Happily Humbled in Lugano, Day 2

I met up with Romanians briefly in the park by the lake this day, but they weren't as happy to see me this time, and rather tight lipped. Probably something to do with smaller earnings. The previous day they'd made 600 CHF together over the course of the days from 11h to 18h, but this day they'd made significantly less. 150 CHF per person seems plenty to me, as I was happy to take home a tenth of that. But I suppose it does go less far as they eat in restaurants and stay in a hotel. Switzerland is not cheap. At all.

I set out a touch earlier and busked before descending into town. On the way down I passed by the scruffy dog man from the day before, shirtlessly washing his car with a huge contented smile. He conversed very patiently with me and bid me good luck. Tips flowed immediately with a smashing debut of Jillian's repertoire suggestion: Ashokan Farewell (well, I just play the first few measures and then make stuff up). Two women tipped with small change in succession, greatly increasing the visual impact of the seed change and my confidence. I noticed today that I become nervous when people approach and tend to muck up the more difficult passages. The pressure of interaction with passersby (by eye contact, smile, voice) takes me out of my focus zone. Thus I don't people watch as much with violin as I did with guitar - so less anthropological fun, and less notes to take. I feel more like I'm working with the violin and less like a tourist.

One man passed with profuse apologies for his lack of change and kept turning about to say bravissimo. The vibe felt distinctly different today. None of my Chinese songs garnered much attention, nor did Ue Wo Muite Arukou, even though I played both twice (I rarely repeat anything within a single pitch, but felt confused). As yesterday I had more male tippers than female, which I assume has to do with my long hair and the fact that it often hides my face as I play. But the reaction on seeing my face isn't confusion or shock, though. Hm. Another five euro note from one of these male tippers, and a five CHF coin (yes, coin, Switzerland, wat) from an elderly man who stopped me to talk about music in excellent German English. One man carrying a large heavy table down the tunnel set it down by the bench to find some change to tip me with.

The Swiss seem so polite and kind. A group of boys stopped playing with their football as soon as they saw me in the tunnel, and one held it in the crook of his elbow until they passed, hushing their conversation until they descended the stairs beyond me. One tipper who took a photo asked "Posso?" before taking it, something that really never happens anywhere else. Of course I responded with "Prego!" At the end of my pitch an older Swiss German man who'd settled in Ticino spoke with me at great length about the importance and beauty of travel while young. He told me how "my people" in Taiwan and Thailand are better than the Swiss and how the world is divided into people who understand music and those who don't.
Interlude: Lugano is incredible. Couples of all colors and genders holding hands and seeming so very comfortable in their own bodies. Everyone fit and attractive and enjoying life to the very utmost.
My second pitch, however, felt plagued by all the wrong mood. I've no idea why, but I felt nervous and out of sorts the entire time. Most importantly, I wasn't having any fun. Not enough people out there, but that can't explain my nerves. Perhaps I felt pressured to equal the success of the first foray. Perhaps it was meeting Damian in the tunnel but this also makes little sense as he was being friendly and helpful. Perhaps I felt nervous about messing up in front of him. This certainly happens with Brent. Perhaps I went out with the wrong mindset: I wanted to recoup the money I spent on my sandwich and thus felt too focused on the money. Only a few tips, and all from men.

Luckily, I'd scheduled to meet a Thai couchsurfer downtown afterwards to watch England lose to France, and the confirmation that I could still converse in Thai brightened my mood right back up.



Earnings: 34,90CHF + 5,90€, 2.2 hours

Happily Humbled in Lugano, Day 1.5

Seeing as my last post was so very long, I decided to split this day into two posts. After that inspiring experience, I couldn't very well not busk on my own afterwards. So after a short draw of the beautiful lake, I walked up the hill to a lovely newspaper and street art covered tunnel to play for an hour.

I didn't feel nervous, really, and already felt so happy and fulfilled by my last busk that I really didn't care what reception I received, monetary or otherwise. My slow start didn't bother me, therefore, a I played about fifteen minutes or so (Wu Xia music to start) without a tip. As seems typical for my pitches, however, the arrival of one tip changed the vibe entirely - very curious how the starting seed change can drastically affect the likelihood of tipping. As mentioned earlier, this trip I have started almost every time with just one or two euros, rather than the smarter 5-10 that I did years before. I'm not really sure why, either.

