(Written from Vietnam three months later, monsoon rains abided but still glued to this internet chair)
AMSTERDAM
The usual hazards of cows and Punjabi laden jeeps have turned into trams and bicycles, all of which are operating on the wrong side of the road. I stay with Saskia and her mother in the nearby village of Aalsmeer and within hours of arriving am cruising the canals on her friend's boat and drinking local beer. I first met Saskia whilst busking in Budapest five years ago - she approached me and we ended up playing together before I moved to her much nicer guesthouse and we hung out for a few days, so it's great to see her again, and especially being a traveller herself, she knows what it's like to readjust to a place. Quite simply, I am loving the clean! And little things like there always being toilet paper in the bathroom, and an abundance of fresh salad vegetables that I don't have to worry about bacteria hiding in.
I turn 32 on the 4th and after a typically Dutch breakfast of bread, cheese and Fruchtenhail (sugary fruit hail), head into the capital to do a spot of busking. But things have changed since I last played here five years ago (yes, it has been five years since I went anywhere in Europe. Once in New Zealand, it's hard to leave the pond, being so far away...) and it seems that busking is not allowed now! Someone tells me this whilst throwing me two euros during my first song ('Angel From Montgomery' by John Prine) and I thank him but decide to play the innocent tourist card if caught.
Which I am, the following day, by two kindly horsedrawn policewomen, damnit. Oh well. I take the train to Utrecht to catch up with Annemiek and play for half an hour in the busy streets there. The busking, my living for the moment, seems to be going pretty well when the police don't catch me, te he! Although it's probably fine to do in Utrecht.. no-one bothers me anyway...
GERMANY
Visiting Doro's family in Hildesheim is always a treat - they are lovely and their house is simply amazing. We walk the sausage dog ("Daschund!" as Helgard would say, thinking Paula would be horrifed to hear herself described so) around the rivers and parks before heading to Bavaria the following day on a family holiday.
Bavaria is all onion-headed churches and Jesuses on the cross to the untrained eye. Once I stay there a few days I get to know the Bavarian reservation and seeming unfriendliness - just another culture, probably the furthest possible one from India... but the landscapes are beautiful, and we stay in a family farmhouse close to a gorgeous swimmable lake and unwind as much as possible (unwind from the holiday?? Now there's a thought..) Every day around 3 pm we go for a family walk or drive and always find a place to eat cake and iced chocolate in - I protest at first, but when in Germany... ; ) Doro's folks don't want us to leave when we do, bound for three weeks in Slovenia / Croatia / Italia, but although the Bavarian nature is beautiful, we're excited for the unknown...
LJUBLJANA, AGAIN
... which begins in my favourite capital city in the world! I discovered this place five years back and fell in love with it, returning twice before I left Europe for good. Thankfully it is just as cool this time around. Amazing cafes, the Ljubljanska river, super chilled vibe.. we visit Metelkova Mesto on our first night, the famous squat-turned-fully functioning artist's community and get drunk on some very bad red wine as well as a bottle of Malibu that some Belgian dudes returned from a climbing holiday have in their bag. Who'd guess we were both professional teachers in our thirties??!! Not a soul...
The busking in Ljubljana is difficult at first, due to the fact that there are so many others out there on the streets, but I do have an amazing solo busk one day where I play to the prime minister of Slovenia! I had just met Josip, a very Paulo Coelho looking fellow who I'd been talking to in between songs about life and the spiritual journey (NO rolling of the eyes please!) when a bit of a procession rocks up to where I'm playing, right by one of the famous bridges over the Ljubljanska. Josip's eyes widen and he tells me to play something special for the prime minister, but although I play 'Waiting on an Angel' by Ben Harper I don't think anyone cares too much: all of his cronies are too busy taking photos and protecting him from harm, as if any would come to him in this peaceful wee country?!?! Who knows though... anyway, it's still an absolute pleasure to play for him and the general public, and I do pretty well from it before I leave to meet the grumpy Doro who is fed up of drinking coffee by herself... we are planning to busk together but haven't quite got it sorted yet...
