chilled like so many others I met here.

Next stop is the nearby supermarket where I get coffee capsules and rodeo mix and some Reiseproviant for later. I don’t want to carry the stuff on the bus, so I call a cab. The driver is drawing circles in the nearby neighbourhood and stops at some point. After a while I text him and he says, the car was wrecked, I should cancel and order another ride. I do so. The driver also does a crazy route and stops at some point. Asked, he answers something with a police incident and I should call another ride. I switch to another service, but their driver is an hour away. So after I already waited for half an hour, I install another app and order a ride with a third cab company. They say, a guy named Alvaro in a Volkswagen will be here shortly. He is, but on the other side of the road than the app showed me. But he is giving signals and I get on his cab. It’s a short ride, the driver is very relaxed, it’s the most pleasant taxi ride I had on this trip.

I decide to have another siesta before leaving for the venue, but I am way too wired. So I just relax a bit and get ready for the night. Before calling another ride, I return to the café from this morning and want to take some croquetas to go, but by now the kitchen is already closed again. Luckily, they have some croquetas left and heat them up in the microwave. At least some dinner to go. Outside I decide to not experiment again with the two cab companies and go straight to the third option, and guess who is picking me up? Right, Alvaro and the VW! I ask him (again, in a whole Spanish sentence!) if he was the only taxidriver in this town today. And he laughs very heartily and says, „looks like it!“ When he pulls up at Pabellón Príncipe Felipe, I tell him that we probably meet once more later – he nods and laughs again. On the way to the venue a guy with CDs in his hand asks me if I speak English. They are a Metal band from Estland and selling their new album, on kind of a „pay what you like“ basis to cover their costs to get back home. They are thrilled about me being from near Hannover, some of them instantly yell „SCORPIONS“ and yes, they totally win me over with this. I buy their two albums for my husband, just to find out at home that he already has three albums of this band and their earlier formations. Some paths you cross with people are just weird.

After I part ways with the Estonians, someone is greeting me. I say hello back and am confused – who knows me here? I look again and it turns out it’s the group from the monument earlier! We walk a bit together, they tell me they’re from Galicia and are thrilled that I know where it is. Well, that’s Bogomagic – you meet people, learn from which places they go to concerts and suddenly you know all kind of regions in this beautiful country. The queue is already crazy and I walk up to the front to see if I find the girls from last year or some of the Bogofans. I run into some of them – and learn that they were organizing the queue! But since I got here so late, there is no chance to squeeze me into the list without agitating people. I’m totally fine with it. People who camp outside the door deserve the spots front and center, plus I had seen the show in Barcelona already and was pretty sure he wouldn’t go into the audience. Our place last year, first row, but to the side, was just fine, I’d be happy to repeat it. I find the girls from last year. We talk a bit, but suddenly a woman next to them is asking me where I am from and I end up in a conversation with her and her friend. She’s from Mexico, but living in Europe and thrilled about my tattoo. She takes pictures of my arm and brings over other people to show them. I am not sure, but this might be the woman who was very rude last year when I was only looking for the correct entrance with no intention of cutting the queue. But well, times change and people do, too. They are asking me about my favorite song, but while I can answer that over a heartbeat regarding HdS, I am still thinking about my favorite Bunbury solo song while I am writing this. There are just too many and one for every mood. Canto gives me a lot of emotions, I love the power of Contar contigo, Nuestros mundos was the one that struck me like lightning when I fell into this rabbit hole after so many years, Salomé is definitely one I can listen to over and over again, or Alicia, or Actitud correcta, or En bandeja de plata … the new album wants you to sit down in a bar with a glass of heavy red vine and a thick cigar, even if you don’t drink or smoke or both, and there are so many live versions that turn the original song into something completely different – this list would never end. This man has created so many musical masterpieces; I simply can’t choose. There, I’ve said it: I have preferences, but I don’t have one single favorite Bunbury solo song (so far). Sue me. Or not.

