Sustained by Surplus, Sun, and Songs in Stamsund, Part III

As such, I woke past noon (7.15.10). I'll concede the sun was a little stronger then: all the people I'd met the night before were relaxing out on the picnic table outside the hostel - one woman had taken the same trains all the way from Bergen and amusedly noted that I slept a lot. I partook of some free muesli, eggs and milk and against insistent warnings from those at the table - as my only shoes are Sanüks, rather tractionless and it had just rained - and went for a quick hike up the opposing mountain.

Looks small but it's five hundred meters!

There were some sketchy bits, especially on the way down, but that made it all the more amusing. Unfortunately the batteries for Ragnvald's camera died when I reached the summit and I'd forgotten to bring water... I returned, took out the rowboat for a lazy jaunt about the harbor (with odd memories of crew) and took a nap. Yea. More sleep. I woke to familiar voices, looked out the window and was rather surprised to see my train companions eating outside. We had quite the hilarious - "You!" - reunion outside and they shared their ample dinner with me. Seeing as I'd rested quite well, we stayed up rather "late" once again.

We took my guitar to the top of the rocky hillock behind the hostel and played for rather a while. Good practice for me to try songs on demand. Olivier is quite the Jack Johnson fan, so I began teaching him Better Together, and Miran was entranced by Hey Ya. The mosquitoes were a touch annoying, but the scenery and company made up for it.

Olivier and Zebra

The four.

Et moi.

Song of the Day: Better Together - Jack Johnson

Sustained by Surplus, Sun, and Songs in Stamsund, Part II

My plan on visiting the Lofoten Islands was simply to relax. Write some songs, maybe, polish covers, draw a little, write a little - but mostly to get the hell out of the city (because they all feel the bloody same after not so long) and just chill. I succeeded admirably. I hardly woke before noon (not like it mattered when the sun didn't set). I consider this the vacation portion of my journey. Why Stamsund, though? I'd met a German man in the Oslo Haraldsheim Hostel who told me I had to go there, as it was the best hostel he'd ever stayed at, and absolutely gorgeous. The ticket from Bergen wasn't horrific so I decided for it.

The German man was completely correct in his assessment. It's the best hostel. Ever. The whole thing is run by one man, who's been running it thirty years - his father was a fisherman and owned the place and the owner simply converted it into a Vandrerhjem. His name is Roar. Great name, eh? The strangest sense of humour - very acidic and sarcastic (he'd jibe that I wasn't behaving, or that people were complaining about me causing trouble) - incredibly laid back, the whole atmosphere of the hostel stems from him. It's something of a haven. Many travelers return again and again to the hostel - mostly Germans, some French. One man, Stefan, used to come and stay six weeks every summer. Another man comes every summer for many years.

These regulars create this wonderful ready-made community. The place feels warm (well one day it may have broken 20, but the rest were in the low teens...). There's a wood stove. A set of rowboats anyone can take out - to fish, to just row, whatever. Large dinners (usually by nationality). A shelf for leftover/free food. I lived off that shelf. For the six days I stayed at the hostel I spent 20 NOK - on a broccoli and some pølser. It was quite the well stocked shelf (though much less so when I left) - lots of rice, pasta, butter, onions, tinned vegetables, instant soups, tea, spices, the Scandinavian hard bread.

Now you'll be wondering where I got my protein. The night of my arrival proved prophetic for the rest of the days I spent. The bus dropped me off at the harbor, about a kilometer and a half from the hostel, and a couple that was headed there gave me a lift in their rental. We'd hardly set our things down - it was nearing midningt, met a couple of travelers from Australia and England when someone alerted us that there was a boy outside wondering if we wanted some fish. Free. None of us knew what to do with it, but the boy - around 14 - showed us it was already cleaned and gutted and told us how best to cook it. He even chopped it into manageable portions. There was enough fish, easily, for the five of us.

I'd been basically starving myself (rationing the sandwiches I'd prepared in Bergen) so I jumped on the rice, cooked some onions and garlic and happily ate alongside. It was excellent. We cooked outside as Roar told us the smell would be annoying to the sleepers and around one in the morning we ate our free feast. The sun didn't set of course, so it felt like a normal, if quiet, six in the evening meal.

