It's true, I am still alive, and surviving in a foreign land. Internet is hard to come by sometimes, and when I do have access, I usually take the time to email my wife, catch up on a few business things, and then usually I have to rush off to sound check, or I am getting in from a show late at night, or the worst, getting up early after a late show to catch a train out of town.
I have traveled now to Latvia, France, Bosnia, Albania, Denmark and I am currently in Switzerland, on the first of the last four shows. I am excited to be in switzaerland, if for nothing else, I can speak with people here. Granted, they speak swiss german and I speak german german, but we can communicate, and I can cross the language barrier, for the most part. It makes it easier to be independent and to go wander around, and ask for things. It also allows me to know what it is I am supposed to pay when I check out of the grocery store, or finish eating at a restaurant.
I also love switzerland for the cooler weather, gorgeous backdrop of snow capped mountains, small towns nestled in between the trees, usually overlooking a lake, or green pastures and everything is crisp, clean, and efficient! I love switzerland a lot, and so I am glad to be able to experience this country again. I am looking forward to playing again tonight as well.
The last show we played was last saturday, in France. We then traveled to Nante, France on sunday, and spent a night. We then traveled back to Annecy, France on monday, stayed two nights, and then to Zurich on wednesday for a day before heading to Belp, Switzerland, where we currently are.
I am ready to head to the states. Being away from home is beginning to wear on me, and I am ready for my own bed, and not having to pack up every morning to go to a new hotel every night. But until I fly out, I plan to enjoy the countryside, eat lots of traditional foods, and buy lots of chocolate and wine to take home.
Until next time friends!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
Annecy, France
Today was international independence day for me. I woke up about 8:00 am, smoothed my hair out, brushed my teeth, checked email, and then set out on the awakening town. I grabbed my grocery sack of dirty clothes and my bag with my book, detergent, and other travel essentials. I followed some rough directions and fond a laundromat, where the attendant only spoke french, and I spoke none. He walked me through the whole process though, helped me get my clothes in the washer and let me know I had about 36 minutes till I needed to come back. I left, found a cafe, ordered a croissant, an apple pastry (one of my favorite things to eat here) and an orangina and sat down and read, watching the street for passer-bys, and enjoying my french breakfast.
I then retraced my steps, took a small detour by one of the cities quaint canals, watched the little ducklings swimming around, and then stopped in at the laundromat again for a few minutes and let my clothes dry. I now have clean clothes (yay!) a full stomach, and have officially ben up for about 3 hours now, and the only other person I have seen this morning from our group so far has been brad, the producer for the documentary.
I really enjoy walking through this little town, especially as it wakes up. I love strolling through the streets, underneath towering stone archways, over cobble stone streets and past cafe awnings as they are being let down over their portion of the sidewalk. The clinking sound of chairs being placed around tables and the bubbling sound of the water as it rushes over a drop in the small canal/stream that crisscrosses through the city greet me at every turn. Cars are sluggishly driving through narrow streets, pedestrians are few and the sun is still yearning to peek over the top of several buildings, just to warm the streets that were rain-laden the night before. It is such a refreshing feeling.
The view from my hotel in Annecy, France.
I then retraced my steps, took a small detour by one of the cities quaint canals, watched the little ducklings swimming around, and then stopped in at the laundromat again for a few minutes and let my clothes dry. I now have clean clothes (yay!) a full stomach, and have officially ben up for about 3 hours now, and the only other person I have seen this morning from our group so far has been brad, the producer for the documentary.
I really enjoy walking through this little town, especially as it wakes up. I love strolling through the streets, underneath towering stone archways, over cobble stone streets and past cafe awnings as they are being let down over their portion of the sidewalk. The clinking sound of chairs being placed around tables and the bubbling sound of the water as it rushes over a drop in the small canal/stream that crisscrosses through the city greet me at every turn. Cars are sluggishly driving through narrow streets, pedestrians are few and the sun is still yearning to peek over the top of several buildings, just to warm the streets that were rain-laden the night before. It is such a refreshing feeling.
