Do You Like Goats Butts?

I am now on the train heading back to Warsaw feeling sick as a dog.  It is something of a normal feeling on this leg of the journey.  The idea of another bohemian evening makes me want to weep like a little girl.

Goats Butts

Poznan has changed in my absence.  Nowadays it somewhat resembles a building site as it gears up to be one of the host cities next summer.  Still we were delighted have lunch in a little place called Canapca, which is very much like a funky inner city version of Subway except that in Canapca the food is actually edible.  And honestly yesterday I ate a Kur-chuck Norris which is almost certainly the coolest lunch any man can possibly eat.(Kurczak pronounced Kur-chack is the Polish word for chicken.)

We were pleased to note that our favourite restaurant in Poznan is still open.  It’s a small Jewish restaurant called Cymes.  It is a wonderful window into a culture which used to be part of the fabric of Poland, aswell as a treat for the stomach.

The fact is that many bars and restaurants have changed, now its noticeable that a trend is emerging.  A few years ago sushi bars were multiplying like bunny rabbits on Viagra.  Now it seems that Poland has found its own niche.  And that style is what can only be described as a mongrel which embraces both a passion for inebriation and for chasers of the gastronomic variety.  I have christened it Fast-vodka.  Literally bars where people can walk in for a shot of vodka and some pickled herring.  It’s almost a tapas bar for an alcoholic, in other words its simply fucking awesome.

Meskalina was as Meskalina always is.  Full of people having fun.  Benek in the style of any great leader, led the festivities from the front.  He never ceases to amaze me.  As he downed shots and danced the night away on his bar I felt as if I was in the presence of a rock and roll god.  In the meantime Frank Turner and the sleeping souls conducted the party with great aplomb.  The enthusiasm and the energy had everyone in the room singing and dancing and completely succeeded in transforming every person in the audience to one living bouncing singing organism.  And breaking my body in the process.

And I am still picking up the pieces.  Round two starts later this evening, and I for one can’t wait.

Doing The Poznan

I am currently speeding through the countryside on an intercity train(incredibly with a digital air conditioning console and plug sockets)on my way to visit Poznan for the fourth time in my life.  For the first time in seven years travelling from Warsaw has been a stress and stench free experience.  It’s almost like Poland is starting to show the early signs of joining the 21st century.

The reason for my trip is a Frank Turner gig in Meskalina, home of the legendary Benek and the near certainty of a night of epic happiness and severe liver poisoning.  And then the party will move to Warsaw where we will do the exact same thing again.

As a hedonist who firmly believes that the liver is truly evil and that it must be punished at every opportunity, I can honestly say that Poznan is something of a spiritual holiday home.

The most notable fact is that in Warsaw people live to work, whereas in Poznan people work to live.  If I was to compare it to a British city I would probably say Manchester as amongst other things it comes alive at night and has a pretty decent football team.  If I was to compare the people to a nationality I would say Irish.  Laid back is something of an understatement.

Doing the Poznan requires more than celebrating a goal during a football match.  It requires celebrating life for no other reason than because it’s happening now.  And that my friends is something to admire.