Culture Shock

Is anyone familiar with the old Jerome K Jerome book, ‘Three Men In A Boat To Say Nothing Of The Dog”? I might be taken for a bit of a classicist here, but our lives were not so far removed from this story on our travels to and from Scandinavia.Our testosterone/estrogen levels were fairly matched for that leg of the tour. We had our agent/booker for Europe, Jen Trummer along for the ride. This was fortunate, since he was instrumental in the Getting Shit Done department where booking ferries, hotels, trains and all else came in as well as the shows themselves.

In our first trip to Linköping we came upon a Indian-restaurant-turned-music club. I am now convinced that the smell of rock and roll should accompany the smell of curry. I’m sad to report that Calamity Kate and I neither enjoyed a Swedish massage or sauna while we were there, but we did enjoy the people’s company though we noticed that the menfolk were somewhat more reserved that we expected. We chalked this up to the price of alcohol being so expensive and the usual reserves of liquid courage were noticeably absent. The city was beautiful and so were it’s inhabitants and I figured unattractive people are deported elsewhere and forced to take all the litter with them.

Our next stop and first ferry ride later found us in Alandt playing an old bathhouse that forty years ago was changed into a music club and had played host to all kinds of acts in that time period. It sat up high on hill, overlooking what I took to be water, but in the dark and snowy space it could have been an open field for all we could tell. Again the depressing combination of overpriced liquor and shy men was starting to get a little tired. The Voodoo Dollz in an attempt to flirt with potential customers at the merch booth left us feeling both like sexual predators. We were able to hide our shame by fleeing immediately after the show and driving to another ferry on the other side of the island in order to catch four hours sleep to head to Helsinki.

We arrived bleary-eyed and a little on the scruffy side in Helsinki. A coffee later and a bite to eat later our good spirits were restored and we all parted ways to wander around the city before we checked into our hotel. The harbour is a handsome one and had a variety of great ships in port. I saw one tug boat which had me thinking if I should come into a windfall I would like very much to buy a a tug boat and park it in Amsterdam. I’d run a Swedish massage parlour out of it and call it the Rub And Tug. I think as a tourist gimmick it would make me a few dollars if this whole burlesque thing fails to pan out…

Fast forward to four days later, and a drive across Europe we were in Rome. Driving from Helsinki to Rome is like driving from Vancouver to Saskatoon with two ferries thrown in. So for some perspective, it was a damn long haul.

It was worth it though, and and Micca Club (home to the next Rome burlesque festival, BTW) was amazing. I can’t recommend it enough as a fun, cool venue to play. As well as being totally burlesque friendly, the change in the people was apparent. Where the Scandinavians were shy to the point of misanthropy, the Italians were boisterous and wasted no time trying to get Calamity Kate to bend over so they could take pictures of her backside. They balked when she told them there was a charge of twenty Euros for the privilege. It’s interesting to note the vim and vigour that they address everything in the way they talk. JT and I noticed this when we went for lunch the following day, prior to idiot me walking into the Basilica with a Playboy magazine in my bag (whoops). The owner of the restaurant told us it wouldn’t open for another 2o minutes. When we got up to leave, feeling appropriately embarrassed, as Canadians will do, he insisted we sit, brought us espresso and the best pasta one could hope for. Definitely a attitude shift, and one I was quite comfortable with.

So tonight three days later we play our last show in Italy for this tour and we shall miss it. But hitting the social speed bumps we have in the past week have been a good learning experience: if you want to make friends with Scandinavians, get them drunk and if you want to make friends with Italians bend over and let them take photos of your posterior.

Ciao, bellas.

Little Miss Risk