Just behind the hostel around one am.

Stefan arrived the following day and he always caught more than fish than he could possibly consume himself. At night he'd even fry up the extra fish for the rest of the guests and give it away before making the portion for his own family. So that was my protein :). And seeing as I'd slept so much over my forty odd hours of traveling, I stayed up far past anyone else - I figured, hey, it's all the same, why sleep when the clock reads some arbitrary number, eh?

Just before sleep.

Sustained by Surplus, Sun, and Songs in Stamsund, Part I

The morning I left Bergen (7.13.10), it was pouring. I stayed up the whole night getting things in order, writing some posts, watching Stardust and I managed to pack a couple of sandwiches and some crackers. The bus was to stop outside at 7:10, so I planned to head out to be at the stop at 7:05. I was set to reach the stop with time to spare but just as I was walking up to the shelter, the bus sped by. Ragnvald had told me earlier that if I missed this one I was screwed - it was the only one that would ensure I made my 7:55 train. I tried hitching - and was patently ignored - but happily, once I'd given up around 7:25, I saw an old lady emerge and sit at the next bus stop (where I'd wandered to by then). A minute or so later a young man and then a young lady joined us and I calmed down. I ended up having to do a quick transfer but I made it with time to spare.

Having seen the trainride to Oslo on the way to Bergen, I took the six hours to sleep. I figured I'd see nothing anyways as it was raining quite drearily. I sent some letters off in Oslo and then jumped onto the train to Trondheim. Again I slept for over half the journey, though I'd intended to stay awake: rain and grey days do something to me such that I lose all my energy. What I was awake to witness was largely the same: lakes and mountains in the distance that would have been epic, I'm sure, if I could have seen then through the mist.

I had an hour in Trondheim and I wandered a bit before bringing out my guitar to while away the time. A set of girls and guys stopped and listened while I played and invited me to join their cabin later as they were also traveling to Bodø. After checking with the controller, I joined them.

We'd found quite a nice, unoccupied cabin for ourselves and set about with a speaker set, some food, etc. I took out my guitar and we sang Save Tonight: an appropriate song in retrospect, because as soon as I finished the controller came by and insisted we move to Car No. 5. This was to become a theme. Everyone in Car 5 was asleep (and smelling horribly) and it would of course be impossible to sit and chat there - so we returned to the cabin, having moved our things to the other car in hopes that it would placate the controller. It didn't. He ushered us out, angrily, so we wandered the train until we found refuge at the very rear of the car, in one of those inbetween sections by the exit doors. Sandwiches were made, alchohol passed around (I did not partake due to my absurdly low tolerance), conversation flowed, and the tension abated.

Until the controller found us, by this time extremely irate. This time, though, I think I discovered the reason for his frustration. He simply repeated Car No. 5 over and over again, offering us no alternative or listening to our explanations, and it occured to me perhaps his English wasn't so good. Here a side note: The girls came from Zürich and the guys from Paris, but despite having French as a common language spoke English among themselves and German/French in pairs. This suited me fine :). We had nowhere to go so we remained - the others even having the audacity to go to another between car space and smoke.

The controller returned again and threatened to throw us off the train at the next stop. He started to pull at Olivier and Miran's arms and looked absolutely flustered. I'd just emerged from the bathroom and somehow I managed to take the controller aside (the conversation had reached nearly shouting levels, comical really, with the controller screaming "I am the chief" and Miran telling him - half amused and half annoyed - that he wasn't the chief of us, of our persons). I spoke very calmly and slowly to him, explaining and repeating myself multiple times to make sure he understood, and asked if we could situate ourselves between a different set of cars. He brightened instantly, I'm supposing all the quick exchanges had simply made him feel like the situation was spiraling out of his control, and acquiesced. He even made it seem like it was his idea.

At this point (around four in the morning) we sat between Car 5 and 6, barely fitting all of us in the tiny space and played what seems to be an international card game: Asshole. Every time someone needed to go to the loo we had to stand up as a body - Miran was amused by this and acted like an usher of sorts, motioning with his hands and bowing towards the goer. I got sleepy all of a sudden shortly after and woke in grey and rainy Bodø. We parted ways here: I headed to the library and in the afternoon to the ferry.

