Nos Alive 2016 and ITQB: Lisboa, PT

25 de Abril Bridge

At the Universidade Nova de Lisboa I gave a seminar to the laboratory of Ricardo Louro in the Instituto de Tecnologia Química e Biológica. Research in this laboratory is primarily focused on the structural and functional characterization of redox proteins that participate in the anaerobic bioenergetic metabolism of microorganisms, using biophysical methods- meaning that their research is primarily fundamental. My main contact at this university is a postdoctoral student named Catarina Paquete. After the seminar, I am treated tofresh codfish and green wine on the beach of Cascais adjacent tothe university.

Me with the lab at a restaurant in Cascais.

Praça do Comércio

I imagine we all have a song or music that takes us to a certain time or a certain place. Feelings and memories, somewhere tucked back in our subconscious, suddenly swell in waves of nostalgia and encapsulate us. The sounds of forgotten pasts scratching to reclaim our psyche. Lisbon was an extremely emotional experience for me. Not for the city, or the pace, or the culture shock. All of these things paled in comparison to the lost city, imported from America, buried in the back of my mind.

As part of my stay in Lisbon, I attend a three day music festival called NosAlive 2016. NosAlive is an annual music festival that features some of the most popular musical artists of the time and this year’s festival is no exception. The atmosphere is absolutely explosive- but perhaps it’s best you judge for yourself by watching some of the videos I have included (if the copywrite gods haven’t deemed them illegal).

Robert Plant:

The Pixies:

​Tame Impala:

​Radiohead:

​Arcade Fire:

​Ratatat:

Some honorable mentions includeM83, Foals, Four Tet, Grimes, Calexico, and Xinobi – a DJ from Portugal that played with a live band and no computer.

NosAlive Main event stage. Everyone got a free silly cowboy hat.

Every day of the festival was an absolute clusterfuck of people, piss, and plastic. 55,000 animals crammed into one fourth of a square kilometer between the hours of 5PM and 5AM in non-stop-sunlight-33C-weather-until-9:30PM. The main stage is on the far west corner of the venue- the closest toilet is on the other side of the venue. The walk from the front of the stage to the restroom takes five minutes with no traffic- thirty minutes with medium to light traffic. When the venue is full, this journey is literally impossible.
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Now, I know what you may be thinking, “Brad, why so much emphasis on the journey to the toilet.” Well, imagine this: you have flown half way around the world to end up at a music festival in Portugal. Playing at this music festival is not only one of your favorite bands (Radiohead), but also one of the most popular bands in the world. The day during which this particular band performs sold-out months prior to the other days of the festival due to the popularity of this band. You arrive five hours early to procure a good spot at an already packed venue, and, being from the desert, understand the importance of early hydration before a long day in the sun. As a matter of fact, you know that if you feel thirsty, it means you’re already dehydrated. So, being the intelligent planner that you are, you decide to purchase 1.5 L of water at a local super market for 0.59 euro, knowing that the cost for 250 mL of water is 1.50 euro at the venue. You drink most of said water. Entering into the venue, I am told that it is ok for me to bring in the water (which is about half consumed at this point), but that I cannot keep the cap. I give them my cap- the nice Brazilian people I met in the hostel decide to hide their caps so that they can keep them because fuck the man. After we get through security, they give me a cap so that I could reseal my water bottle.

Clusterfuck!

Nice Brazilians

Yet another clusterfuck!

Flash forward about three hours before Radiohead plays, a band called Foals is playing and the urge to piss has me practically immobilized. All I can think during the show is, “after Foals, I have thirty minutes until Tame Impala- that is more than enough time to contend with the crowd while I leave, take a piss, and contend with the crowd while I return.” By the time Foals is done performing, the crowd is so densely packed that I literally can’t leave. You need to understand the desperation I felt at this point. I had already determined that, having waited three hours in the sun for Radiohead, I was going to have to give up my spot to use the bathroom. I didn’t care. My kidneys were literally starting to feel swollen. I tried pushing and shoving and moving in all different directions. I thought about hoping the fence that security was using to separate the crowd- that way, security would kick me out for being a nuisance and I could finally take my piss. That pursuit also proved fruitless- I was stuck. All I could think now was, “can I nonchalantly piss in this bottle, in this crowd of 55,000 people?”
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I thought of how, since I was wearing shorts, I could kind of get down on my knees and tuck the bottle up under my shorts and slide it up to where I could position myself to unfurl my bladder into the 1.5 L plastic container. I went over in my head, time after time, exactly how I’d perform this task, pissing in public, in the middle of 55,000 people, without anyone noticing. Should I do it now, before Tame Impala, while everyone was sitting and merely apologize to anyone who noticed? Should I not do it? Should I try to hold it in for another four hours? What does it matter if they see it happen anyways? It’s goddamn Europe! These people see cocks and pissing on primetime television!

