Oh, yeah. I should tell you about the shower. It’s kinda Japanese style; the shower has no walls…. There’s a 6 inch raised area around the drain, but another drain in the bathroom floor for the water that goes outside that area. But that’s no problem… the problem for me is the shower head, which is on a cord, about waist level. There’s nothing to hold it up on the wall.

Now, the problem here, is washing your hair. I generally use two hands… so after you wet down, grab a handful of shampoo, you stash the shower head between your legs.

A moment later you’re singing one of two Christmas songs, because the water temperature varies often and suddenly.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, or Frosty the Snowman. Much dancing and swearing occurs.

6 in the morning, I’m up. Remember that time difference? Well, we may as well walk around.

Glory of glories. We find a doughnut shop. With cops in it, even. I get a couple of bismarks (don’t know what they’re called there) and a sprite.

Sprite is easy to find, but Pepsi is more difficult. The Coca Cola corporations seems to have a stronger footing. Watch out for the Pepsi Max, which seems to be Jolt Cola espresso or something. Too strong for even me. Like carbonated tar.

And what else do we discover? A McDonalds. With a McGreek sandwich. I play it safe and have some fries. You can of course get a McRoyale, or Big Mac if you so desire….

However, we have no currency. Contrary to what we’ve been told, almost no one takes American dollars. We search for a bank or machine.

Ho! Jack finds a machine, and fires it up. A moment later, he comes back… an error in the decimal point… trying to get $30 worth of drachmas, he gets $300. So we buy shares from him.

Back at the hotel. The guys pick us up. We pile into cars (my bass will fit in none of the trunks. The cars and roads are narrower here. So the poor bastards in the back seat always have to hold it.) head out further to the edges of town, and drop in at Greg’s house. His Mother serves us juice and seems quite content with 30 hairy maniacs cluttering up the house. I rifle through Greg’s record collection; we have a lot of the same stuff.

We must go to eat, they say. Ok. Well, I’ve been fearing this. Those that know me know I hardly eat anything. There’s very little food that I like. Picky stomach. I’m worried about offending anyone, so I let the know, Meat. Meat is what I like.

We hope you like meat. Yup, except maybe Jack. I think maybe he’s been swinging in a vegetarian direction lately. Beef, I say. Then the food begins to roll. We are in a large restaurant (Arizona), with a fireplace in the middle of the room. 60 feet of tables are arrange in an L formation. A storm rolls in outside.

The trays of food start rolling in. What’s this? You must eat it. It’s fantastic. What’s in it? (I wisely ask; I know at least one fool who didn’t.)

Entrails. But don’t think about it. Just eat it. Nope. Not me. I’ll wait for the beef. I chew on a piece of bread.

More food rolls in. Lamb? Some kind of salad, this and that. French fries? I suspect especially for us. Yes, I eat them.

Beef. Here it is, huge plates of it. I take a sizeable steak and hoist it in the air. Cheering arises. This place feels like Camelot, like I’m sitting with the knights.

So, I eat the steak. Oddly spiced, but very good, very tender. So I stuff myself.

And then here comes a tray with another one on it. For you. This is kind of like a ground beef steak, but about a pound or more. I give it a shot, but there’s no way I can eat it all. Later, I come to the conclusion that you are fed until you give up. If you eat all the food in front of you, they bring more.

Oh yeah, drinking. I promised to drink. Several glasses of wine go down. Some bastard keeps refilling my goblet until I hide it under my arm. Several of these glasses are broken from slamming them on the table – the stems snap.

Jesus, here comes a cake. It’s huge. It has Brocas Helm on the top. Everyone is singing. Greg stabs it with a knife. Eventually it gets passes around.

For some reason, everyone wants to wear my hat. It gets passed around a lot. Throughout the trip, many must wear The Hat.

As will happen many times, it begins to get a bit drunk out. One guy keeps trying to kiss us, thankfully not on the lips. Bob is starting to get a little annoyed.

During the driving, I notice that nearly half of the houses I see have solar hot water heaters on the roof.

Ok, on to the basement studio. We call it the Taverns of Thunder (to match the Caverns of Thunder.) Though the amps are small, it’s a nice room and the drums sound very good. On the wall is a dartboard with a Metallica poster. Heh heh heh.

It’s still pretty drunk out.

It’s a bit hard to play, because half the crowd wants to stand with us and sing. Bob is having trouble keeping his effects from harm. I’m playing with a 6’ cord, and can’t move around much. I hope no one is disappointed.

Eventually Greg gets a bit too drunk, and has to be manhandled around the room and out the door. He returns shortly, and is escorted to the back of the room where someone sets on him until he passes out (probably Kostas). These guys seem very good at keeping each other from doing serious harm to themselves or others.

Rowena shows up, from Ireland. Red hair. Of course, we play the Emerald (Thin Lizzy).

Keep moving - on to page 3.