The Mexicans seem to drink a lot of beer while waiting, but they are fun. Suddenly they start singing La Chispa Adecuada – and the Aleman chick next to them (who had only water, but is breathing the Spanish air which makes her very party peoply, you already know that) forgets the world around her and joins them. Standing downtown Zaragoza and singing one of the most famous and most beautiful Héroes songs from the top of my lungs – there are miracles happening in this city and you can’t convince me otherwise. Shortly after that the line starts moving; they open up a fourth line for people to get in. But the doors are still not open. I try to find my place in the queue and join the Galicians which whom I arrived. The weather is changing, there are dark clouds moving towards us from two different directions, there’s lightning and a very strange light. We hope to get in before it starts pouring and as if someone heard us, they open the doors. People start running as soon as they reach the ramp into the building, some cutting others, but I decide not to run. I will take whatever spot I can get. Turns out, there’s some space in the front on the left (where else …), pretty much as last year, maybe even closer to the center. I settle down next to a couple and a family with a kid. Some time later I ask the couple if they could save me the spot since I need to find the bathroom. It’s a horror trip, up the stairs which are very high, and no rail. The bathrooms just have an emergency light on and I just hope not having to pee again for the rest of the evening. The way downstairs is worse than up. I don’t understand why there is no accessible bathroom, I can’t be the only one around a few thousand people who has trouble with steep stairs in a stadium? My spot is still there, I thank my „neighbors“ and join the mother and kid on the floor. Once again, I am in so much pain, I am not really sure how to make it through the night.

When 21:00 draws nearer, we get up, the family asks me to switch places so their kid can stand closer to the barriers which is fine by me. I really love those conversations – someone is asking something, I tell them I don’t speak very much Spanish, but understand quite a bit, they say, they don’t speak English, but somehow we manage to understand the other just perfectly. And I can’t even say in which language this dialogue was done afterwards.

The show starts and in the front rows it’s much more magic than in a seat far away. But I’m happy anyway that I went to Barcelona because I already took some very cool pictures and videos and now I can just enjoy the concert. It’s incredible again – they haven’t been playing together for 20 years before this tour, but that’s the thing with professionals, you don’t notice it. They have an amazing chemistry and each one is fantastic on his own. But again, I don’t have such a strong connection with these songs, so I have an amazing time and god knows I love this man and his voice so much, but I feel like something is missing. Or it’s just the annoying people in the front who keep shoving and fighting over inches of space. Before the beginning there was even some kind of fight. A woman next to me whom I noticed outside in the front of the queue and think I even saw her in Barcelona and last year in Zaragoza got shoved by a lady who arrived late. After a few rounds of passive-aggressively pushing, the first women gave her a good smack with her hip which of course led to the other one complaining. But I have to tell you, I am completely siding with the first lady here, she must have been waiting in line for hours and ran to the front and then someone is arriving late, getting aggressive and then complaining? No way, you can’t do that. She even started crying which apparently made my „Spanish soul trapped in a chubby Aleman body“ appear because I couldn’t help it and gave her a encouraging pat on the shoulder. I am from northern Germany, I usually don’t touch or hug people, I prefer greeting my friends from a mile away. But anyhow, I felt so, so sorry for her. Good thing the security guy apparently also noticed that she wasn’t the aggressor in this case but just defending herself. The other woman gets on my nerve in the following hours, several times she’s stepping on my toes (I HAVE FIVE F*ING BLISTERS ON THAT FOOT, LADY!!!), keeps pushing and bullying. Also, there are people running back and forth from the middle to the side and back again. Some argue with the family because they always try to run through their group. Later, someone is bathing my leg in beer or lemonade, who knows.

What confuses me deeply is the fact that I recognize people from last year. Not Bogofans or faces from social media fan channels, no, there are people I literally saw last year at La Romareda. I don’t know if they also recognize me, I guess not. But speaking of recognition, there’s a weird moment in all this madness. I’ve been saying this since last year’s concert – after a Bunbury concert you have the feeling he made eye-contact with every single person in the audience during the show, no matter if there are 3000 or 30.000, everyone is silently greeted and appreciated which I think is a fantastic skill. While he’s on our side of the stage and taking a look at everyone, he’s looking in my direction and seems to be confused for the fraction of a second. I don’t know if anyone else noticed it. But I have the feeling like he has a thought like „didn’t I see you here last year in Zaragoza at exactly that spot?“ or maybe „hey, you with the mask, weren’t you also in Barcelona two days ago?“ – I just hope it’s not, „green hair and a mask – you’re the one with that intense e-mail!“ (I’ll spare you with further details.). Now I’m scared it’s the third option.