Mercifully, the ferry crossing was greeted by significantly brighter weather. I was well north of the Arctic circle at this point and after a two hour nap (yes, a lot of sleep: I'd spent half of the past 36 hours of traveling asleep) enjoyed the jagged spikes of the Lofoten slowly gaining detail before us. They're an unfathomable lot, those islands, mountains growing directly out of the sea, jagged as the tops of the rockies but covered in green, with beautiful harbors and tiny fishing villiages strewn all about. Due to the rain the ferry was a couple hours behind schedule and thus skipped my stop, Stamsund, but this was a happy accident. I got a free bus ride from Svolvær from it. I've never wanted to try big wall or alpine as much as on that short ride, and though I knew every millimeter of those peaks had probably been traversed (a roadside boulder we passed even had chalk on the holds), they still gave off this aura of mystery and explorability. A magnificent ride.

The light phenomena I've only seen in Norway

Lofoten Looming

Song of the Day: Save Tonight - Eagle Eye Cherry

Edane Update

I updated the blog with three posts on my time in Edane Sweden, which happened in the middle of my time in Oslo. http://fromdawntobusk.blogspot.com/2010/07/edane-interlude-part-i.html Don't read part II if you're related to me.
cheers,
t

What, I write songs too? Part I

Exciting news! After much, much struggling here at the Copenhagen Royal Library, I've figured out how to remotely host sound files! So check back through the older posts.

I've uploaded:

I'm Yours
Sunday Morning
To Be Alone With You
Gotta Have You
Fly Me to the Moon
Here Comes the Sun
Hey Ya
Relax, Take it Easy
Your Song
The Boxer
Ue Wo Muite Arukou

Please excuse the sound quality and the occasional offness of my voice and guitar (and the up and down tempo...) these are all done in single takes when I had a chance... and you'd be surprised how much more difficult it is to sing to a recorder.

So in the spirit of this blog I'm also uploading the first song I ever wrote, almost exactly a year ago. I'll be uploading the other ones as I record them. Have pity on this one, too. It was the first, after all, hm? Lyrics below, link here.

Now with You

I'd wondered if my loneliness,
Was fate as much as choice.
Then I found you, and hope returned,
With the crystal of your voice.

I want to keep this rush alive,
But it comes and goes so fast.
When I'm with you, it takes me whole,
So I'll revel in it while it lasts.

CHORUS
I know that things might be complex,
But I'm willing to see them through.
We can talk forever about whenever,
But I just want now with you.

We could cook a meal, go out to eat,
Or sit and chat with tea.
If we see the movies or the stars,
It's the same if you're with me.

CHORUS

If I could write a simple song,
I'd write it sweet and true.
And save it for a lazy day,
Just to sing to you.

Cheers!
t

A Handsome Bergen for a Busker, Day 5

I've been living in a very Blanche Dubois style: off the kindness of strangers. In Oslo I depended on Bengt and Tone's kindness - they even gave me sheets and a new journal before I left. Bergen has been no different. I had an excellent second pitch and perhaps should have remained for the cashflow, but my spontaneity netted me a watch. And Ragnvald insisted on bequeathing me his spare camera, as mine had given up long ago and he thought it quite a travesty to travel the world without a camera.

Let's start with the first pitch of the day (7.12.10). Total fail. I didn't get out till the afternoon as I missed two busses in a row (typing up blog posts) and by the time I reached the magical tunnel I found it taken. The man spoke only Romanian but I was able to communicate haltingly with Spanish. He was not a very amiable man. I arrived at around 1400 and he indicated he'd remain until 1800. When I told him he needed 1. a permit to play and 2. had to move on after an hour, by law, he just shrugged as if to say, sucks to be you. To top it all off, he was absolutely terrible. I passed by a few times because I used the tunnel to get to the bookstore within Bergen Stor Sentral, and everytime he was playing a particularly lousy rendition of the Chicken Dance. Everything in his demeanor and playing felt lazy and impositional. Pissed me off and I didnt quite recover till much later.