[Tame Impala starts their act- everyone stands]

Maybe now that everyone is standing I can move over by the security fence and do it there. The fence is about four feet high- no one behind me will see and everyone in front of me will be looking at the stage. Impossible- the crowd is so densely populated at his point that there is little room even for standing. I can’t do this- I can’t piss right here- not in front of everyone- I’ll hold it in. Tame Impala is about 12 minutes in- a sense of impending dread consumes me.

I think, “Didn’t someone in the US die holding in their piss trying to win a Nintendo Wii?” My whole lower back aches- Am I ready to die out here? If I kneel down to do it now though, people might knock me over if a good song comes on because they are all going to start jumping up and down and swaying side to side. I’ll wait for Tame Impala to end and then piss when everyone sits down. I’ll simply apologize- after all, they’d rather I piss in the bottle than piss my pants. Even if I pissed my pants, most of the piss would end up on the ground anyway. Then everyone would step in it, and their shoes would get all wet, and everything would smell like piss. That decides it, I’m gonna piss in this fucking 1.5 L plastic reservoir because it’s the polite thing to do.

[Tame Impala is about 30 minutes into their set]

I’m not gonna make it through Tame Impala. The pain in my lower abdomen is now starting to make its way slowly up my spine. It’s going to be awkward to piss when everyone is sitting at crotch level. Not to mention, during the show everyone is distracted. Let’s do the damn thing right now.

I pick up the bottle.
“No way, I can’t fucking do this.”
I untwist the cap.
[‘Cause I’m a Man starts playing]
I get down on my knees
I gently grasp the corner of my shorts and boxers.
I slowly maneuver the bottle and myself into proper position…
Friend from Brazil (Pedro) looks down: “Hey man, are you ok.”
“Shit, don’t fucking look!” I think, pushing my shorts back down. I look up and cower, “I’m not gonna make it, this is happening now.”
Pedro shrugs and looks back at the stage.
I go through all the motions of maneuvering myself again. I slowly to start to release.

Now, you have to understand the severity of this situation. Here I am, surrounded by a sea of bodies from all angles. Bodies so packed that, as I kneel here, attempting to take this public piss, the guys and gals next to me are so close that they are literally touching me. In this compromised position, I am completely at the mercy of the crowd. If things get rowdy, I’m gonna get knocked over as will the bottle of piss with me. You also have to understand that this scenario seems ideal given the male anatomy, at least in terms of functionality, to perform such an act of absolute desperation. However, as Plato and the Saints can attest, ideals are only that, ideals, and the reality of getting a sweaty, flaccid piece of dick to align succinctly with the ½ inch opening of a 1.5 L water bottle while kneeling in a crowd of 55,000 people that are touching your shoulders and jumping on your back is anything but ideal.

Needless to stay, the piss starts to trickle down my hand. Now that I had started pissing, the restraint required to keep me from continuing is like nothing before experienced in my life. The temptation to say ‘fuck it’ and merely continue pissing, right there, directly onto the road is quite vivid. At this point, who cares where the piss ends up really, so long I my internal organs don’t burst. I stop pissing. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to conceal this act because alignment under the shorts is simply impractical at this point. Now, the act of not pissing all together is not an option. This pissing is going down right here, right now.I put the bottle out in front of me, I tuck myself through the leg of my boxers and shorts, I make sure all my shit is aligned, and I begin blasting.

Now, at some point in their lives, I believe every man has the fortune, or misfortune, of experiencing what it is like to piss in a bottle when in a tight spot- cross country road trip, long bus rides with no toilets, etc… And with that experience also comes the moment when you think, “oh god, I’m gonna piss more than this bottle can hold! What am I gonna do when this thing overflows and I’m still goin’?!? Oh, this is bad. Oh my god, it’s still coming. I’m gonna ruin the interior of my mom’s 1977 Thunderbird!”

I can hear the sound of the bottle filling, the pitch growing higher and higher as the piss travels less far into less empty space as the volume of the bottle is slowly consumed by piss. I can’t hear the sound anymore. Oh God, it must be overflowing. [Tame Impala plays on in the background- the crowd goes crazy.] But I can’t fill it on my fingers. I must be in the clear. Have I been pissing for two minutes??