At any rate, a man dressed in cream clothing with sunglasses, a dog, and a cellphone approached and stopped by the bench to my left. I stopped a he neared to allow him to speak, but when he sat down, I asked him "Posso?" and he responded "Vai, vai, prego" rather enthusiastically, implying he stopped so as to listen to me. I played the piece I had just practiced so such great acclaim earlier in the day: Horse Racing. Instantly, a tip from a man in a suit. When I finished, the dog owner, scruffy and friendly both, come to tip and compliment me. Obviously Chinese music is the way here. I continue with more erhu tunes and the tips flow. Another young man in a suit. A middle aged woman doubling back from platform stairs (my tunnel passes below the train station). A young woman. Anoher woman with a friend. An unfriendly stare from a crotchety old spinster.

People ready their tips on the approaching stairs from either side, with less afterthought tips than in Italy and more intentional, planned ones. Perhaps I'm reading into it, but it does seem to reflect the underlying cultures. The acoustics sound gorgeous and unforgiving, amplifying my mistakes so I can hear them lingering for some time after I err. When I depart from my Chinese repertoire the tips dry up, and the flow of passersby slows as well until I very generous and brightly smiling North African man hands me a five euro note on his way to the platform stairs. He dallied in the stairwell within sight to express his appreciation in signs miming violin playing alternating with his hand on his heart.

A thought to conclude. This busking trip feels very different. More of a honing, training process. Experimental and curious, rather than a means to an end. Last time I selected from a vast repertoire of 130 songs, constantly expanding it. This foray I've taken a small repertoire to refine.





Earnings: 9,20CHF + 6,00€, 1 hours

Happily Humbled in Lugano, Day 1

My Bwenty abandoned me after Val di Mello to go to Ravenna and Roma because he likes history and things. He also brought The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire with him to read. Wat. I went instead to Lugano, where I stayed with Damian, the most insufferably American person I have met while traveling. The days passed wonderfully and simply, much like my previous busking adventure. Sleeping in with writing and Internet in the morning, a small lunch, busking once in the afternoon and once in the evening, maybe drawing or walking about the city, a small dinner while watching the world cup, repeat.

My first day in Lugano gifted me with the most humbling and inspiring experience of my busking life. The most wonderful.  I felt so, so alive. I left Damian's place very late, intending to busk a bit and then watch the world cup. As I wandered town in search of a likely spot, I heard strains of music that sounded suspiciously good to be live, but too improvised and casual to be recorded. I followed my ears past the gloriously clean bus station (I love Switzerland. Everything works!) and emerged at a large intersection by the mall to see a fabulously talented quartet of young Romanians.

So, so, so, so good. Terrible buskers (too entitled/not gracious enough, too casual, too insular with attention directed at each other rather than at the passersby) but still doing relatively well by the sheer quality of their musicianship. Brent says that his math professor has things stacked for him as a left handed immigrant Russian Jew. These buskers were similarly blessed as Romanian men trained at Italian and Swiss conservatories. Three violinists of varying (excellent) abilities and specialties and one accordionist of little note.

I sat on a bench nearby with my violin case on the pavement in front of me, happy to scrap my plans to busk and listen. They noted me immediately, and one, slender in a black V neck tshirt and jeans, long hair in an elegant queue, beckoned me to come play with or for them with his eyes and then hands and words. This continued for some time while they weaved effortlessly between classical and baroque pieces, swapping off melody lines, adding embellishments, playing harmony. When all four began to beckon me over, I felt a bit ashamed of my shyness and relented.

I felt terribly nervous and didn't know what to do. I figured I'd just play countermelodies and improvise along with them, but I soon realized this wouldn't work. Their musical proficiency far outstripped mine, so what they expected of me (which was trivial for them) was beyond me. They didn't simply harmonize with each other, they played counterpoint lines and second violin parts and flashy runs that somehow locked perfectly in place. Really, it's difficult for me to describe their breezy excellence. 

After a short while, they decided to take a break, flabbergasting me by placing their violins directly on the street while they smoked or stretched. They asked me to play them something, so I played them Horse Racing, the only thing I really felt comfortable showing them. They knew within three notes that it was about a caballo. When I finished they asked me what conservatory I studied at and were quite confused when I tried to Italian that I studied art, and no music at all in uni. Such a compliment and such a privilege to have experts listen to me and critique me. Made me realize I definitely need to find a teacher when I go to Taiwan. 