As such I was forced to the Marken pitch, which hadnt looked promising. I played for only twenty minutes before moving on: I got only two real tips - one from an young Asian (Californian from the style) couple and one from a mother with a insistent child. I returned at 1750 to find the Romanian gone and a young Didgeridoo player in his place. This guy was much friendlier and happily gave up his spot after five minutes. I recommended him a few spots and we had a good chat. He played well, with a strange style that included whooping shrieks he made during his circular breathing.

It was a particularly cold pitch, with the outside temperature dipping into single digits (I'd guess) and a healthy breeze blowing through the tunnel. I fidgetted a lot to stay warm. There was an odd vibe such that every time someone tipped me today, I was ending a song. This came to a head when I was finishing up Country Roads. A pair of friends was passing at that moment and the girl remarked caustically to the guy "It's just 'Take me home' over and over." I finished when they were dead ahead of me and told them that no, it wasn't, but they happened to pass at the very end. I think they were surprised I heard and responded (a live busker!) and stopped, suspiciously defending themselves with "Well that's what we heard, we're listening now." I decided to go one further and offered that they choose a song from my list - and here is where the interaction became suddenly warm.

"Sunday Morning! Oh my God he know's Sunday Morning. We kind of have to tip him if he's singing us Sunday Morning!" Then I sang them Flume. Then Here Comes the Sun. They wished me the best of luck and told me my list was brilliant but sorely missing: Bright Eyes, Neutral Milk Hotel, Dresden Dolls. (You can get a picture of their taste, here, rather similar to Ben's or Darell's - hi!) A little later the young man who'd passed me many times before came by once again, and this time happily tipped me. Then the same girl who'd passed before - blushing a little less and smiling a little more. Even Hotel California went over well with a stodgy looking couple.

I was interrupted after about forty minutes by the return of the girl who'd requested Sunday Morning. She invited me to a nearby bar to have some free wine with her and some friends - noting that I looked like I could use some warmth - and I acquiesced. I was freezing. I ended up staying for the better part of three hours. It was a fun bunch and very entertaining for me, though I was, of course, a bit taciturn. Mostly I enjoyed listening to the philosophies and beliefs and bohemian-ness they were espousing, and on asking their age finding out they were all younger than me.

I found it a very strange experience - like listening to bits of my past selves just talk without restraint about how age doesn't mean anything, or how taking photos of graffiti kills the beauty of its transience (they were all artists), or how they believe in free love, or in the telling of tales of squatting and destitution, or in the proclamation that Denmark is the Scandinavian country with the best future because there's a revolution there! The two girls, chiefly, went at it for most the time and I felt warm and happy just observing. Near the end, one of the guys gave me his watch (as I had asked the time and admitted I had no way to tell it). I felt strangely (and probably falsely) knowing or mature when I left, sort of that infuriating "you're so young but you'll see" that I used to get so often. I quenched it as best I could but when I returned to Ragnvald's I couldn't myself from a short rant. That night I stayed up typing more blog posts and rewatching Stardust.

Earnings: 189 NOK + a watch + a camera, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Sunday Morning - Velvet Underground

A Handsome Bergen for a Busker, Day 4

It will be hard to top today's pitch. The money wasn't so good (perhaps because it was a Sunday? I don't know), but today (7.11.10), unlike any other day, I had an audience. And what an audience. Lina, Ranveig and Frances decided to walk with me to the wonderful tunnel and upon arriving decided they'd stay a bit. It's a comfy space, after all å) <-Norwegian winking face. They ended up staying the whole time (except Lina, who had to leave for work two songs before I wanted a rest).

Now I have no idea how having an audience helps or hurts tippage: on the one hand it demonstrates to passersby that it's ok to sit and watch, and that other people are enjoying the music (and so, by extension, should they). Busking psychology is strange - some people rely on others' opinions to gauge how good the performer is (in Sweden, for instance, if they saw a 20 SEK note, they'd be more likely to give one). On the other hand an audience makes passersby feel like they're intruding, or that this is a nice group of friends who don't need the money. So it depends. Honestly, I don't particularly care about the monetary effect. What I know is that having an audience made me feel wonderful, made the space feel warmer and smaller, made the passersby feel less suspicious, made me sing better... When one kid decided to linger about, I sang him I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends.