And suddenly it stops. I tuck myself back in. I screw on the cap (thank god the Brazilians kept the cap) and discard the bottle onto the asphalt. I look away, I stand up, I start dancing. Dancing for more than the music. Dancing because I can again. I can feel the pressure of my internal organs slowly diminishing although some pain still remains. I feel the pain slowly subsiding. “This is the best concert in the world”, I think to myself.

Arcade Fire!

Robert Plant- Still (Nos) alive!

Xinobi

Pixies rage into the night.

Band of Horses

Grimes

Ratatat

Bossa Nova lounge

A patron brings her pet T. Rex.

The lead singer of Years and Years is about 12 years old.

Foals plays on.

The bottle.

How to piss in the middle of this?

Tame Impala gets weird

Radiohead gets electric.

As Tame Impala plays on, I am taken to a very special time and place. The first time I listened to this band was at the condo/apartment of a person I barely knew. We had met after she sent me a message on Facebook about an educational outreach fundraiser I was organizing. Her condo was such a shit hole. She lived with these two roommates that were polar opposites. One was straight out of Half Baked- smoked weed all the time, left her bong out, potato chip bags, Oreo cookie sleeves on the couch- you get the idea. The other was very high maintenance, health cleanse, sugardaddy.com type website bait. My friend pretty much confined herself to her room when she was in this place. We used to hang out in her room and listen to hipster music- Tame Impala, Flume, that kinda stuff. The story of this person begins in the wake of what was a very difficult time in my life- let me put it all into context for you and perhaps you’ll understand the first paragraph of this section of this entry.

It was 2013 when I separated from my partner of nearly six years. It was one of those events where it’s like, you know, you’re never hungry, sweat things taste salty, smiling takes effort, sleep just kinda happens sometimes, and you wonder every day about all the what ifs. What if I had said this or done that? What if she only did this? All the songs on the radio are suddenly all about you, and your life, and your break-up. We had some big plans, my former partner and I. We were gonna fly to Peru, we were gonna see this band in that country. We were gonna play it by ear, live in spontaneity, just kinda follow the wind. The first time we ever kissed was during a Radiohead album I played on my computer- Amnesiac to be precise. It was the first time she ever heard the band. It’s such a surreal and magical album, and it was such a surreal and magical night.
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When Thom Yorke started his set, it was with a new song- it didn’t matter. The instant I heard his voice I had to hold back the tears from coming down my face. It was in that moment, I realized, just how deeply the context of this music impacted me. I looked around, at all the people on this secluded beach in Lisbon, Portugal with a cool breeze on a cloudless night under the stars. People from all over the world had traveled here to experience this special moment- Thom’s voice having touched them in some meaningful way. I looked around and I thought, “how special, how meaningful, is this moment?” And yet the space and the time seemed so misaligned. As I stood there, watching the performance, all the what ifs rushed through my mind- it was 2014, it was 2015, 2016. Where was I? When was I? The show continued and these feelings began to subside.

You see, as I mentioned in a previous post, there is a time and a place for everything in our lives. And as we go through the experience of life, we live through those times and those places, not to keep them, but to encounter them. And what more could we ask for than that? In the course of my ephemeral journey through twenty nine years of life, I feel that I have already lived through so many times in so many places, and looking back, I wouldn’t trade those times or places for any other moment in the world. And, as with our minds and our bodies, everything subsides over time. Eventually we must come to understand how all of these things, when strung together, form a lifetime. This realization is what I take with me- that the moments that make up our lives are just that, moments, and that our lives, together, summate to so much more than the all the pieces of all the moments put together.

Which brings me to Tame Impala and the last track of their set, right before Radiohead, titled ‘New Person, Same Mistakes.’ By the end of Radiohead’s set, this song was in the back of my mind… and I couldn’t help but smile.

​Also in Lisbon, I run into many of my friends from Porto, including a German dude name Adrian, another German dude named Nick, Sofie the Dane, and Matteo the American. We go to a beach in Cascais- during our visit to the beach, Adrian literally talks about cocaine the entire time. After the beach, Adrian, Nick, and I went to an all-day electronic music festival where Adrian continued to talk about cocaine. He also told me that there is a German song about cocaine that I should hear. I ask him to sing it for me in both English and in German. I made plans to visit Leipzeig and was on my way.

Sangria and Germans and 2PM!

