Tradition has it that Weiberfastnacht starts officially at 11.11 when women storm townhalls and enjoy their power for the
whole Thursday. It was late in the afternoon when we decided to storm the city thinking that the Carnival crowd has dispersed, and we could find a cozy nook for our dinner before watching Monumental Men. It was too late to go back home when we reached the city and saw the aftermath of the day's merriment: a frog princess sitting on the sticky floor of one of the underground stations and obviously drunk was being consoled by her pirate, a green fairy slipped as she crossed the underpass while a huge brown bear was vomitting up his booze.
It was raining outside the station but it didn't seem to bother walking and drinking blondes from NYPD with sunglasses in the rainy Weiberfastnacht, or American Indians, cowboys, Mexicans, bishops, sailors, sheiks, witches, devils, soccer players, air hostesses, clowns, repairmen, cleaning women, magicians, supermen, knights and what have you.
We were lucky to have found a table in a Turkish restaurant now peopled by interesting characters in blue, white or pink wigs and costumes. We were enjoying our kebabs and köfte and beers with piped-in Turkish disco music and Italian songs coming from a group of table thumping diners. Finally, inside the movie house, we could escape the mayhem and enjoyed the presence of George Clooney and his Monumental Men. We were also in the company of real people, no masks, no capes but only in basic winter wear and just wanting to see good film on Weiberfastnacht.
The trip back home was like a three-ring circus with delays and a mob which all wanted to get into the train.
Alaaaf!
Tradition has it that Weiberfastnacht starts officially at 11.11 when women storm townhalls and enjoy their power for the
whole Thursday. It was late in the afternoon when we decided to storm the city thinking that the Carnival crowd has dispersed, and we could find a cozy nook for our dinner before watching Monumental Men. It was too late to go back home when we reached the city and saw the aftermath of the day's merriment: a frog princess sitting on the sticky floor of one of the underground stations and obviously drunk was being consoled by her pirate, a green fairy slipped as she crossed the underpass while a huge brown bear was vomitting up his booze.
It was raining outside the station but it didn't seem to bother walking and drinking blondes from NYPD with sunglasses in the rainy Weiberfastnacht, or American Indians, cowboys, Mexicans, bishops, sailors, sheiks, witches, devils, soccer players, air hostesses, clowns, repairmen, cleaning women, magicians, supermen, knights and what have you.
We were lucky to have found a table in a Turkish restaurant now peopled by interesting characters in blue, white or pink wigs and costumes. We were enjoying our kebabs and köfte and beers with piped-in Turkish disco music and Italian songs coming from a group of table thumping diners. Finally, inside the movie house, we could escape the mayhem and enjoyed the presence of George Clooney and his Monumental Men. We were also in the company of real people, no masks, no capes but only in basic winter wear and just wanting to see good film on Weiberfastnacht.
The trip back home was like a three-ring circus with delays and a mob which all wanted to get into the train.
Alaaaf!
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