Anyway, the rest of the evening is magic. I love the fact that the master himself seems to be stepping in a time machine during his concerts – I already noticed this last year. He starts the show like one of these last century’s showmasters (if you know what I mean you know) and seems to turn younger by the minute. It has nothing to do with the clothes and changing them during the night, it’s the whole package, the movements, the gestures, the face, the smile. There was a headline some time ago, „concerts prolong your life“, and it just comes to mind now – like he’s absorbing his fans‘ energy, but giving it back a thousandfold to everyone. You feel different after these shows, I cannot describe it. It’s pure magic, you can’t explain the trick even if you think you know. Even the two fighting women make up and are at some point hugging and kissing on the cheeks. The great magician and his cabaret on the stage won’t let go anyone home with only so much as a hint of negative feelings. I already prepare for getting overwhelmed when they play Canto in the end, but surprise – it’s El viento a favor which is of course more suited for this town where they even gave the wind its own name. Another great song and since I didn’t expect it, I forget to cry. I am just feeling happy and content and that my mental battery is recharged to the fullest. It also outweighs the fact that this is already the last night of my trip and I have to say goodbye to beautiful Zaragoza in the morning.

But when the lights go on again, it’s not the end of the evening. My friends from Zaragoza find me and I leave with their group and we want to go for a drink. I have trouble with the large stairs, but this seems to be the only exit. Someone is making fun of me taking one step after the other, but I have trouble lifting my leg and I feel already dizzy from the height and the people and everything. So I ignore it and just focus on the climbing.

Outside we find a bar and it’s the perfect last night on the town. They also take me to my hotel and on the way we listen to La Torre Picasso. They even turn up the volume „to hear Pepe better!“ and I love everything about it. So on this day in the most amazing town of Zaragoza I did not only get to sing La Chispa Adecuada with strangers, but also to sing La Torre Picasso with friends. This is the most beautiful place in the world.

At the hotel I pack most of my things so I won’t have to do everything in the morning. And then I decide to enjoy one last evening on my balcony. Zaragoza is giving me a spectacular light show as a farewell gift. I can see sheet lightning in the darkblue sky over the illuminated basilica, it’s breathtaking.

4 days, 3 concerts! Part 2: Zaragoza!

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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.

4 days, 3 concerts! Part 1: (Freddie voice) BAAARRRCEEELOOOONAAAA!

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It feels like I bought these concert tickets in another lifetime, since so much changed in the past 8 months. But they were there, the flight was already booked and non-refundable. Plus, I needed another Spain vacation me-time. So I went to Barcelona on Thursday to see Bunbury again.

After last year’s concert I knew I had to be there again when they announced another tour. And with the famous Huracan Ambulante, I just couldn’t resist. Then something not very good happened in my life at the beginning of the year and I needed to have some positive thing to look forward to – so I bought another ticket for Barcelona. Cheap seat, right under the roof, just to see the show. The partying was reserved for Zaragoza.

In Zurich I have to go on another plane. I hate that airport, it just has no end … The flights are packed and I think the seat did something to my back, I am in pain when I arrive. Barcelona is just too big for me, it’s hot, it’s loud, it’s crowded. I can’t find the cab I ordered, I run circles around the airport for half an hour (which they made me pay extra, because the driver had to wait for me). At least the driver gives me some free water, but we don’t talk much on the way. The hotel is very, very nice, my room is more than perfect for one night and I am happy that I chose to pay 20 Euros more than a 12 bed dormitory would have cost. Barcelona is also expensive like hell.

I get some drinks and food for the time in the queue, and a coffee, but also want have dinner before the concert. And since I have trouble finding some local restaurant which is open at this time, I opt for a well-known pizza chain. They used to have a restaurant next to the house where we lived a few years ago and when I tell my husband where I am we both have to laugh – that’s hell of a detour to get some pizza. But the food is nice, and well-fed I order another cab to take me to the venue. The driver is a bit more chatty than the first one and also has a better taste in music. He takes me as close as he can to the entry which I think was a very nice thing to do. I just didn’t know that there were several entrances and so I miss my friend from Zaragoza whom I wanted to meet here. But we text and decide to meet up later.