The view from my hotel in Annecy, France.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Tours, France
The lights are out. The stage has been blacked out, except for a low light along the floor of the stage not visible form the crowd. The audience is cheering loudly, clapping and whistling, screaming now that the lights have gone out. I run out on stage trying not to trip, a dark shadow amongst other shadows as far as the crowd can tell. I sit down behind the kit, plug my In-ears in, start the click, grab my sticks out of my stick holder and pause. I take a deep breath, hearing only 'click'-'click'-'click'-'click' and the dull roar of the crowd on the other side of the drumset, seemingly far away. It feels like a dream. Smoke rises from behind me, enveloping me in man made mist. It wraps around me so thick I can taste it, almost reach out and grab it. It floats out into the crowd where it is almost completely dark with a thousand, maybe two thousand people cheering, and I feel alone.
One more deep breath, and then I lay into the drums with a heavy groove. Lights come up, blazing like guns from a hollywood western gunfight. Two white lights flanking either side of me rush to focus on the kit. Two additional lights directly behind me roar to life, illuminating the drum riser, throwing a large drumset shaped shadow on the ceiling of the tent. More lights are brought to life, all white, and bright, dispelling all the darkness from the kit. The crowd cheers more as each beat continues to groove, driving, pushing, and calling band members to the stage. I watch as they run out to stage, pick up their fiddle, bass, guitar, someone waves to the crowd, then I stop.
silence. waiting.
We all take a breath, and then hit the opening chords of the song. The lights turn on, filtering through the smokey haze. Purple and yellow dance across the stage. Bright white cuts back and forth, slicing through the thick fog, and the music jumps into a life of its own. This is our show in Tours, France. This is what I do for a living. Just another day at the office . . .
The stage during sound check in the afternoon before the show.
One more deep breath, and then I lay into the drums with a heavy groove. Lights come up, blazing like guns from a hollywood western gunfight. Two white lights flanking either side of me rush to focus on the kit. Two additional lights directly behind me roar to life, illuminating the drum riser, throwing a large drumset shaped shadow on the ceiling of the tent. More lights are brought to life, all white, and bright, dispelling all the darkness from the kit. The crowd cheers more as each beat continues to groove, driving, pushing, and calling band members to the stage. I watch as they run out to stage, pick up their fiddle, bass, guitar, someone waves to the crowd, then I stop.
silence. waiting.
We all take a breath, and then hit the opening chords of the song. The lights turn on, filtering through the smokey haze. Purple and yellow dance across the stage. Bright white cuts back and forth, slicing through the thick fog, and the music jumps into a life of its own. This is our show in Tours, France. This is what I do for a living. Just another day at the office . . .
The stage during sound check in the afternoon before the show.
Part 5 - Simply put: Roads
The roads are horrible. There you have it. That question no longer has to burn in your mind as you read these posts about Albania. There are a few nice smooth roads. They are working on installing a four lane, divided highway, between Durres and Vlora. So the parts that are completed are smooth, like any road here in the states. However, the other roads, have large potholes, open manholes, debris scattered across the road, pieces of concrete or brick piled on the road, shrinking the non existent lanes.
Most all of the roads were lined with pile of trash. It was like the trash company collected the refuse form your trash can, and then when their truck was full drove down the road until the they came to the end of the row of heaps, and dumped their truck. Not only was the trash piled all the way down the roads, but they bordered streams, fields, houses, business etc. In a lot of the places, several of the piles of trash were smoldering. They had obviously been set on fire, to be burned, and were now smoldering, sinking down into smaller piles, and turning to a combination of ash, melted plastic, blackened, rusted cans and pieces of fruit rinds that wouldn't burn. I could often see smoke rising in a small column from a distance, and if we were near enough at any point, it usually could be made out as another pile of trash being burned. I could also see where previous piles of trash had been burned, and were now overgrown by tall weeds and grasses.
Fortunately, this was not an issue in the actual cities. the streets were kept clean for the most part. there was always a street sweeper driving around (in Tirana) or in the smaller cities, at night, there were people with large straw or small twig brooms sweeping the streets by hand.
Most all of the roads were lined with pile of trash. It was like the trash company collected the refuse form your trash can, and then when their truck was full drove down the road until the they came to the end of the row of heaps, and dumped their truck. Not only was the trash piled all the way down the roads, but they bordered streams, fields, houses, business etc. In a lot of the places, several of the piles of trash were smoldering. They had obviously been set on fire, to be burned, and were now smoldering, sinking down into smaller piles, and turning to a combination of ash, melted plastic, blackened, rusted cans and pieces of fruit rinds that wouldn't burn. I could often see smoke rising in a small column from a distance, and if we were near enough at any point, it usually could be made out as another pile of trash being burned. I could also see where previous piles of trash had been burned, and were now overgrown by tall weeds and grasses.