Not long after I started, a skater guy stopped nearby and lingered at my peripheral for quite a few songs. Shortly after that (while I was singing Yellow), a very nice Chinese girl, Amy, plopped down beside Frances. Maybe they were standing at this point... I forget. I do remember that by the time I got to Stand By Me my audience was happily sitting, a fact that a passerby happily noted the irony of. I guess the skater guy took Amy's joining as a sign that it was ok to join the group, so he joined the other side, though he kept his distance just a little with his skateboard. He stayed nearly the whole time and didn't tip, but I didn't mind. The best thing about the audience is that it totally negates the awkward between song phase - with clapping, or chatter. I gave them my repertoire list and that made it much, much easier to choose my next song - I didn't have to.

Ranveig requested that I sing Hallelujah while she tried to film with her camera (from where all the Bergen photos come). The camera didn't have sufficient memory space. Regardless, this was the most memorable performance I've had in these past two months. I hadn't sung it in a few days, so it felt fresh: those of you who've heard me sing it know I throw a lot of emotion into it. I focused on the music and only looked up at the end of the first verse and into the chorus - and there was Frances, wiping at tears. By the second verse she was positively weeping. Amy (who hadn't introduced herself yet) ruffled through her bag for tissues, which Frances used to cover her face. Ranveig and Lina looked at each other surprised. And from all this I sang at my absolute best. It was a magical moment I'll probably never forget. The soft gray light of cloudy Bergen made slightly blue by the redness of the passage, the ethereal way the sound echoed around the tunnel, the moments of stillness between verses, the camraderie in the girls, who'd mostly just met, before me...

My wonderful audience æ) <-Norwegian happy face

They loved Hey Ya and at one point Ranveig's best friend even came down the tunnel and requested Yellow. Unfortunately I didn't know any Chinese songs (working on it!) but Amy still lit up and clapped enthusiastically after I sang Ue Wo Muite Arukou. In fact, I sort of had a compass on her thought-line as I knew her requests before she asked: Let it Be, Tears in Heaven, Country Roads. The atmosphere was so amiable I felt only amused when I forgot the lyrics to New Slang. I even gave Liberta a shot. Having an audience meant I could take short breaks to talk, to get feedback or requests, or surprise them (Mario Kart Love Song). When I finally finished I walked back to Amy's hostel with her in the hope of internet. Happily I found a piano instead and I plunked amateurly away at that (to an audience again, embarrasing).

I returned to the tunnel after a few hours to a much slower pitch. Im supposing people were all cozied up wherever they were to watch the World Cup Final. I was quite annoyed, for instance, when a group of five obnoxious twenty somethings paraded through the tunnel in bright Holland orange and tooted their vuvuzelas right at me, even after I wished their team luck. Happily, the tulips lost. It was a very chill pitch - literally and figuratively. I had long dry spells so I walked about the tunnel while playing sometimes, to stay warm, practicing songs I hadn't played in a while. I was pleasantly surprised when a group of goth rockers covered with bits of metal tipped me. One mother stared at me intensely, as if trying to understand me while her daughter dropped a single kroner coin from her dad's shoulders. I also got a very nice "Good Luck" from a set of highschool ish girls towards the end.


Bye, Tunnel ø( <-Norwegian sad face. also a cyclops.

I'd arranged to meet up with Ranveig, Frances, Amy, and Ragnvald at the Bryggen Piano Bar to watch the World Cup and transfer couchsurf location from Ranveig to her brother. I went back to Ranveig's first and got distracted: I decided to watch the entirety of Enchanted again while I ate dinner and only made the end. Well, I didnt miss much :). After a set of beautiful farewells exchanged as though among long acquainted friends (I remember thinking at that moment "I love traveling"), Ragnvald drove me back to his place and we watched Monsters, Inc. before bed.