Eduard, the guy with the long queue, asked to borrow my violin to try. After playing one note, he asked if I had Vision strings. Which I did. We both hate them, but I'd had to change to them, my spare set, to reduce squeaking fom my old strings. He kept playing and playing, falling in love with the sound, commenting on the dark beauty of it, how perfect it is for slow brooding pieces but how awful it is for bright lively things like Mozart. They asked me how much I paid for it and for my new bow. They approved of both numbers, saying I got a great deal. Eduard wanted o buy it off me for a bit more than I paid. He was rather insistent throughout the afternoon, and while part of me knew my violin deserved to be played by someone who really knows what he's doing with it, I selfishly kept it. We exchanged facebooks for in case I change my mind. So much affirmation this day. I played two of their violins, one being a Cremonese violin fato a mano for the main lead violinist.

This is already one of my longest posts. I learned so much in my hour and change with the Romanians. As the accordionist and one violinist took a break, they whizzed through the classical canon with me, Barber of Seville, Quattro Stagioni, Vivaldi Concerto in Am, the Bach double, Hungarian Dances, Meditation, etc. All pieces I'd played I the past but couldn't quite remember. One coached me through the corresponding chords with solfege, but my solfege comprehension is very slow. They asked if I'm used to sheet music, then explained that they do everything by ear. A couple weeks prior I came to the realization that I can't learn all the languages. This day I realized how weak my classical base is, and how badly I need to learn Mandarin.

Why the latter? At the end of the pitch, a group of Chinese approached and my new comrades hastened me to play the Caballo, or other typical Chinese songs. I did, and they stopped. I played through Horse Racing, and the young woman of the group asked if I was Chinese (in Chinese). after responding affirmatively, I played Er Quan, Butterfly Lovers, Mo Li Hua and she laughed, asking me if I thought I was an erhu.  We talked a bit while the Romanians packed their instruments, but quickly my Chinese began to show its limits, such that by the time she bid me farewell and invited me to come play with her and some Taiwanese students in a concert the following month, she was speaking in English. Turns out she's a Lugano conservatory trained music teacher herself. 

Code switching between two languages I don't know is hard.

During all this, the tips rained down. The most beautifully uplifting and humbling experience of my musical life, particularly necessary after Thailand. Here brilliant, hard working musicians who are leagues above my level are normal, humble, and easy to find, as opposed to non existent in Bangkok. I'm average and unremarkable in Switzerland, as I should be, with technique and talent to aspire to withinearl around me. I spent too long being the best in Thailand and thereby stagnated. I needed this.



Earnings: 0,00CHF, 0,00€, 1 hours

Yosemite is the Val di Mello of America

From Malè we headed another 120 kilometers west. Incredible progress, I know. Northern Italy is just too incredible. We ate at a superb restuarant run by the same family who ran our first night's hostel (a massive, clean, gorgeous hostel to ourselves) and proceeded to spend the next week bouldering and hiking. Faciliated by the ease of hitch hiking in Northern Italy.

It's been 6 years since I climbed on Granite. It's still, by far, the best rock for my style. Subtle weight shifts. An abundance of heel and toe hooks. No clear holds. Infinite beta possibilities. And apparently, despite getting extraordinarily fat in Italy, I can still climb rocks alright. Yay. Two gorgeous problems out of thousands that I must return to: Il Sogno di Tarzan and Aria Giovanni. Neither difficult, but absolutely gorgeous. Lot's of bunny problems for Brenty, too. I'm not being mean. These problems were marked with a bunny in the guide book. Yay. We camped at the beginning of a stunning valley reminiscent of Yosemite, minus the tourists and the summer heat. Waking up to trails of mist coiling around the bald granite faces which screamed "Climb me!" and hiking up to marvelous views.

There's all of one restaurant in the entire town of San Martino. It became a bit hilarious for both of us as we finished our days to ask each other "What would you like to eat at The Restaurant?" Courtesy of Cesare's friend Mario's friend Diego (who climbed OMG hard), we connected with THE bouldering God of Val di Mello: Simone Pedeferri. We borrowed his crashpads and guidebook. At the back of the book there is a table of the most difficult problems with the grades and first ascender. The list was almost all Simone, with an occasional Chris Sharma, or Daniel Wood. Wat. Yet so humble, so friendly, so enthusiastic. No ego at all and I didn't feel inadequate about my very mediocre climbing ability. Inspired, instead. For some moments, I considered adopting a similar lifestyle - raising a family in the midst of a climbing paradise, running a cafe for sustenance and doing art on the side. I need to find my SO, first, though, I suppose. And I'd like more than one restaurant.

