Holy Smokes B.A.T.S.man!

There is a nightclub in the far recesses of the hotel called B.A.T.S. We haven't discovered why it is called this. Hubby says that is stands for Bar At The Shangri-La. I think it has something to do with the fact that this here area was called Batavia at one point. One of my husbands associates, Vincent - who by the way is French, came up with some other possible meanings which I will not publish here. There are fruit bats here, but of course you don't spell it fruit B.A.T.S. Enough speculating and on with the story.

Vincent is a young French fellow and he has told us many tails of B.A.T.S. after 10:00 at night. Being older and still adjusting to the time, if we make it to 9:00pm we feel pretty good about ourselves.

This week, Vincent moved from the hotel and in to a house. He got here a few weeks ahead of us and is further along in the process than we are. He insisted we come to B.A.T.S. for a "farewell hotel living" dinner and drinks on his last night. We agreed to meet at 7. For us more mature adults, we knew that time might give us an hour or two of still plausible brain function.

This was our first time going to the club. We wandered around and wound down stairs and noticed the walls were beginning to turn black. No, I wasn't loosing consciousness, it is the decor. I have my suspicions we are entering B.A.T.S.man's batcave. Security check before entering. Guess lots of outsiders come here to party. No frisking by a Russian woman here, just hand scanners waved over you and your possessions.

The place is pretty funky looking. Very hip with brick work, murals of various people that I feel like I should know since they were important enough to paint on the walls. Heck, they even had first names written under their pictures. Not sure if this is a function of my age or no frame of reference on this side of the planet as to why they are unrecognizable. There is a stage and a band is setting up. There is a bar area off to the side. That is the smoking area; kinda, sorta.

I cute little girl with her hair in a pony tail and black combat boots on her feet, that are about a size too big, hands us large metal menus. They weigh several pounds. Trendy and hip, but not overly practical. Lots of American style food. We actually took a break from sushi and Asian dishes and ordered a hamburger. I like my meat medium-rare. Hot pink is a good color. The waiter, who I don't think had on combat boots, asked if having my burger cooked well done was OK. I inquired if medium-rare was a possibility. Yes, he said....BUT I would need to sign a waiver, put in my room number, give them my passport information and swear that if I became deathly ill or developed mad cow disease I wouldn't hold them responsible. OK, well-done it is.

The band starts to play. It is two guys with guitars and an Asian woman on vocals. Very soft rock stuff. After I listen for a bit to the selection of songs, it transports me back to high school. "Country Roads, take me home. To the place I belong. West Virginia......." I feel 99% certain they do not know where West Virginia is. "You make me feel brand new." Holy Smokes B.A.T.S.man! What decade are we in, what century for crying out loud. Finally, she sings something a little more current. Sarah McLachlan "In The Arms of an Angel." One tiny little problem. It comes out sounding like "You're in the arms of an ANGLE; may you find some comfort here." Would that be obtuse or acute? As I mentioned in a previous post that space-time continuum is working me over. This is not helping. In all fairness I would hate to think what I would sound like trying to sing something in their native tongue. Not only would I slaughter the lyrics, but my musicality is limited. They are at +2. I am at 0.

As we sit and chat with Vincent, I can't figure out how this bar could work it up to "racy" based on old 70's tunes. However, if I could stay up past my bedtime I am reassured that I would be treated to a heavily tattooed New Zealand band with loud music and lots of gyrating bodies (many of which are for hire). No wonder none of us from the 70's can dance. We had John Denver walking us on a country road in West Virginia.

He tells us the band is good, but you have to be prepared for lots of inquisitive hands checking you out as you walk across the room. Who needs security when you have this kind of crowd?

About 8:30 we leave the B.A.T.S.cave and head for bed. Maybe we can check it out before we leave the hotel. I am not sure I am hip enough to participate in a B.A.T.S. after 10 experience. If I have to pass some kind of test to decode who those people are that are painted on the walls, I will remain in the 70's forever.