Fortunately, this was not an issue in the actual cities. the streets were kept clean for the most part. there was always a street sweeper driving around (in Tirana) or in the smaller cities, at night, there were people with large straw or small twig brooms sweeping the streets by hand.
Part 4 - Roman Influences
The other interesting thing I saw was the obvious influence of the Romans on the country of Albania. During our travels between Durres and Vlora, I saw several remnants of roman-like aqueducts. The were usually in pieces, sometimes arriving from out of the side of a hill, or disappearing into a heap of something. They were all crumbling, and in major disrepair. On the sides of them, they had been tagged with corporate graffiti. These corporate 'tags' consisted of spray painted company logos (usually from a stencil it looked like) on the sides of bridge overpasses, aqueducts, highway dividers, etc.
I also stumbled across an old amphitheater in the heart of Durres. It was obviously some sort of excavation, as it was fenced off, and it looked like a particular university was actually undergoing the exploration of the remains. It was of course, in major disrepair, but it was easy to see the scope and grandeur of such a place. There were several places that you could see remains of columns, or a piece of an old building, crumbling, and disappearing into the past.
It is only in recent history that Albania has started to preserve these pieces of history, so there is much that is lost, but on the plus side, they are doing more now to preserve what they do have, and what they continue to unearth.
I also stumbled across an old amphitheater in the heart of Durres. It was obviously some sort of excavation, as it was fenced off, and it looked like a particular university was actually undergoing the exploration of the remains. It was of course, in major disrepair, but it was easy to see the scope and grandeur of such a place. There were several places that you could see remains of columns, or a piece of an old building, crumbling, and disappearing into the past.
It is only in recent history that Albania has started to preserve these pieces of history, so there is much that is lost, but on the plus side, they are doing more now to preserve what they do have, and what they continue to unearth.
Part 3 - Bunkers like Star wars
My favorite and most intriguing of the country were the countless number of small concrete bunkers that the rural landscape, and at times, could even be found tucked in amongst the major city buildings. They honestly looked like something out of star wars. The bulk of what I saw were small, two person or so bunkers, almost resembling overgrown concrete mushrooms. They all had the same dome top, with four steel or iron rings on the top about the size of two fists. The main part of the bunker was a large cylinder, with a incredible heavy metal door on one side, and then slots on the opposing side, for firing out of. The bunkers are all built to withstand direct fire, and even to take mortars, if I remember correctly. they were built by a communist dictator who was worried about the Bourgeoisie invading. Needless to say, they never got invaded.
The communist built some 700,000 plus bunkers (they lost track of some, so I hear). That is about one bunker for every four Albanians. A rather staggering amount of bunkers if you think about it. Most of the country sees them as a nuisance. Farmers farm around them, buildings are constructed nearly on top of them, orchards are planted with the only breaks in the trees being a bunker that happens to get in the way of the rows. It was said that the bunkers cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $10,000 to remove completely. Several of them can be seen toppled over, where the earth has eroded out from underneath them on a hillside. I saw some that even looked to be submerged by the surrounding landscape, where time had filled in the ground around them.
In addition to these small bunkers, I also saw a couple of medium sized ones, enough to park a car inside. I heard that there were also some that were really big enough to park a tank inside. On the interior walls of these medium bunkers and larger sized bunkers, were paintings, depicting how to use the guns that were mounted inside the structures. The thought was that the peasants were going to be the ones to defend the country, so they communists, made sure to give them picture instructions for use of the guns.
Part 2 - Minarets
Another interesting thought on Albanian structures was the number of Minarets that I saw. They were of course, all attached to Mosques. I had, up to this point, never seen a minaret. One of my favorite Dave Matthews Band songs from his early CD (remember two things) Was called minarets, and I had read about them in books about middle eastern culture, but this was my first opportunity to look at them. I found out that the communist while in Albania also went through a phase of blowing up minarets all over the country. One of the oldest ones, still in intact, happens to be in Tirana. they are very interesting structures, and are fascinating to look at, to say the least.