The venue is beautiful from the outside, but not at all accessible. The bathrooms are in the basement, like four flights of stairs down and up again. I can’t barely walk, I ask if there was an elevator. There is one, but it’s guarded. I have to argue with the guy if I was allowed to use it, but apparently he is one of these people who don’t believe you have a disability or sickness when they can’t see it. Luckily I seem to have quite an intimidating attitude when I have a full bladder, so he understands it’s either him helping me or spending the rest of the evening in wet shoes. (Remind me to some day tell you the story how I went to the cubicle next to famous German soccer player Birgit Prinz during the World Cup in Wolfsburg, and later finding out this was also the bathroom where they took the urine samples for doping tests …)

When it’s time to get to my seat, I learn that they upgraded me to a lower block, apparently it’s not completely sold out and they moved everyone down. It’s perfect, now it’s opposite to the middle of the stage, only quite far away. But I can see everything and enjoy the show. There are some veeeery enthusiastic fans surrounding me, the kind that knows every word to every song, but doesn’t bother to stand in line for hours or even days and fight with people over square centimetres in front of the stage. Also, the seats are cheaper than the floor, so I totally get it.

There are less people than I thought, but they celebrate a lot. I feel strange, I am not as emotional as I was last year, when I was standing in the front row, bawling my eyes out at Entre dos Tierras and some other songs. I missed all this solo career stuff when it happened, and have a complete different connection to these songs it seems. I like a lot of them, he is playing quite a mixture of everything he did and I have a very good time. Plus, Bunbury is always flawless (the sound however … I didn’t know feedback was still a thing these days.). Every movement is planned, every little gesture – he’s unbuttoning his jacket after the first songs and the crowd turns into something resembling the completely gone mad people during the finest days of the Beatles. He’s the greatest master of puppets and he knows. And the people know that he knows and they simply love it.

Just when the show is about to end, the magician in his cabaret show (I just love the setup of the stage and how they connected these heavy blood red theatrical curtains with a screen) is finally working his magic on me. They play Canto … el mismo dolor. It is one of the songs that helped me through the mentioned bad times. (The other one being La Torre Picasso, by the way …) I record the whole thing while two or three tears leave my eyes. But I wear a mask, so probably no one noticed.

After the show, I find my friend from Zaragoza (the one with the autograph) and her group and we try to find a place to get a drink. Barcelona however doesn’t seem to be a big party spot around Plaça d’Espanya and we have actually some trouble to find an open bar at about midnight after a bis concert. But in the end we are successful and can toast to a great weekend which has only just begun.

Mum, we’re in the newspaper!

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Wow, what a weekend! On Saturday, September 13th, La Torre Picasso had its first birthday and it was a gigantic celebration. Everyone shared pictures and videos and emotions about that masterpiece of a song.

For me, the biggest emotion and best surprise was when I got a text from our neighbour, saying, „How cool, you’re in the newspaper!“ I gave our local weekend news a little story about our roadtrip and they promised me to pick it up, but couldn’t say when they would have enough space. And suddenly my husband storms out, gets the paper and waves it while laughing, „It’s not only in the paper, it’s on the front page!“

Holy cannelloni, that’s something! The rest of the day was clearly spent online, posting the news, reading reactions and celebrating this amazing thing with the others.

Only Grrrmaneta is pouting a bit because her name wasn’t mentioned. I promise I did in my text, but they cut it (like so many other things, and they also did mess up the year of the collaboration, but let’s focus on the whole thing which is just great)!

16 – ESTA NOCHE ES, ESTA NOCHE ES! Part 2

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Still Thursday, July 31st: Soon after I woke up from the most beautiful dream, we get to line up at the doors. There’s a lot of discussion, we don’t get anything, but try to stay somewhere near the English speaking Bogofans. Finally the doors open. And what time it takes to discuss the stupid parents‘ paper … We are right there, two adults, two kids, they are small, we will take care. K1 is in tears, all the good spots will be gone now. I tell her to run and look for one of the Bogofans on the left side. We somehow make it and they give her the front spot at the rail. My husband is getting drinks and pizza and everyone is settling for the start of the concert. I don’t dare to look at the crowd. I really don’t like crowds and I don’t know how this works well with me liking concerts. But I mostly stand somewhere in the front, so I realise a few days after that there were 30.000 people behind me when I see the pictures.

