I love the locals.

So the last five days were Karneval in Germany. I really don’t even know how to describe it. It began 300 years ago and there are these traditions that people participate in like parades and storming a government building and drinking. We went out Thursday night in Dusseldorf to a party in a ballroom. Alicia and I have this theory that crazy stuff happens to us and we don’t know why. For instance, that night we met the Prince of Dusseldorf, which is nothing like meeting the President of the US, but up there nonetheless. And then a guy from the major Dusseldorf newspaper took our picture and it ended up on the front page. Crazy.

Then on Friday we rested to get geared up for Saturday. Saturday was shenanigans. We walked to the end of the street to watch the parade at 2 p.m. At the parade, relatives gave us little bottles of schnapps to drink. We came back after an hour finished getting into our costume, I am cat, and proceeded to put down a few beers with more family. Then at 4, it was off to the bar for more Karneval festivities. We met up with some of Alicia’s friends that are actually our age, I say that because until then we only hung out with older family. And the beer flowed like wine. We stayed at that bar until 3 or so and then walked home. We were settling ourselves in for a late night snack in the kitchen, with Alicia’s grandma, when there was an abrupt knock at the door. “Here is where the party is!” Yelled one boy to another. “No. You have the wrong house! My oma is sleeping!” Alicia whispered. “Okay, okay. You guys come next door then.” Next door is the boy’s our age that we hung out with at the bar.

What I neglected to mention about the neighborhood boys is that one of them has a girlfriend of 11 years. This boy ADORES Alicia and the girlfriend apparently has always suspected that something went on between them, when in actuality the truth is that nothing has ever happened. So instead of Alicia being able to enjoy her evening fully, she had to deal with the girls stupid low self-esteem drama. The girl took Alicia aside and said, “Just be honest with me… Has anything happened… Yadda Yadda Yadda.” Again, crazy shit just happens. But I love it because it gives us something to talk about.

When we arrived at the neighbors house at 4 a.m. they greeted us with more beer and scrambled eggs. Why scrambled eggs? I don’t know. But the boy that adores Alicia and has a psycho girlfriend, that managed to scratch his face till he bleed that night, wanted to make plates and plates of scrambled eggs for everyone. We blared the traditional Karneval music, banged on the table to the bass line and gorged ourselves on the “drunk munchies” of eggs and a few coveted little pizzas.

Sunday we rest, only to attempt to gear ourselves back up for another night of Karneval festivities. Monday at 7 p.m. I still could not believe we were going out that night, but once I put my makeup and my pirate costume on, I was ready to go. That night we went out with Alicia’s aunt and uncle to another local bar and proceeded to put down the local “Pils.” We met up with some different neighborhood boys and danced and drank and sang and drank and ate French fries and then realized that it was 4:30. 4:30!!! That is something I am going to appreciate about California bars when I get back. The 1:30 last call that I used to dread, is now something I find extremely useful. If you aren’t told when to go home, odds are you won’t. As we realized the last few nights. All and all, it is Wednesday and I am still recovering from the havoc I have wrecked on my body the last few nights. No more drinking for awhile, I can honestly proclaim.

Oh, and for the most part, the locals we are meeting, love Americans. Maybe not so much that we are American, but more specifically California. One girl, about 16, wanted us to take pictures with her and exchange email addresses. She has already emailed the pictures to Alicia. Upon hearing us reply, “Cool,” it was her new favorite word. “Cool.” She would remark, looking at us for some approval of her foreign language. “Cool.” We would say. “Cool.” Again just to make sure that she had the correct pronunciation, twang, and easy going nature. I love the locals.