Earnings: 217.1 NOK + $1.05, 2.3 hours
Song of the Day: Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen

A Handome Bergen for a Busker, Day 3

You might know the story of the poor widow who gave two coins, all she had, to the temple offering and how Jesus said she had given more than all the other rich folk. I experienced the truth of that first hand today (7.10.10). I headed straight for the tunnel, once again, but found it occupied by a kind middle aged singer in a beret, who had a nice chat with me and suggested I try Marken, a small pedestrian street leading from the train station as he was going to stay till two thirty and a Romanian guy was taking over from then untill five.

The day was uncharacteristically bright for Bergen, and my passersby and tippers were also non-standard: they were mostly young men. I started with House of God, Forever, keeping it slow and calm before moving on to Gotta Have You. In the middle of the first chorus, a scraggly looking young man - homeless yet strikingly handsome - emerged from the small side street across from my pitch, eyes shining with his hand over the strange ruglike shawl he wore, over his heart. I dont know quite how to convey the depth of emotion that came from his eyes - I could hardly stand to look at them for fear of crying, myself. He stood there, one foot halfway in the alley from where he'd emerged and put his hands together, almost like a prayer, telling me "It's Beautiful." He stayed for the rest of the song, indicated with his hand and facial expressions how much he wished he could tip me, bowed a few times, blew me a kiss, replaced his hand on his heart and whirled away at the last chorus.

After that, I felt, it didnt matter what other experiences or what tips came my way. He affected me profoundly. Two other times that pitch, distinctly homeless looking young men came by and tipped me - clutching their bags full of retrieved plastic bottles in their other hands or stratching absently at their long unshaven faces. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was my prayer, but whatever it was the pitch was marked by such kindness. A woman dragging her luggage behind her upon the cobblestones lifted it and smiled at me upon hearing me so as not to disturb the sound. A mother with two young boys stayed a while and promised me she'd return before ducking into a store for change, which she sent back with her running youngsters. A redheaded waitress in white sat outside with a book while the business was slow and cast me smiles.

I took a long rest afterwards in wait of the free five o'clock spot in the tunnel. It was a windier night than previously, and just like Phelps Gate at Yale this tunnel channeled wind quite effectively, so I lasted only forty five minutes before decided I ought to stop freezing my ass off. At the beginning of my pitch a shop worker came and asked if I was registered and took me on my word that I was. Such Great Heights went wonderfully this time, it was the fourth song I sang after some more melancholy ones and I hit my stride with it.

The wonderful tunnel.

A lot of young men tipped me here also. One of these was the one who'd passed endlessly the previous day. That made me very very happy. Another told me "Keep it up, mate" as I sang Crazy. A girl I'd peg at my age seemed surprised and blushed when I smiled back at her and a few minutes later came dashing back, breathlessly, with a tip and a very wide smile. One woman asked me for my information, which I found utterly flattering - she'd seen me earlier at Marken and asked in a way that suggested - where did you come from and where can I hear more? The only amusing almost negative part was when a businesswoman passed me, stopped to turn on a recorder or something on her phone and held it behind her, back towards me but recorder very obviously in my direction while I sang Let it Be before departing briskly on the conclusion of the song. Quite funny really.

Frances and I at Ranveig's

Earnings: 377.5 NOK, 2.4 hours
Song of the Day: Gotta Have You - The Weepies

A Handsome Bergen for a Busker, Day 2

I woke a touch later than I intended, but Ranveig and I set out on a hike up Stoltzekleiven - a hike rather reminiscent of the one up the Squamish Chief, but not quite so long or convuluted, better paved and with less foliage. More like a marriage of that hike and East Rock. Strange, yes. It's a rise of three hundred meters and change with the tall rock steps of East Rocks and the switchbacks of the base of the Chief. Not particularly arduous, mostly great fun. For whatever reason, I had an insane amount of energy that afternoon, and I dashed ahead most of the time in wait for Ranveig, who like a good hiker was taking the path steadily. I had the same problem in Yosemite where I would dash ahead, take photos, dash ahead, all the way up the 4 mile hike while an old man steadily made the exact same progress I did. I ran the last few meters for good measure. At the summit, I decided I wanted to go... that way! So we did. The clouds began looking ominous so we about faced towards Fløyen, quite the tourist magnet (though with inferior views to where we'd just been, I'd say) where we ate some ice cream before a happy jaunt back down.


Top of Stoltzekleiven.