K2 decides to also see the concert from the front row, so my husband has to stand there as well. I need to go to the toilet, it’s a long way through an already pretty big crowd. When I come back, Hoonine is playing. She looks like a nice person and seems to be excited to be here, but I can’t really tell if I like her music or not. It’s much better than a lot of things I’ve heard, but it’s not really my taste. I feel bad again. (Addendum, August 2025: She has a new song which I find really interesting. Maybe I should listen to her music again and without the anxiety and wobbly knees from that day to find that I in fact like it. Sometimes I have to be reminded that I spend a lot of my days burning the patriarchy, but my taste in music is painfully narrowed down to long-haired guys with and without tattoos, vikings and other bad boys with golden hearts. Must be one of those cosmic little jokes.)

At just like that it’s nearly 22:00. Equipment is getting unwrapped, camera people are taking their positions, team members are checking the instruments.

And then it begins. The intro we have seen so many times on videos from other people in other places – we can now hear it with our own ears and see it with our own eyes. And feel it. And everything. Suddenly they are all there and I have to blink several times – if it was true and I had met them just hours ago, they were so different. A bit shy, very polite, like every mother’s and mother-in-law’s secret dream. And on this stage there are these incredible powerful beasts, made of pure adrenaline and Rock’n’Roll, of fire, lights and coloured glass, which every mother and mother-in-law would comment with a raised eyebrow and a „you really sure, kid?“ But all people here look like they have never been so sure of anything. It’s an incredible evening.

Amazing. I have no words. It’s all like we had dreamed it, but much better. They are so much fun on the stage, and it’s even more fun to watch. And the fans are as amazing as I thought they would be. At some point we even waved the flag together, our little Niedersachsenross, we danced together during Torre Picasso and so many more pictures and videos were taken. I can’t wait to experience this again some day!

And the band! I love when artists make eye-contact during the show so everyone feels seen when they go home, but this was another level. There were things like „I’ll stay like this to make sure you get your picture“ or „the kids in the front still doing fine?“ and as we had seen it at another concert, in Santander someone also signalled they needed help – the band completely stops, informs the security and waits calmly until the thumb goes up that everything is fine again. And how I love that the fans respect that. No pictures, no screaming, they are waiting patiently. It could be you or your friend needing help. Oh, I hope they can keep this spirit alive for a very long time.

I also remember at the end of the show that Antonio was looking at us and smiling like he was saying: „You guys are absolutely crazy for driving this far just for a concert.“ Well, you’re not wrong, I have to admit. This is probably the craziest thing I have done, but also one of the best and the most rewarding. It was a pleasure meeting you all.

But the night did not end before an even more amazing thing did happen in the end – I got another souvenir from Wonderland! The guys were throwing guitar picks and drum sticks into the audience and I guess the people around me just stepped aside – next thing I know is a drum stick is hitting me in the face and falls right into my arms. Thank you! WOW! I need more shelf space with all these precious things I’m bringing home.

On the way out, another fan hands me a bottle of water because I feel like I have dried out. On the way to the parking lot is a drinking fountain where I refill the bottle twice and drink it both times in one go. A man is asking K2 if he was at the concert and if he enjoyed it. I tell him he doesn’t speak Spanish, so he continues in English. I tell him that we are from Germany. He stares at me: „But they sing in Spanish! How do you know them? Do they play them on your radio stations?“ Oh lord, I wish they did.

15 – ESTA NOCHE ES, ESTA NOCHE ES! Part 1

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Thursday, July 31st: Today it is! A sense of excitement seems to have covered the town. Everyone is buzzing in the morning, at our place, even the neighbors. And of course the group. Someone is posting an article about the problems at the London airports and several others. Only minutes after I finished reading, my phone is ringing – with a +44 number. UK. We’re joking, it’s either spam or Jota needs the Grrrmaneta to pick him up. I’m not answering because I am pretty sure it’s the first option, but I would for sure have sent the Grrrmaneta to pick him up.

Time is flying. We prepare for leaving, but I am so nervous, I can’t think straight and keep forgetting everything. We decide to take the car, even if we have to park outside the camping lot after midnight. It’s easier and we still have a giant basket to move.