That night we are walking home when yet another Belgian couple approaches, telling me they'd seen me singing today and could they buy us both a drink? I accept and end up having an amazing night with them and some locals, and even do an impromptu gig in the graffitti laden outdoor bar, borrowing a beautiful nylon strung number to do so. Three Irish girls are there too and it's one of those great traveller moments where everyone becomes instant friends - all of the three Irish girls are wearing green tee-shirts funnily enough, as is the Belgian girl whose fiancee has just proposed to me as well. Hilarious... they are staying in the same hostel as us so walk me home to creep into a darkened dorm with a sleeping Doro inside...
CROATIA - KORCULA AND DUBROVNIK
Croatia is stunningly beautiful, and on the island of Korcula we meet an Italian couple who lead us to an incredible double room with a balcony, not a stone's throw from the beach opposite, in a house owned by a local woman who speaks only Croatian and Italian. We manage to communicate however, and end up staying there three days because of this room as well as the fact that busking here is a hit...
I go out by myself at first and have a great night, meeting a bunch of Polish teenagers on holiday, one of whom plays 'Nothing Else Matters' for me to sing along to. It's a great moment... and the following night, Doro and I go out together after a quick harmony practise on the balcony. It's actually really amazing to play street music with another person - we work out some mean harmonies and get a great response from the crowd especially when we do our angelic Nirvana impressions, singing 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' and 'Lithium' in perfect harmony. Korcula is good for us; busking wise things just get better and better and by the third night we're raking in the kuna and drawing good audiences too (we always make sure we find a place where people can sit down and watch). I guess this is why Dubrovnik comes as such a disappointment...
Sure, it is a beautiful city but, writing this two months later, I don't have many good memories of this place. It's money hungry and we can feel dollar signs in people's eyes. The beaches are filled with 'beautiful people', and although the water is clear and sparkling, I don't really rate it as a city. It's too soulless, and has no time or space for such scruffy looking buskers (sorry Doro, I'm speaking for myself here). It seems that playing on the street is near impossible - we have one good night on a bridge leading into the old town at night, but mostly people walk past us, blinded by the beauty of the white marbled city (yes, it is a stunner of a place, aesthetically at least). Relief comes when, after our first failed musical mission, we go to commiserate with a glass of wine at a bar we passed earlier, and end up being persuaded to play for a free bottle by a table of locals who'd seen us earlier. It's an amazing place - Du'Vino wine bar, run by an Australian who knows his stuff when it comes to wine. In fact, it's the best drop I've had in ages, and we return every night that we're there, doing two impromptu gigs there to an audience that gives a damn. It's a redemption of sorts, and I'm very grateful to meet both Sasha the owner and Kruno, a local street musician that actually makes a living off busking and selling CDs - he dresses up like a villager (?? a Village person?? Ha he'd be horrified to hear that...) and is amplified, as well as being sponsored by the Council to be there and he deserves it - he's got a great thing going on.
ITALIA
During the 8 hour ferry from Dubrovnik to Bari in the south of Italy, it strikes me that we have arrived in a new country before we even seen the land. Families are clustered together singing loud songs and speaking fervently to one another in a language very different from the Slavic tongues I have become used to. My travelling companion and I have a huge argument on the boat and to be honest, it's the first time I can argue with someone while all the while knowing it will be allright - I have known Doro for ten years and she is more like a sister. Anyway, we each stare at the sea and grump away to ourselves, and eventually it passes and we get off the boat to a new land.
Bari is a sweet town, hot and cheap and friendly. We spend an evening and morning there before taking a train to Rome, and spend it eating gelato, ravioli, and hiding from the heat...
Rome is a trip. I'm too hot and bothered to properly enjoy it, and our hostel is the worst I've ever stayed in - broken air-con, outside noise,and inside noise from three drunken Spaniards who arrive at 3 am and proceed to giggle to each other whilst opening and closing every plastic bag they own. So, in our only full day in the city we spend much of it resting in the shade, avoiding the heat of the crowds and I don't actually end up seeing many 'sights' as such. I'm cool with this though. We busk once and it goes okay... someone who I'm assuming must have been a Kiwi hears our medley of Pokarekare Ana / Te Aroha and gives us a tenner. Sweet! And we meet a troupe of Spaniards all dressed up to the nines and wielding about 6 guitars between them. They're a university band from home who are going around the restaurants playing for customers and passing a hat around - this is where the money is, but both of us are too chicken to follow suit. Instead we make enough money to pay for our gelato habit and take the bus home, a bus which seems to be free, at least no-one ever asks us for tickets all the times we ride it and we never enquire. Oh well...
