Ferienstimmung, die: Noun, German, fem.: The mood for or that arises during (mostly) the summer holidays.
It’s not time for the summer holidays yet, but yesterday was like a foretaste already. Yesterday was warm, really warm, as in “I want to spend the day in the river” hot, but I spent two hours of it in a packed train, heading south. The picture above is not from that train. It’s from the one back.
It’s always a bit hard finding band rehearsal dates, with two of us not living in the city we have our room at, all of us studying or working at different things, but the times we have a date are ever so much worth it.
This band rehearsal saw no less than three renditions of Let It Go by Picko (bass guitar, violin, vocals) and me (vocals, flute, harp), probably much to J.’s (guitar, cello) and Bertie’s (keyboard, occasionally drums when we need them but have no percussionist around) annoyance (we plan on trying Love Is An Open Door next), and a contagious catched tune of Carry On My Wayward Son (Bertie’s a big Kansas fan and I’ve been watching Supernatural again) for the whole band.
Picko was so nice to give me a lift to Frankfurt main station as he goes in the general direction anyway. There’s a certain quality about rides with this guy that channels an instant road trip feeling. Maybe it’s sitting next to a long-haired guy in an Infected Mushrooms shirt belting out the songs to a children’s musical or Disney soundtracks while driving towards sunsets. Maybe it’s because he has such a fitting taste in music when we’re not listening to Disney songs for once. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re usually on the road when it already darkens. Anyway, I’m always really thankful for these moments because, well, it’s just nice having friends just as weird and broken as we are ourselves.
The rest of my journey home was when it hit me: These are some of the moments I’m the happiest, with fleeting glimpses of the scenery outside, warm head wind roaring in the train curtains, a small, old-fashioned compartment all to myself and a train window that actually opens half-way – the new ones are designed not to.
Back in my fairytale town I made my way home, streets and air still warm from the day, and stopped to chat with someone I know from lithography class, he sitting on his balcony’s balustrade, feet dangling two meters above the ground, me down in the street.
I can’t wait for our next band date, and I can’t wait for the holidays to actually begin. Until then I’ll just feel them sneaking up to us, slowly.