Simone's wife Monica (for which their bar is named - where we watched Italy defeat England) loves the violin. I promised to play for her, and on our last day (after some bouldering, of course), I played through some of my repertoire for her, her children, and her mother. They'd never heard or seen a violin live before. Somewhat mindblowing to me, being Italians, but I suppose when you live in a small town all your life, that could happen. Still. They were absolutely enchanted. Amazed by the sheer volume of the thing (I always warn people it's fortissimo... Oh how much music has helped in learning Italian, by the way) and they never believe me (it's such a small box!). Asked me to play a Chinese song, then a classical song (Bach), then something Italian. I only remember the beginning of the Vitali Chaconne, so I played that and improved from there, figuring it wouldn't matter to them. It didn't.

When we finally needed to leave (auto stop!), both Simone and Monica wished we could stay longer, saying they could listen to me for hours more. I wish I could bring them to hear a truly good violinist.

Searching for Hot Malè in Italy

I really like Northern Italy. Likely this caused an inability to escape. When we finally managed to wrest ourselves away from Arco, we didn't really make it terribly far. We got to a place called Malè, about 80 kilometers away. So not really much of an escape. The idea was to hike to the Dolomites, but upon hearing that this recent winter was the worst in recent memory and therefore there was still a lot of snow on top of the mountains (causing one hiker to die...) we took our hosts' advice and headed up the Val di Rabbi instead. It ranked as one of Brent's favourite hikes, and he has walked up and down a lot of things. What made in particularly lovely was the no one. We left at 6.30 in the morning, thereby guaranteeing the mountain to ourselves. Only on the way down did we see anyone, and by then the rain had rolled in and we found a nice little restaurant with a gorgeous view. Italy really needs to be patched. It's pretty obvious to us how OP it is.

The following day we promptly did nothing. Well, we cooked both nights, but aside from that, truly nothing all day (board games, exercise, violin, etc). Glorious. By night time I decided it was time to busk, after an entire week busk free, and with the clouds finally cleared enough for non deathly humidity levels.

2,000 peole live in the entire comune of Malè. Over the course of the evening, I think I managed to see 10% of the population. About 0.5% of the population tipped me. I find this hilarious and endearing. And all friendly people. Even as I started, right as I began to set up, a jolly, very round middle aged man tipped me a 2 euro coin. Noticing me, shrugging, smiling, meeting my eyes, tipping. Later on he'd pass again with a friend, offering me pasta (Hai mangiato?) and then (Gia ho mangiato, grazie mille) tipping another two euro coin, with lovely large Italian hand gestures and that twinkling eye. Oh! I felt so nervous and wonderful the entire time. When the audience doesn't particularly care about me, it's easy to turn inwards and play for myself, the tips thereby incidental to my enjoyment and craft of my music. But when they want me to succeed, when they want to hear, then I yearn to produce, and thereby become so nervous. If only my violin sounded better! Due to the humidity, it sounded thin and quiet, none of the dark beauty that I bought it for. (I have since ammended this in Valencia, yesterday, for all the moneys).

Here are the tippers I remember.

A serious looking businessman, replete with pinstriped suit passing slowly on his white town bike circled round, tipped, and then telling me if I ever want to work, I can come play at his Hotel, giving me the Hotel's card. The highest compliment
A lovely woman with perfect English (perhaps she was German) sporting a neat, white shirt saying "Congratulations, you play very well!"
A blonde woman with an appreciative hand gesture.
A kind, young couple, man in hoodie, girl in shorts, tip and sit until I finish by the fountain to my left. You can hear me all throughout the square and thus throughout town.
A large rush of teenagers crowding around, confused and awed but shying quickly away without eye contact when I look up to smile at them while playing the Gm/Dm improv.
Three young children circling round and round the square on bikes, passing me each time for two or three songs until eventually they fetch their mothers, who help them tip. Such curious looks.
Even those that don't tip exchange some words with me, starting up in Italian rather than English, friendly an forgiving of my accent and awful grammar. It seems many passed on the way home from the square and tipped me on the return to the square for drinks (how beautiful the Italian lifestyle!). Each with a comment or a gesture, or a smile. One middle aged man stopping another (in fact everyone who tipped me aside from the children was of this age) and asking him to tip on his behalf, then discussing something about me that I didn't understand.

I felt appreciated, supported, encouraged. I wish busking always went this well.



