We train on to Siena, an incredibly beautiful town which is a sight for tired Roman eyes. We LOVE it! Although, sick of noisy hostels (our age is hitting us, and it is a good thing) we have booked a B&B that although gorgeous, is run by some helluva temperamental Italian women, all 'Ciao!' and smiles one minute before rapping on our door in the morning barking at us to get up for breakfast! Hilarious really, although we don't think so at the time... Thankfully they are only there in the mornings, so we are left mostly in peace.
The busking is great in Siena, and we play for hours, three nights in a row, until the police drive slowly past and give us the old finger wag before pointing at their watch to signal that it's after 11. Great times... Siena is so beautiful, all rustic stone and old temples. We discover an ancient chapel one day dedicated to Saint Catherine, a local saint who had her first sacred vision at 6 years old, in 1353. I sit alone on a wooden pew there, breathing in the ancient wooden-ness while a black nun in brilliant blue prays silently nearby. We differ in our religions but have the same god heart, and it's so, so beautiful. We are surrounded by friezes depicting life back then, and in the pictures I see local women tugging at each others skirts and whispering behind each others palms and can almost feel the petty quarrels they would have had back then, so similar to the ones we all have in our human lives now, and I feel that not much has changed really. Despite all of our technological advances, unless we really go inside ourselves, we can't really expect to evolve much on a human level. Wars are still going on, history is repeating itself. But I for one choose consciousness over disillusionment, so don't get down about it - I draw my hands together in prayer position, giving thanks to whatever god led us here today.
Verona, Verona, home of Romeo and Juliet and a whole lot of beautiful buildings. Being two months later, this depiction is all far too brief and I feel I haven't yet done the beauty of Italy justice. Verona for me was the ultimate in crumbling beauty. My jaw was constantly dropping at every crumbling Veronese frieze and we played music outside the 'House of Juliet', historically where the Capulet family actually did live in times gone by, and now probably the biggest tourist hotspot, where thousands came every day to pose on 'Juliet's balcony', to get their photo taken with a gold statue of Venus (I think?) and to declare their love for someone on the graffitti wall, covered in grotesque hearts and arrows in red and blue marker. On our final night playing music there, a man comes out from one of the touristic shops selling synthetic love hearts and shapely red balloons and gifts us an embroidered card (red, of course) reading 'Gracias'... particularly poignant as it was our last night together before going our separate ways in Venice the next evening, and it still lives in my guitar case now.
Yes... not 24 hours left together now, we train to Venice, our final stop before Doro flies home to Germany and I take the train up to Southern Austria to catch up with Bhak. We spend half a precious hour of our short day queuing up to stow our luggage in the train station for the day. It's damn expensive too, but I do a doubletake when the man who has just taken my pack returns, smiling and beckoning to me. I go with him to the back room, and can't quite work out what we means at first when he points towards a corner where moaning sounds are emanating. Then I realise they are actually coming from my pack! And I bend over laughing when I realise that somehow in the journey from my back to the back room, the portable tape recorder in my luggage has switched itself on, and my old Hindustani singing lessons are replaying themselves and there is NOTHING devotional about the way they sound! I can't quite feel the sacredness of the 'Om' right now, and I share a laugh with the porter before delving into my stuffed pack to rectify the situation.
Yeah, we see Venice on this day, and it's as beautiful as I imagined, as well as super dooperly touristic and somewhat disillusioning in this sense. My best memories of Venice though are the three hour lunch we had together, two bottles of wine in the sun and our last big sisterly slurred conversation after a whole month together, and a rather tipsy boat ride back to the station to get our luggage and say our goodbyes. Quite simply it is an amazing last day, and we play together on the bridge to the busstop for old times sake, made about two euros (again from a Kiwi who heard our Maori songs)and waved goodbye.
Alone again for the first time in a month, I board the train to Villach, hoping that Bhak would be there to pick me up from the station at 1 a.m (he was) and what kind of magic was waiting for me in Austria...
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