If you have never seen one, they are elegant long towers, stretching high above the surrounding buildings. You can see them from a good distance away, almost like a church steeple, only seemingly more prominent. At the very top, they are capped with an upside down ice cream cone roof. Below this roof, around the perimeter of the minaret, is a balcony. It wraps all the way around, and looks to have high walls, probably reaching to a mans chest, or just below. There is a door way as well that opens out onto the balcony, and on most of the minarets, there looked to be loudspeakers mounted on the small eaves of the towering structure. Sadly, I never got to see one in use, but they were gorgeous none the less.
If you have never seen one, they are elegant long towers, stretching high above the surrounding buildings. You can see them from a good distance away, almost like a church steeple, only seemingly more prominent. At the very top, they are capped with an upside down ice cream cone roof. Below this roof, around the perimeter of the minaret, is a balcony. It wraps all the way around, and looks to have high walls, probably reaching to a mans chest, or just below. There is a door way as well that opens out onto the balcony, and on most of the minarets, there looked to be loudspeakers mounted on the small eaves of the towering structure. Sadly, I never got to see one in use, but they were gorgeous none the less.
A series in Cultural Observations in Albania: Part 1- An overview
So, since there were so many interesting things to see and to think about in Albania, I have decided to place each observation into small digestible "blogettes". That way it'll be easier to read and not so overwhelming to see one long blog post all about albania. So without further ado; Part 1.
While in Albania, we played in three different cities; Durres, Vlora, and Tirana. The first two cities were costal towns, right on the Adriatic sea. The latter of the these cities is the capital of Albania, which of course is where the U.S. Embassy is located, who sponsored most of our trip to Albania. The costal towns were all in varying states of seeming disrepair. Since the country had at one point been under Communist rule, most all of the architecture was very square, very 'functional', and very concrete. Everything was made of poured concrete; walls, stairs, supporting beams, columns, 'studs' for the walls, walkways, porches, balconies . . . Most of the houses in both cities, as well as in between the two coastal cities (a two and a half hour drive by Albanian taxi) were only half finished. The main reason they were only half finsihed is a matter of political loop-holes.
The tax code in Albania states that you only have to pay property taxes on your house once it is completed. Therefore, most of the houses would be two or three stories, and in msot case, only one of the stories was finished, usually the first floor, but on some occasions (where it was two stories) the second was the finished one. All of the houses would also leave partial columns on the 'roof' with rebar sticking out of them, also playing a part in the not yet finished house. The whole house, again, was made of poured concrete.
In Tirana, the capital city, The Mayor/Governor/President (I don't remember which it was) Decided that the city looked to communist, and, with a background in art, decided to liven up the city aesthetic by offering a tax incentive to people if they painted their buildings a bright cheery color. In response, Tirana is now a mixture of pinks, yellows, oranges and the occasional drab gray. It looks more coastal in places than Durres or Vlora do, but it is a little farther inland.
While in Albania, we played in three different cities; Durres, Vlora, and Tirana. The first two cities were costal towns, right on the Adriatic sea. The latter of the these cities is the capital of Albania, which of course is where the U.S. Embassy is located, who sponsored most of our trip to Albania. The costal towns were all in varying states of seeming disrepair. Since the country had at one point been under Communist rule, most all of the architecture was very square, very 'functional', and very concrete. Everything was made of poured concrete; walls, stairs, supporting beams, columns, 'studs' for the walls, walkways, porches, balconies . . . Most of the houses in both cities, as well as in between the two coastal cities (a two and a half hour drive by Albanian taxi) were only half finished. The main reason they were only half finsihed is a matter of political loop-holes.
The tax code in Albania states that you only have to pay property taxes on your house once it is completed. Therefore, most of the houses would be two or three stories, and in msot case, only one of the stories was finished, usually the first floor, but on some occasions (where it was two stories) the second was the finished one. All of the houses would also leave partial columns on the 'roof' with rebar sticking out of them, also playing a part in the not yet finished house. The whole house, again, was made of poured concrete.
In Tirana, the capital city, The Mayor/Governor/President (I don't remember which it was) Decided that the city looked to communist, and, with a background in art, decided to liven up the city aesthetic by offering a tax incentive to people if they painted their buildings a bright cheery color. In response, Tirana is now a mixture of pinks, yellows, oranges and the occasional drab gray. It looks more coastal in places than Durres or Vlora do, but it is a little farther inland.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
The shocking truth about Albania
-or-
How I was electrocuted
Our last show in Albania was in Tirana, the capital city of the country. The venue was at the Tirana academy for the arts, in an outdoor amphitheater, which naturally, shared a fence line with the President of Albania. After having some sound issues the gig before in Vlora, the band leader and I decided to take over and setup the sound system so that we would have adequate monitor mixes and a good house mix. We showed up to the venue a few hours before sound check, and started planning, laying out the channels on the board, running cables, setting up the drums, etc. The mains and monitors had been laid out already, power amps hooked up, front of house plugged into the snake that ran to stage . . . all the hard grunt work was done by the sound guys who were traveling with us. The real fun started when we went to trace down the signal path.