Earnings: 15,15€, 1 hour

Arco, non possiamo partire

Ploy told me I must go to Arco for the rocks. So we went. We found rocks. We also found the nicest, most perfect and most generous host ever, named Roberto. Roberto has many jobs. One of his "offices" is at the top of a 2300 meter mountain, as the chef of a refugio there. Another office is in the gorgeous lake of Garda, where he teaches sailing. Another is at his home - engineering work. He's a cartographer. He organizes tours to Iceland and Scotland... He leads a pretty magical existence. We didn't see him all that often as he'd wake up at 8 to work all day in the lake, then rush back to do some enginering, then off again for a meeting on his boat, then a party of some kind. We broke his washing machine and he tried to get away with having us not pay for it. But we did.

Arco proved impossible to leave. One day world class climbing, one day stupendous hiking, climbing, hiking, climbing... and it being Italy, we even had food to consume. Though admittedly nothing mindblowing. Arco could have been a perfect place to busk, I think, with the plethora of climber tourists (all Germans, because Germans) the beautiful walking street (there are about 5 streets in the town), and the gorgeous weather. Unfortunately I never got around to it, as we generally got back home past midnight after our outdoorsy activities and searches for sustenance.

Italians live so beautifully. So fully. Ever night for our week in Arco, there was a festival or celebration or concert of some kind. For a town of 10,000 or so. Many of these events involved music. A vegan festival with buskers, for instance, who played "occidental" music awfully and were getting all the tips - made me feel extroardinarily bitter about that part of busking - if a group of westerners appropriates ancient "world" music from the "east" into an awful mishmash of stereotyped sounds played extraordinarily badly, they get tips for being different, and cool, and authentic. If an easterner plays ancient western music (say Bach), well and tastefully, no one really cares. Yes, I am bitter. But even Brent said that I play way, way, way better than the trio droning away on some awful gypsy/persian/russian mix tune, or the Heng and Harp players (who plucked/banged at random), the jazz band that couldn't keep time, and nights later the pop group that couldn't sing in tune, in time, or even in words. Sometimes the world likes to remind you how stacked it is. How the privilege of being born an inoffensive colour pervades everything. It made me understand why I've never met a solo black traveler in all my years wandering. My stereotypes are positive, on the whole. How much would it suck to have to travel with suspicions and fear. Could a black person busk in Europe?

Another note, spurred by a night of youth music in Arco: isn't it fascinating how much money and resources we will happily invest into youth art and music? We will happily pay quite a lot of money for tickets to youth butchering classics. Then, at some arbitrary age when youth are no longer counted as youth, we stop the support. Seems a bit backward. We support the untrained music and not the true experts. I felt very happy to witness so many opportunities for musicians in Arco. I only wish some of these opportunities went to actual musicians.

In between the climbing, cycling, hiking, being terrified on via ferrata ing, drawing, and eating, I did find some opportunities to practice and perform. Another couchsurfer in Arco (who couldn't host us), Monica, comes from an extraordinarily musical family. We spent a lovely afternoon eating risotto with them and playing their various instruments and hearing them sing. That morning, Monica met us by the castle, where I played violin in front of one of the most gorgeous vistas of all time for the others who happened to wander up to. I first asked permission from the nearby food stall, which was granted very enthusiastically. I played most everything, even mucking around on the Chaconne and Ysaye Sonatas. The tourists nearby dallied until we left, applauding me after songs though I wasn't performing for them on purpose. More to practice and enjoy the wonderful place. Monica sang Stand By Me with me. Two women stayed nearby a long time, watching and listening. A large group of Germans enjoyed Ue Wo Muite Arukou. Many bravos from the few Italians who came up. All in all a very lovely unintentional money-free busking experience. Afterwards I did some cartwheels.















Earnings: 0€, 40 minutes

Loro Ciuffenna OP

Side note from Brenty:

When Terrence and I stayed in Montevarchi (staying with our friend Cesare, as he is one of the most hilarious peoples we have ever met), we went to a little town called Loro Ciuffenna. It was stupidly beautiful. There was a little stream running through a mini canyon in the pueblecito. There were miniature islands, trees (TWEES), beautiful rain clouds, other things, and Oxford commas. SOOOO PWETTTYYYY.

