My fairytale like childhood memories …
I grew up (partly) on a mountain street called Nebozizek, right bellow Hotel Imperial. My neighbour friends and I (me with the boys) used to climb up the steep mountain side from down our street and all the way up to this hotel, where we would arrive right into the front park of it.
There were these great huge bushy looking things, which may have actually been trees rather. But we used to crawl into them and hide underneath them. They were roundish and hollow underneath, eaxactly like the classic iglo.
Prescious childhood memories.
And after this historical painting, something malancholic so beautifully old. Here something new! …also from Hotel Imperial … Vaclavik Design, portfolio; slippers/FlipFlopDESIGN
And here some Google-Earth shots from my house etc.
But here, we go up the road, instead of down, and see a bit of the way from there to my kindergarten …
Many stunnigly beautiful old hotels exist here, in my old wondefully beautiful childhood town Karlovy Vary (internationally known as Carls Bad).
Grandhotel Ambassador is another very old beautiful hotel building.
And another story to tell, is a memory of when I was just 4 years old, while my father was having the regular gig with his band in Grand Hotel Pup downtown.
AND HERE …
it was aparently in the late afternoon, as my father was setting up the stage for the evening, while waiters dressed in black and white, were running around setting the big round tables covered in white table cloths. They were putting silverware and wineglasses, and in the middle of it all, suddenly my father turned to me and said out loud; Oh by the way, you can sing for us in the meantime. I hear that you’re a big singer back in Denmark!?
He grabbed me under my arms, lifted me up and put me on the side of the stage. There I stood in a tiny panicking state, searching my empty-feeling mind for what I could possibly sing, when all I was used to singin was in Danish, and I had been experiencing how frustrated people would behave to me, whenever I was suddenly speaking Danish, unable to controll what language I was speaking until I was 6.
He started yelling at me in a angry or irritated tone of voice; So what’s wrong!? Sing! Sing! …and what not, untill I all stressed broke into tears. And as I realized all the waiters were audience to this, I felt ashamed and humiliated.
…yeah I remember. …unfortunately or furtunately, I don’t know!?
with my father.