I still have no idea how to get them the basket. There might be a small chance after the show, I was told, but I don’t see myself heading back to the car and back there in the middle of the night. I’m still in pain from the infamous Madrid beds. And I have a sunburn from hell from our beach day, my shoulder and my feet look like freshly cooked lobster. My husband completely looks like Larry today. We apply a lot of aftersun lotion and a nice layer of new sunscreen and gather our stuff. I’m too nervous to drive, I’m literally shaking. My husband is driving – and misses the correct exit. So another round through Santander. „Simone, where are you“, people are texting. I don’t know. I answer in English, since I can’t even use the translator, I forgot how to copy and paste. Finally, we are here. We find a nice spot on the beach parking lot where we parked at our first outing here. We get out of the car. Tickets, sun hat, sunscreen, some food and drinks? We leave the basket and bring only the flag. My husband’s idea. A German flag with the Lower Saxony coat of arms, a rearing horse. I am not someone waving flags except the ones of my favorite football club at their games, but this is just perfect. And we might find ourselves on the pictures with this. K1 is restless – what if we don’t get a spot in the first row? She is even more obsessed with this than I am, but she is also half a meter shorter so I get the anxiety.

We know where to find the Bogofans and I don’t care what people think who are not going to the concert, but when I see the first of them, I start waving that flag. What a welcome! It’s like we have known them forever and maybe we have. We get our numbers for the queue, 32, 33, 34 and 35, take some pictures of what we can see from the stage, my husband and the kids leave for the playground. I stay and chat with people. And work on not fainting because I am completely overwhelmed. Already. We checked – we drove nearly 3500 kilometres to be here.

The family is back. We are having a snack. K2, who was not even sure if he wanted to come, is suddenly pointing to the stage: „Look, there’s Dani!“ God almighty, he’s right! The soundcheck is about to begin.

It’s already magical. To finally hear and see them, even from far away and just the soundcheck, I am very emotional. Again. We peek a bit through the fence and take some pictures and I tell the others about the present.

„Why don’t you try after the soundcheck? We’ll ask the security at the gate. They can’t say more than no.“ I like that idea. My husband is going back to the car, getting the basket. I’m eternally grateful for not having to move.

We’re going to the gate behind the stage. The two Bogofans are asking the security guy something, I don’t get a word as usual. Only something like „I’ll ask, can’t promise, wait here.“ And on the other side „But we don’t want to bother anyone.“ I can live with that. My husband kind of apparates with two cold beers next to me. I open one, joking on how yesterday I was probably standing pantless on a deserted cantabrian beach when I saw their boat and that it would fit perfectly if now someone shows up, seeing me drinking beer in broad daylight. Hahaha. Entrance Alberto. Wtf did I just say? Holy cow. „Honey, hold my beer, please!“

I try to give Alberto the basket, telling him that we brought it 3500 km and just want the guys to have it. But somehow this doesn’t work as planned. He looks at it and smiles and then something like „I’ll go back and ask them. Wait here, five minutes tops!“ happens. Wait. What? Yes, okay, we can give them the gift on their way out, they’ll probably pass by here with the car any minute now. Mentally preparing to throw a gift basket through an open window of a moving vehicle, I get nervous. What if I don’t aim good enough? What if I hurt one of them?

Alberto appears again. We should somehow follow him. Follow what? I am not able to think straight. Follow you to see them? I can’t feel my legs. Or my tongue. I can’t feel anything to be honest besides a tornado of thoughts flashing before my eyes. I think my soul left my body for a moment. But didn’t we learn to function over the past decades? So we follow. K1 by my side, husband is convincing K2 to come as well. Alberto is talking to me in perfect German which puts my brain in complete overload. It clearly has reached its capacity. I remember we talked about Bremen, but I think I’m only babbling. Though not in what language. Maybe I’m only thinking aloud. Dear Alberto, if you happen to read this at some point – your German is perfect. My brain however, was not at that moment.

Somewhere in the backstage area we are told to wait. A man tells us to stand in the shadow. I’ve seen his face somewhere with the Bogofans and with the band, he belongs to the team, but I can’t remember his name or function. (Addendum, August 2025: I recently learned that this man was no other the legendary Sergio who has quite his own little fan club among the Bogofans because he apparently not only takes good care of the band, but of their fans as well.) So we move up some steps. And there they are. It’s surreal. I can see the seashore and the panorama of Santander and Pepe just meters away from us. „I can see Pepe“, I am squeaking under my breath and giggling. Team Pepepower would have been so proud.

I think there are more people taking pictures with them, and suddenly someone is asking my name and ask us to step forward. This is the moment my soul left my body. It’s clear. I have died and standing at the heaven’s gate. And apparently the five Gods standing before it have to decide if they grant me entry.

