Breakdancing to Tchaikovsky

Today we popped over to Den Haag in The Netherlands, to watch Lily's and Daniel's cousin perform in The Nutcracker. It was a bit of a trip, three and a half hours with seven people in the car, but totally worth it. It's been a while since I listened to Tchaikovsky and it made me remember why I like his music so much and why I love watching ballet.

In the second act(?), they had some kids breakdancing to the music. There was this one kid who was apparently only 5 years old, spinning on his head and doing handless somersaults. Insane.

When I arrived on Thursday night, we had dinner and made plans to meet up with Lukas. Lily and Daniel were both tired from a week of non-stop eating, plus they'd visited their grandfather in hospital that day, so they didn't want to make a big night of it, but Lukas said he was up for it if I was. It was my only chance to go out in Cologne with him, because he was on call all day today and then working the rest of the days I'm here, so I said yes. I later regretted agreeing to it.

The four of us went for drinks in a cafe/bar in town, then Lily and Daniel dropped us off in the clubbing street. Unfortunately, the good clubs were closed so the one we went to was a bit dodgy and smelt like vomit. Still, it wasn't too bad (except for the vomit smell).

We'd arranged for me to crash at Lukas's because although Lily had told me she was happy to pick me up, it's not very nice to wake up at 3:30 am to drive in the freezing cold. I warned Lukas in advance that when I drink, I need to eat something. He assured me he had Polish sausages that he could cook. I'd forgotten that usually when guys say cook they mean microwave. But the sausages were insane, bursting with fat and tasty, tasty goodness.

He also opened a bottle of red that one of his patients had given him, which was also very good (apparently a rich patient) and we finished the bottle. This was after some tequila shots, beer, cocktails and red-bull-and-vodkas (which Lukas ordered- I NEVER drink them). And the next morning I remembered a) why I don't drink tequila or RB and vodka, b) why four years ago in Sydney I'd sworn never to go out drinking with Lukas again and c) that Polish people are crazy and Polish/German people are worse.

In Sydney, when Lukas was doing his prac, he used to go to the hospital for 12 hours, go back to his place to get changed, meet me in the city some time in the evening where we would proceed to dance and party, then at 5 or 6 am he would catch the train straight back to the hospital to start his next 12 hour shift. I think he did it three nights straight until I told him I was too exhausted and couldn't take it any more.

I was having lunch with the extended Nass family the next day, so was supposed to be back at their house by midday. Actually, I woke up feeling not too bad, because Lukas had offered me his bed while he took the couch, so I'd slept pretty well (though too little) but as the day progressed, I got worse and worse. The only blessing was that Romanian food is very fatty so I absolutely gulped it down. I might've freaked out the relatives by the way/amount I ate.

I felt SO rude because everyone was speaking Romanian/German and I was incapable of sustaining a conversation with the people who could speak English. The best I could manage was a forced smile when someone directed a comment at me. Five hours later, nearly passing out from exhaustion, I told them I had to leave. They were also going to some friends' house that evening for more food but I couldn't do it and went to bed at 9 pm.