TRAVELS WITH THE KNOB: ATHENS 2011

TRAVELS WITH THE KNOB*

ATHENS 2015

The KNOB participated in the 2011 European Oompah Championships last May, known to the initiated as Euroompah! On arrival in Athens, we found posters the length of the main drag proclaiming "Euroompah Go Home! And take your hot air with you!" Charming. Apparently the work of the Greek bouzouki players' union.


The contest was to take place in the magnificent Megaron Mouzikis, an enormous concert complex with several auditoria and a vast marble atrium where lederhosen and dirndl clad musicians from all over Europe were already gathering on Sunday and meeting up with old friends. Some groups were practising in corners, creating a cacophony of trumping which echoed around the vast space. It was sheer pandemonium, to use an ancient Greek term.


Bert, who had flown in separately from Dusseldorf, met us at the hotel with a long face. All the triangles had been lost by Lufthansa. This wrecked our entire plan, as we had rehearsed a number entitled "Isosceles' Triangle" and now the whole theme would have to be changed.


On the Monday the competition opened with a change of leadership. The President of Euroompah, Gottfried Krautwinkler, had stepped down and a new President had been elected in a top secret democratic ballot, by a committee composed of Gottfried and his wife. Imagine our surprise when Frau Krautwinkler stepped up to the podium, her arms in the air like Bono at BandAid, and it was announced she was to be the new President of Euroompah.


But now we were triangless, trombonist-less and costumeless, since Aegean Air had lost all our luggage too! All we had was what we stood up in and the instruments which had travelled with us. And no trombonist. It was all going to hell in a handcart. We sat through three nailbiting days of watching our competitors, and our hearts were sinking. Many of the other entries were technically very proficient, and their costumes were very inventive. The Greeks particularly were impressive in their white starched tutus.


Greek food wasn't helping the state of our stomachs, and Gerhardt and Dieter were running to the loo every five minutes.By Tuesday night we were at our wits' end and in the depths of despair, and were even considering withdrawing from the competition. I sat in my hotel room gazing at its velvet drapes, wondering how we were going to get out of this pickle. I flipped TV channels listlessly. "The Sound of Music" was on TCM. "Gone With the Wind" was on Hallmark, but my mind wasn't on movies. What to do?


I was on the verge of tears, when Bert knocked at the door. "Daphne! I haff an gut idea had!" he burbled. This is never good news.

"Come mit mir to ze Kasbah!"

"This is no time to play 'Guess the movie', Bert, I snapped.

Bert grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the room, shoved me in a taxi and pushed me out on Monastiraki Square, where he pointed to a sidestreet.

"Lager, Daphne!"

"We're in deep scheisse and all you can think of is beer!"

"Nein, Daphne, LAGER - SHOPS! - mit funny clozzes! Ve can new costumes make!"

"Eureka!" I cried, demonstrating my fluent Greek. "I hope you have your credit card," I added.


We rummaged through punk shops, hippie shops, Greek goddess frocks made in China, and Athenian pompom slippers made in Pakistan, before we found what we wanted. It wasn't brilliant, but it would fit the bill. On the Wednesday we were last on the programme.I came on in the full Carmen Miranda, rattling maracas decorated with a frieze from the Parthenon which we had bought in the Plaka for 3.99 euros (allowed as a percussion instrument under art. 768 paragraph 17, sub-paragraph (xiii) of the 4th (Budapest) revision of Euroompah regulations) and the boys were togged up as a sort of brass mariachi band, with frilly shirts, sombreros, cummerbunds, and false moustaches. All very post-ironic with a nod to James Last.


We gave them a mariachi version of Nirvana's "Come as you are". We were disqualified on a technicality. On closer inspection, the frieze painted on the maracas proved to be heavily pornographic. You could clearly make out naked old men with engorged parts chasing young Nubian chambermaids. I had the wrong glasses on when I bought them. We were declared persona non grata and booted unceremoniously out of the Megaron. We returned to Brussels in silence, the boys wouldn't even sit with me on the plane. Only Sigmund spoke to me as we were coming through Arrivals, to ask if he could have the maracas.


Alimono! Eheu! And other expressions of woe in dead languages.I fear my musical career might be coming to an end. And it's all Lufthansa's fault.

 

 

* Kurt Nachtnebel Oompah Band