Gaby Book 17 - Seasons

“Up and at ‘em!” A far too cheerful voice suggested from the doorway of my eyrie.
“Urgh.”
I cracked a mascara and sleep encrusted eye, it was light enough to be day, which in February could mean it’s quite late and I couldn’t focus on my alarm clock.
“Come on, breakfast is nearly on the table,” Dad went on.
“’Kay,” I agreed through the fug.

You know I’m not a morning person right and the morning after a lively sixteenth birthday celebration, especially your own, was always potentially going to be a difficult one to get motivated for. I’m not sure what time we got home from the Stube – late for sure, I was clearly wasted, my dress was a crumpled mess on the floor and I still had my BH and hose on under my nightdress. A toe poke from under the quilt suggested the room was at least tepid so I quickly exited the warmth with a dash to the loo.

The massy caking my lashes suggested I hadn’t removed any war paint before hitting the z’s so once immediate needs were dealt with it was into the shower. Well it was after removing my new earrings, necklace and the bird’s nest remains of last night’s hairdo. I emerged a short while later scrubbed and refreshed, well awake anyway, there was the faint odour of cooked bacon from below which hastened my dressing and departure to the smell’s source.

“Morning, Gab!”
“Ron? What’re you doing here?”
“We’re eating in the dining room,” Mum advised,” here take this with you,” She plonked a flask of coffee in my hands, “you alright with that, Roni?”
“Sure, Jenny.”
“What are you waiting for, Gabrielle?”

Of course, if my brain had been operating on all cylinders I would’ve remembered that the Grönberg’s didn’t go back to Mettmann last night, instead pressing some of our camping gear into use in the lounge. Angela and Marcus were already at the table along with my sister, Boris, Dad, Mand and lots of breakfast. It wasn’t the expected fry up that had enticed me but rather bacon, scrambled eggs and toast as a heated addition to more usual German Frühstuck options, Ron placed her load of boiled eggs into the meleé of food.

“Well tuck in,” Mum prompted as she seated herself strategically near the bacon.

“You in a rush to get home?” Dad enquired of our house guests as we started the post breakfast clear up.
“Not particularly,” Marcus allowed, “what have you got in mind?”
“Thought we could do the Karneval at Bad Honnef.”
“Wasn’t that last month?” Goth Gurl suggested.
“It’s the last one of the season,” Mum put in. When all heads turned to her she went on, “Maria was telling me about it in the week.”
“If I’d known we could’ve costumed,” Angela noted.
“Girls?” Dad queried.
Why not, “Sure,” I agreed.
“Sounds like fun,” Mand added.
There were no dissenters so it was agreed we’d set off as soon as.

It’s not far to Bad Honnef – well to the ferry at least is barely thirty minutes by car usually—but we went via the Linz ferry which distance and crossing added a bit to that. However getting parked once we arrived was another matter, we clearly weren’t the only ones coming for the fun. Our little convoy eventually got parked at the Hoheschule from where we joined a steady stream of people heading towards the town centre.

The place was heaving, super packed like the Christmas markets in Köln busy. The route of the parade was already lined with people, many it has to be said in costume, particularly the kids. It’s a tradition that everyone is part of the event and I felt a little out of things dressed in jeans and my winter coat amongst the clowns, Supermen and fairies.

“This’ll do,” Dad suggested.

‘This’ was a spot where the crowds were a little thinner and we could watch the parade, thinner as we were near the start of the route. In the near distance the first strains of music signalled the impending start of affairs.

“‘S a bit weird having a carnival in February,” Mand noted, “aren’t they usually in the summer?”
“Ah but this is Karneval,” Ron stated.
“It’s an excuse for drinking and fun before Lent,” Boris added.
“So like Christmas without the presents?” Manda queried.
“Who said there aren’t presents, why do you think so many come?” Ron grinned.
“Eh?” Mand allowed, “and what’s with all the buckets?”
“You’ll see,” I told her.

Karneval isn’t like the summer parades at all; for starters everyone is on foot – none of the fancy motorised floats you get in the summer. Although you do get the local dance troupes and bands taking part the bulk of participants are in the Karneval clubs, each group dressed alike from pensioners to babes in arms. Of course as you might expect they collect for charity but in return…

“Hah!” I gleefully declared, “Gummi’s!”
“That’s cheating,” Ron declared.

Well I didn’t have a bucket instead I’d taken my jacket off and put it on backwards which allowed me to use the hood to collect some of the largesse being thrown at the crowd.

“Here, have some Moam™,” I flicked said sweets towards her.

