Hamburg: New Year’s Eve

The eve of New Year’s proves a worthy opponent. Rain, sleet, and lost members of the science party: we are challenged and Hamburg tests our resolve to celebrate. But the free nature of alcohol and food elevates our spirits. Liberians, Germans and Australians and Ex-Pats strengthen our numbers as we dodge explosives and fireballs en route to the harbor. There I watch the largest privately run fireworks show of my life: a testament of truth witnessed by many screaming ambulances.

I wish people would stop trying to put things in my mouth
— The Skirt

After the 45 minute firework show, the entourage must refuel. We eat at the TGI Friday’s of Hamburg, and I play matchmaker for a man who will forever be known as “The Piz”. Afterwards, The Piz and his date lead me to a dance club that is swarming with people and German oldies that everyone, but me, know the words to. The crowd is a tide, and I am lost at sea, fighting to rejoin my party. Before I leave, I tell The Piz, “It’s time to shift strategies. Buy the other one a few drinks.” I could give no sager advice.

I squeeze through a mass of perfume and floors slick with champagne; I am re-born into the streets, confident that I have helped a friend conquer a woman and a nation.

I walk past a man sprawled out on the concrete. Empty bottles and stacks of pitty euros surround him. I let the sympathy take hold for a second and then I laugh and the smell of curry wurst distracts me. It is 4am and the party district is packed. Though short on sleep, I manage to push my way through the Ubahn, fake a conversation in German using the name “Wolfgang” and slip into bed before the rising sun turns me to dust.

Popularity: 5% [?]