Cascais

​The night I leave is the night of the Eurocup. The Eurocup is the soccer match that will determine the best team in Europe. The match is France vs Portugal. This is only the second time Portugal has ever been to the world cup. Now, for the semifinal match, I was in Portugal when their team won- everyone went crazy at the prospect of Portugal playing in the championship game. However, my train is scheduled to leave Portugal during half-time at the Eurocup. 

So, the story of my departure goes a little like this:

My train is scheduled to leave at 9:25PM (the ticket says to board at least two minutes prior to departure), the game is scheduled to start at 8:00PM. I ask the hostel to do my laundry at 12 noon (this is a pay service that hostels offer). I give the hostel my laundry at 12 noon assuming that my clothes will be clean by 7PM. That’s seven hours to do one load of laundry. I leave at noon to see my friends for lunch and go to the electronic music festival. I return at 7:00PM to discover that my clothes are still in the dryer. “No big deal,” I think, “I still have two hours.” Eight o’clock comes around- surely my clothes are dry by now. “No,” I am told, “my clothes are not dry and it is impossible to open the dryer before the cycle is over.” The time is 8:30PM, the game is nearly at half time:

“Can I get my clothes out now; it’s ok if they are still a little damp?”
“I told you it’s impossible- your clothes have only thirty minutes left, do not worry, you will not miss the train. The Metro to the train, it’s only three stops and one of them, it probably is closed”
[“I’m gonna miss this fucking train, I’m gonna miss this fucking train! I gave you my clothes over nine hours early and you still fucked it up! I’m gonna miss this train!”] “Ok,” I sigh.
9:00PM now. He brings me a bag of wet clothes.
“We didn’t have enough time. Maybe another 45 minutes and we would have been ok. It’s my fault, I used the wrong cycle. No charge.”
I don’t even take the time to respond with anything meaningful. “Yeap” or “ok” or “fine” I said- “Fuck you!” I thought. I crammed the plastic bag full of wet clothes into my bag and call an Uber before I even get to the elevator.
9:03PM: I get to the road. Uber is five minutes away. Shit!
9:04PM: Uber is one minute away. Early! Woot!
9:05PM: Uber is six minutes away? ???
9:09PM: Uber arrives. “Let me help you with your bags.”
9:09:10PM: “No really, get in and drive- we have to go now!”
9:10PM: We’re driving. “How’s the temperature?” I’m biting my knuckles- this is not a nervous tick I have, but right now I’m doing it. “It’s fine, just go.”
9:12PM: Red light. GPS estimates ten minutes until destination. Oh god.
9:13PM: Red light. Fuck!
9:14PM: Red light. Goddamn really?!?! No one is on the road! The game is on!
9:16PM: Looks like we’re there! No, that’s a different train station.
9:18PM: My eyes are now closed. I literally can’t look. I’m missing this train right now- this is happening. My clothes aren’t even dry! They’re festering, molding in the bag. I’m gonna have to wash them again!
9:20PM: Holy mother of god! Where is the train stop already?
9:21PM: I have now accepted that I’m not going to make the train.
9:22PM: We’re at the station! I strap on by 20 kilo bag. “Obrigado. Bye.” I am literally running now, full speed, with my front and back bags. The sound of multivitamins rattles in my luggage. The picture on the sign is flashing “Madrid – Linea 3.” Flashing means departure is imminent. Line three is directly in front of me. The train is still. I’m running. I’m touching the train. All of the steps to get into the doors are up. I frantically pull at the handle for the first door I find. It won’t open. Shit! I’m right here, come on! I try the next door. Struggle with the handle. It opens! I jump in.
I get on to car number 25, my car is 22, only 3 cars away. I start walking to my car to find my room. The train starts to roll. I make it to my room and lay my soaking wet clothes out all over the room- using every hanger available in a room for four people.

​That is how I made the train to Madrid with twenty seconds to spare.

​Portugal won the Eurocup in the first round of overtime after a scoreless game. 

Man ignites a celebratory smoke grenade after Portugal scores.

Me almost killed by a conquistador at Castelo De St. Jorge

Praça do Comércio during the semi-final Eurocup game. Standing room only.

In 1147, Castelo De St. Jorge became the place for Portugal's royalty when Dom Afonso Henriques conquered Lisbon by defeating the Moors.

The view from the castelo.

Typical Lisboa trolly

Typical Lisboa street

Mercado da Ribeira (Time Out Market) contains about 30 different restaurants and a beer garden.

Getting off the train I barely made to Spain.

Now I present: Creepy (mostly) Mannequins of Portugal!!!  [For no other reason than that creepy mannequins make me chuckle.]