Funny thing is, I seem to have thought aloud again. At least the part with the gates of heaven. Because Jota asks me if it’s not a bit warm for heaven. Okay. I have either died or I’m dreaming. Better not open my eyes. But I can hear them and see they glow through my eyelids, so it’s worth a try. One eye. Still there. Two eyes. Also still there. Breathing works. Okay, why was I here? Ah, yes, the big basket with food and things I am so desperately clutching. And giving it to the nice men in front of me. It’s all about functioning at the right moments, let me tell you!

I tell them that we still believe to be the first fans from northern Germany to see them live and that we brought some specialties as a gift for them. A round of applause. 3500 kilometres. Stunned faces. Jota takes the basket and they all try to figure out what’s inside. Someone then says something about photos and we line up for a picture. Antonio nearly kills my husband, I hope it’s unintended. He gives him a nice powerful pat on the shoulder, unaware of our Larry the Lobster lookalike contest today. We smile into several cameras and then we say goodbye. A polite handshake with all of them, except Jota, who is giving me a hug and telling me that we needed a good place to see the show. That there were sides and one has to choose wisely. Dear Sir, I might be new to this fangirling business, but that question „whose side do you chose at the concert“ is like part of the initiation rites. Remember, don’t fight with the neighbours.

I can’t believe what just happened. I was standing in line for the concert, died, went to heaven and woke up back in the queue. But I don’t clutch the basket anymore and people are giving me thumbs up and are smiling, maybe it did in fact happen?

9 – Bears, Bogopenguins and a ruined back

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Saturday, July 26th: Madrid was on our list because of Torre Picasso and because of the zoo. We wanted to see the Pandas. We didn’t plan to go there on the hottest day of our trip, but the tickets are already paid for, so here we go. Because of the great parking spot and the non-existing desire to drive through Madrid, we go to the near train station. But we can’t get a ticket. It’s either only available with an existing card or everything is so poorly translated (if at all) that we can’t make any sense of it. Neither in Spanish nor in English. So no train then.

We take Grrrmaneta on a tour of Madrid since we don’t get to the zoo otherwise. The parking spots are good, people are taking care that no one parks on three spots with a small car. At the entrance we are stopped to take a photo we could buy later on. The zoo is very nice, the Pandas are awake and we are happy.

Lots of other animals seem to struggle with the heat today, so are we. I have trouble breathing because the comfortable looking bed was the complete opposite. It somehow threw my back out and I can barely walk.

We see Penguins next and they must be Bogopenguins because it’s the day of a concert and they are already lining up at the door.

We make a stop to re-apply sunscreen and people are looking pitifully at us. (Well, if you knew what I probably did in a former life, you would say I totally deserve it.)

We are seeing Bears and Koalas next. After a trip to the zoo in Leipzig last week we are now counting sleeping Koala number 3 and 4.

Next stop aquarium. It’s quite cold here compared to the outside, very nice. But incredibly loud. My husband is asking if Spanish people in large groups are always that noisy, but I have only experienced them at concerts, so I’d say yes.

We see sharks, a Picasso fish and seahorses. It’s like a game of Bingo.

Heat and pain are unbearable. We decide to cut the trip short after seeing all animals we planned on seeing. We also decide to leave Madrid early in the morning.

On the way back we drive parallel to the A-3 leading to Valencia and dream about being finally at the concert next week. We pass a bus from a company called „Bogasbus“. This city is a bingo card.

The apartment is like the ice hotel, the airconditioning did work a miracle. We make dinner and decide to mess up the Youtube search history a bit by looking Arde videos. We kind of did something similar in Zaragoza when we went to a store and put an Arde Bogotá vinyl in the front spot of the display. It was very fun and didn’t hurt anybody.

My back still hurts, but the cold air in the apartment helps to feel a bit better. We have another Spanish beer at dinner which is apparently a bad combination with the excitement before, during and after the concert in the chat group. I’m writing a lot of nonsense, but also come to the conclusion that this is where the phrase „Las putas Estrellas“ must come from. I choose the couch for the night, but am longing for the bed in the Grrrmaneta. I haven’t sleep anywhere as good as in that car for a long time.

I read an article about the Bogofans and wonder if a newspaper at home would pick up an article about four crazy Alemans who drive thousands of kilometres to see a band in Spain? Someone suggests I should blog about my travels. I am thinking about it. My homepage exists, but it’s empty, Maybe a blog would be a good thing to bring it back to live. I will look into this when we’re home.