In other news, I asked Cesare and his friend how old the place was, and this was the conversation:

Cesare: Oh, I think it is pretty old. Like 12th-13th century.
Me: Wow.
Mario: actually, I think it might be older.
(Looks up on phone)
Mario: Yeah, looks Roman.
Me: Holy balls old.
Mario: Wait, never mind, Etruscan.
Me: Wat.

Soooooo yeah. A beautiful rittle town in Italy that is over 2000 years old. (at least according to Livy, which is mind blowing in itself). And not even a tourist attraction. Italy OP.

La Spezia with a Spanish accent

Brent and I have such vastly different styles of travelling that sometimes we collide hotly. On reaching La Spezia, I wished to busk and do things, while Brent wished to sit in the park and read. So we both did what we wanted to. My busking in general has been limited by an attempt to find a middle way for our journey. Brent likes nature with no people. I like cities. Brent likes to do nothing. I like to do all the things. Brent likes to see historical buildings. I like to see new buildings. Brent likes silence. I like conversation. Brent prefers to consult a map. I prefer to ask someone on the street.

The net result being that we spend most of our time doing that one thing we both do best. Eating.

I wandered around La Spezia a few minutes and happened upon a Kung Fu show, replete with cheesy Wong Fei Hung music on repeat. Seeing as I'd just added Wu Xia music to my repertoire, I took that as a sign and set up for a quick pitch on a street around the corner. In the forty five minutes on 28.8 before meeting our host, I played through most of my easier repertoire. Starting, of course, with the Wu Xia music and progressing without a break into the Silk Road theme and into Erhu classics. It occurred to me while I played to add a Miyazaki set. I still haven't yet done this. My very first tip came courtesy of a group of four ~9 year old boys on bikes. One of my most memorable tips. As they slowly approached, one told his friends to wait and they didn't, yet still stopped to fish for a Euro coin to give me. He narrated the giving of his coin as he bent down, and sported a lovely shocked expression when I responded in Italian. One of his friends circled back and upon seeing the exchange also tipped. Both shy, sweet, awkward and generally lovely.

Aside from this the pitch went rather uneventfully, having chosen a largely untraficked side-street (as I am prone to do). Bach went a bit better, and the Gm improvisation off of Vitali went superbly, both to a combined audience of around 6 passersby. A lady tipped during the Chinese amalgamation. People cast very confused looks as I played my Irish and Scottish sets. My only other tips came from a young girl who sprinted to and from me as sent by her family (strollers and the like braked for her return) and a young black man. One family watched me for about 20 minutes from about 50 meters down the alleyway during my vocal set without a tip.

Interesting note: no purse clutches, it seems, when I busk with the violin. As opposed to my last foray into busking years ago. A change in times or a change in instrument reception?

I think I'll write about the Cinque Terre here, briefly. This was when we decided that Italy was broken and needed to be patched. We wanted to hike between little Italian towns and eat food in each one. We only managed four of the five, thereby making our visit the Quattro Terre, but managed a success nonetheless. Cute brightly coloured towns perched above or surrounded by sheer sea cliffs, hugging the unlikely sites at the feet of steep hills. Lush green trees, dark brown rocks, deep blue water, bright red, cheery orange, aged yellow buildings, cobblestone streets, white sea foam and clouds. It's rather unfair, really. Italy = overpowered.



Earnings: 6,80€, 45 minutes

P.S. Post so named due to the way I pronounced La Spezia in Grosseto, leading to Francesco laughing at my Spanish accent when I speak Italian, particularly pronounced with words like La Spezia, which I voiced rather happily with a royal lisp.

Lerici we roll along

LERICI - you (or y'all) mayn't have heard of it, but it is a quite cute rittle Italian town near La Spezia. Quite cute. Its adowable!

Anyhoo, Terrence and I had arrived to La Spezia on the 25th of May. We ate our faces off, met our Couchsurfers, and went to their super nice home on a hill above Lerici. (They and their home were so nice, in fact, that we spent the next day doing nothing in their home :D. (They were the kind of people that have traveled the world, figured out what they want, and have gone and gotten it. Inspiring to say the least (more nested parentheses)))

The night of the 26th, we attempted to cook them food. Unfortunately the food (my half at least) was barely edible, and for this I am extremely sorry. :'(. Moop.

On the 27th we went to La Spezia but stopped for a while in Lerici first. In which (this is the part that I'm sure you've all been waiting for!) Terrence busked! Hooray!