It wasn’t all sweets, well mostly it was – the Haribo factory in Bonn must’ve been cleared out, but my hood also held several mini pastries, a couple of toys like you get in crackers and a small bottle of fruit Apollinaris. The others hadn’t done so bad, Manda’s pockets were bulging and complaining Minnie wasn’t short of ‘presents’ either, even the Rents were collecting, yeah it’s fun squared. Of course it wasn’t all one way, kleine geld went into the collecting buckets of clowns and myriad other characters in return.

“Looks like the last group,” Ron suggested.
A couple of smiling Polizei brought up the rear of the parade.
“That it?” Mand asked.

I quickly stuffed the contents of my hood into pockets and my backpack (a girl has to keep stuff somewhere and I’m not a fan of fancy great bags), turned my coat and dragged her into the crowd now following the parade.

“Course not,” I grinned, “come on!”
“Where’re we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Ron?”
“You don’t think it’s just a parade do you?”

Our destination was the park down by the river where a small funfair and plenty of food and drink stalls were waiting. When I saw the signs for the tram terminus it dawned on me why there were quite so many people here – you can get here from Bonn without a car so the beer stalls will do very well this afternoon!

“You girls got your phones?” Mum asked.
“Yep,” I brandished my Handy.
“See you later then, have fun.”
We didn’t need a second invite, the three of us headed into the meleé.

The crowd was good-natured, small children gripping buckets of sweet stuff, parents quaffing beer, friends screaming on the rides. I’m not big on fairground rides but I’m easily hooked on the hoopla.

“Come on, Gabs,” Mand cajoled.
“One more,” I insisted.
“You could’ve bought it with what you’ve spent.” Ron mentioned.
I tested the feel of the rubber ring, if I can just float it a bit; I launched it towards the hooks.
“Yesss!”
It had only taken ten euros worth of shots but I finally scored enough to claim my prize, an outsized pink bear.

“What do you want that for, didn’t think you were into soft toys?” Ron prodded.
“Andrea.”
“Andrea?”
“Drea, Bernie’s baby,” Mand filled in.
“’Kay, let you off, food?”
“Sure,” question is though, what?

Back in Blighty the choice would be restricted to chips, burgers, maybe hot pork sandwiches or, if you were lucky baked taters. But this is Germany and we do things differently here, waffles, crêpes, frites, wurst, schnitzel, frikadel, mushrooms, fish, Bratkartoffeln, pizza and that’s only the hot stuff – well you get the idea, you are spoilt for choice.

“Chris?”
“Oh hi, Gab,” she pushed a lock of hair out of the way.
“What are you doing here?” it was a silly question; she was stood in a trailer selling crêpes.
“It’s a few extra euros,” she allowed, “so what’ll it be?”
“Er kirsch please, you on your own?”
“Mum’s here somewhere, oh sugar, you okay if it’s a bit small, I’ve run out of batter.”
“Sure.”

I could see disaster looming, more customers joined Chris and me, well she was starting to get in a flap. I could see my snack starting to burn as Chris was distracted refilling her batter jug, this could end badly.

“Chris!”
“Oh sugar!” she flipped the charred food from the hotplate, “sorry, Gab.”
“Open the door,” I instructed.
I was inside and hanging my coat before she could argue.
“Right, I’ll sort the orders, you do the crêpes.”
“But…”

Well she didn’t get another chance to question things as I started taking orders and payment.

“Where’s Gab?” Mand asked between licks at the honey dripping from her waffle.
“Thought she said she was getting a crêpe,” Ron supplied, “can’t see her though.”

Mand followed her team mates gaze, there were quite a few punters queuing at ‘Der Mühle Crêpes’ but Gab didn’t appear to be one of them.

“Maybe she’s on the other side.”
“Or changed her mind,” Ron surmised, “best go find her I s’pose.”

“Two Nutella™ and a kirsch,” I advised my cook.

Chris is actually a dab hand at cooking crêpes despite earlier appearances and we were working well as a team. I acquired an apron at some point and was quite enjoying myself, my experience with our Weihnachtsmarkt enterprise came in useful but when your options are Nutella™, kirsch or plain and maybe a can of pop it’s not rocket science.

We had a constant queue for a while; it had just started to decrease when Eva, Chris’s mum swept into the trailer.

“Sorry I was so long, Hans wanted to sign me up for Brohl, everything okay?”
“Thanks to Gab,” Chris noted.
“Gab?” it was only then she spotted me at the counter.
“Hi, Frau Foch,” I returned to my customer, “That’s ten fifty please.”
“How?”
“She came to eat,” Chris explained, “I got in a tiz and she came to help.”
“Two plain,” I requested for the next customer.

Maddy Bell 11.07.16