Now, for those who may not know, the signal path is simply this: the path the sound takes to go from the microphone (or instrument) to the mixing board, to the power amps, to the speakers. It is important to have everything running in the correct order, otherwise you won't be able to hear anything, or at best, it will sound awful! I was attempting to figure out how they had run their lines, in the rat's nest of cables, when this particular event happened.
I followed a cable, with my hands, from the sound board, down to a small piece of gear, then followed the out line on that to the ground, and I was holding the cable, sliding my hands down it, trying to follow it around a corner, by a power amp. I slid my hand around the corner on the cable, and all of the sudden, got an INTENSE blast of electricity shooting up my arm. Somehow, either I let go, or it threw me off, or something, but I suddenly found myself on my rear end about 3 or 4 feet back from the board, sprawling on the concrete floor. I jumped up, scared as all get out, my arm still shaking,, and backed even further away. The three albanians who were there (who could speak some broken english) asked me what happened, and when I told them I had just been shocked, they looked at me weird, and then tried to convince me that there was no power running through any of that. I argued with them for about a minute, trying to tell them that I had definitely found some power running through something, because it just through me back on the ground (as they all had seen). One of the guys proceeded to touch one of the wires to show me that there was not shocking him, and then wanted em to go down there and show him where I had been shocked. I can say for sure, I was not about to go near those wires again, much less to repeat what just happened!
I walked backstage, sat down in the shade and chilled for a while. I watched my arm shake involuntarily for some time, and then throughout the rest of the day, felt different parts of my body ache. My finger at on point, then my arm, my shoulder, the left side of my jaw, the left side of my back . . . it was weird how I would feel fine, feel really achy in one of those places, then feel fine. In the long run, It scared me more than anything. It definitely rattled me, shook me up, and I didn't touch another cable the rest of the afternoon.
And thats the story of how I sent 220 volts or so up my arm in Albania,
until next time friends!
--Emmett "shockey" Stallings
Now, for those who may not know, the signal path is simply this: the path the sound takes to go from the microphone (or instrument) to the mixing board, to the power amps, to the speakers. It is important to have everything running in the correct order, otherwise you won't be able to hear anything, or at best, it will sound awful! I was attempting to figure out how they had run their lines, in the rat's nest of cables, when this particular event happened.
I followed a cable, with my hands, from the sound board, down to a small piece of gear, then followed the out line on that to the ground, and I was holding the cable, sliding my hands down it, trying to follow it around a corner, by a power amp. I slid my hand around the corner on the cable, and all of the sudden, got an INTENSE blast of electricity shooting up my arm. Somehow, either I let go, or it threw me off, or something, but I suddenly found myself on my rear end about 3 or 4 feet back from the board, sprawling on the concrete floor. I jumped up, scared as all get out, my arm still shaking,, and backed even further away. The three albanians who were there (who could speak some broken english) asked me what happened, and when I told them I had just been shocked, they looked at me weird, and then tried to convince me that there was no power running through any of that. I argued with them for about a minute, trying to tell them that I had definitely found some power running through something, because it just through me back on the ground (as they all had seen). One of the guys proceeded to touch one of the wires to show me that there was not shocking him, and then wanted em to go down there and show him where I had been shocked. I can say for sure, I was not about to go near those wires again, much less to repeat what just happened!
I walked backstage, sat down in the shade and chilled for a while. I watched my arm shake involuntarily for some time, and then throughout the rest of the day, felt different parts of my body ache. My finger at on point, then my arm, my shoulder, the left side of my jaw, the left side of my back . . . it was weird how I would feel fine, feel really achy in one of those places, then feel fine. In the long run, It scared me more than anything. It definitely rattled me, shook me up, and I didn't touch another cable the rest of the afternoon.
And thats the story of how I sent 220 volts or so up my arm in Albania,
until next time friends!
--Emmett "shockey" Stallings
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