Terrence found a cute* litte street (very puppy) upon which to play, and broke out his violin. After a bit, an old dude dropped some cash (money green) from a window above, and a woman from a fruit store donated a bit too. But then it started drizzling: Terrence frantically packed up his violin, and we went to go eat. We looked at the clouds and decided that it was probably going to rain for the rest of the day.

Food was the remainder of our fail dinner. Edible, but barely. Though the view made up for it. Italy being Italy. And beautiful.

Since we are awesome weathermen, the rain stopped in a half hour, and the sun appeared briefly. Thus we returned to the street. Terrence played more. I took pictures at his behest. (It was the best!) A puppy lady came out on to her doorstep to wait for a ride and kept us company for a while. Terrence improved in G-minor (or so he tells me) and money flowed like spice. The old puppy dude listened more. Twas quite preasant.

And then we took some buses (more than we should have, sadly) to La Spezia, and the rest of our extremely slow travels through North Italy.

-Brent.

* perhaps I'm using the word "cute" too much, but I cant help it. From now on, I'll use the word "puppy" instead.





























Earnings: 10,15€, 1.2 hours

Follonica Flow

Brent and I greeted the morning by hugging a lot. Then we emerged from our tent on the beach under the wooden hut and drew stuffed animals in the sand. I would post photographs of said occurrences, but that would require access to a computer with an SD card reader or a USB port, but in addition to being bereft of home internet, Europe also seems to be populated only by computers sporting floppy drives.

At any rate we managed to make it halfway to Follonica by catching a ride with the second car that appeared after we stuck out our thumbs. A great opportunity to practice speaking Italian with the German tourists in the car. Because Germans. Auto stop went very poorly after that. Also, I had to pee. It seems that Italians (and Germans because Germans) come in two varieties. Extraordinarily nice or extraordinarily mean. As our friend Cesare explained to us, Italy would be amazing if not for all the Italians. Anywho, we waited about two hours, across the street from a fruit stand that wouldn't let me use the bathroom. I needed to pee. Peeeeee. Waiting went something like this.

Audi
Audi
Mercedes Benz
Audi
Audi going at antisocial speeds
Some kind of convertible
Rich Germans in some other kind of expensive car but I don't know car brands so yea
Italians driving a produce truck pointing to communicate something we didn't understand. Audi
Shiny car
Jumping up and down because I had to pee.

We even had Eli and Zebra hitchhiking for us to no avail. Eventually a bus wandered by and happily it was flag down able.

I forgot to mention why we came to Follonica (and thus Grosseto) in the first place. The mother of my violin student in Bangkok once told me her favourite restaurant in the world happens to be in Italy. So we ate there. It was pretty tasty. Polpo and Risotto Nero and Pesce Carpone con verdure.

Now to the theoretical purpose of this blog post. I decided to busk while Brent internetted in the cafe during breaklunch the following day. I laid out my violin case a pace ahead of me, making sure to stay a bit clear of the dog poo to the left, while remaining under the awning that likely drew the dog there in the first place. Violins don't like sun. I started with two one euro coins for seed money. I've been starting each pitch with small amounts this way. Mostly so I don't have to subtract a lot to figure out how much I earned. Likely not the most scientific approach. As I rosined my bow, a man told his son to watch! He's preparing the violin! And I knew a lovely pitch would ensue.

I am, of course, clairvoyant. The abundance of children tilted public perception highly in my favour. Once again my rationale for beginning a career I children's music evinced sanity. I began with some Irish reels and noticed a fellow dancing in the cafe down the street. Almost all my tips came from families. A mother smiling at her chldren's enraptured expressions and pressing a coin into each of their hands then encourage them to come up shyly and drop said coins. They might miss the case, grin embarrased, and replace them intently with the focus that only children have. Or a family huddling around their stroller a few paces in front of me, discussing how many coins to give me. A little frightened boy with a kind father encouraging gently but insistently. Couples walking past and choosing coins in my always worn glasses non existent peripheral vision before doubling back with smiles.

A little girl in a black dress
A man with a salt and pepper beard and a bright orange shirt holding his hand to his heart with a little bow.
A couple dawdling across the way by the forest green shop front.

The Poland experiment unfortunately proved true once again- despite killing the Gm improvisation to such an extent that even Brent said he liked it, I received no tips for it and almost all my tips for Ue Wo Muite Arukou and my fledgling, nervous, slightly squeaky erhu set. I notice how introverted I become when playing violin, as opposed to my extroversion with guitar. Interesting how each instrument has its own character.



















Earnings: 12,20€, 50 minutes