levik (levik) wrote,
levik
levik

Kalinka

"It's pretty early, so there won't be a lot of people inside yet", said the bouncer.

It was 12:30am, and we were in Munich's Kultfabrik district to attend a trance party I'd read about on the internet. Kultfabrik was an area somewhat reminiscent of Odessa's Arkadia, except that it was not by the sea, lacked any sort of greenery, and generally smelled of piss and cheap beer. The tightly packed clubs were more like dive bars.

We decided to try our luck elsewhere, and maybe return for trance in a couple of hours.

The first thing I saw when we rounded the corner were two giant jets of fire shooting up from a terrace, like two flamethrowers pointed upward. I quickly realized they were just cheap steramers of orange paper illuminated from below and blown by fans - the kind sold in chinese lamp stores.

Then, also on the terrace, I saw the head. It was huge - taller than me. Illuminated from an angle that made it look like an ancient carving of a Tiki god. It was made from some kind of dark metal. It was Lenin. The leader of the international proletariat stared forward with the determination and certainty I remembered from my Soviet childhood. His stoic gaze fell right onto the neon blue sign across the street: "Die Bier!".

Finally, I noticed the letters hanging above the head. "Klub Kalinka" they proclaimed.

We had to go in.

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