Let's go.. That Way!

I returned to the tunnel today (7.9.10), to great success. I really need to find places like this wherever I go - they're so much better for me than just the street. On this minor revelation I emailed Michal (the guy I sang Im Yours with) suggesting that he find some subway station in Oslo, where he will remain for the summer. He emailed back with quite a few song suggestions, one of which will put Maria in raptures: It's My Life, Bon Jovi. If only all my interactions with other buskers were so positive!

Again I set out to sing almost exclusively the songs I havent touched in a while, taking advantage of the excellent acoustics to sing some of the quieter ones, like Such Great Heights. Since I have a repertoire of around a hundred and twenty songs (and hopefully Ill have time at some point to grow that small number) I can go a few days without repeating anything. Another thing I was sure to do was to start with a worship song - this time Sufjan Steven's To Be Alone With You, which just felt perfect for the space. Apparently the passersby agreed and I started off the pitch with two tips in one song.

The tunnel isn't the busiest of places but just like Iso Roobertinkatu in Helsinki, a higher percentage tip. There were too many good interactions to truly relate them all. I stood in the middle of the tunnel, a brick affair with large, beautiful graffite all along the sides, and didnt mind closing my eyes every now and again to really get into the music. Of course skateboarders and mocking youngsters occasionally made rather a row, but these were isolated instances, and quite brief. Almost everyone else who passed slowed down, smiled, gave thumbs up, cast me shy approving glances, tipped, blushed, contemplated me thoughtfully. Only the old businessmen and the haughtily attractive girls with iPods lodged in their ears stormed by.

My super chilled out version of Crazy (which many of you agree with) really set the tone for the whole pitch - I hardly played any oldies and stuck to what I think is my forte - ballads and melancholy or haunting tunes. There was some Priscilla Ahn, some Joshua Radin, some Radiohead... Well that last was probably not so good of an idea, as it forced me to take a rather longer rest than normal. There There takes a lot out of me, as its loud, energetic, mournful and very, very high pitched. But so fun. Even at my last song of the pitch a nice girl sang along to the Lai la Lais of The Boxer, trying to place it, and tipped me even though I was packing up.

One young man crossed through the tunnel maybe five or six times during my two pitches, sheepishly smiling at me through messy blond hair each time, except the last when he smiled broadly, head up, and waved. I spent the interim in the Norli bookstore in the mall upstairs, where the same girl was manning the front desk and told me she didn't mind me sitting and reading (and not paying) and that it was actually rather nice.

When I returned it was a much slower pitch as the already light traffic of passersby had slowed to a trickle. Rain had begun to fall outside - the light spitting piss I like to call dishonest rain - and that lent a soft light and general hush to the tunnel. While the earlier pitch had been characterized by younger folk, this one was marked by young parents and their preschoolers. Have I mentioned I love preschoolers? Even if they have boring ass parents, I can make faces at them or sing to them or just tilt my head at them and take some strength from their reactions. One adorable girl ran ahead of her parents with a tip and dropped it in my case before hopping up and down in front of me waiting for them to catch her up. A little boy about as high as my knee took five minutes of coaxing, with a sublimely confused look on his chubby face to drop the coins he'd been handed (one at a time) into the case.

Three (maybe high school?) girls actually stopped and listened for a few songs against the opposite wall and another group of three passed by, lingered, went to a shop for change and tipped me. I'd decided this time to cut down on my eye contact a bit, as I thought maybe I could be intimidating with it. Whether this was the cause or not, quite a few (one old woman, a twenty something girl who came running back) stopped and rooted in their purses for a while while I focused my attention elsewhere. Something about rain, too, makes the sound very different - not quite hushed, but something like the texture of an old record.

I ambled about the inside debating a bus, but eventually decided to walk the 3.5 km back to Ranveig's to save myself the exorbitant 25 NOK bus fare. No one was home yet, so I cooked my standard spaghetti, broccoli, salami, egg and salmon dinner and popped in a random film from Ranveig's collection. By the middle I had a new favorite film. Sitting alone in someone else's living room in a city in Norway up near the mountains watching Enchanted... I couldn't stop squealing and clapping my hands and reacting rather loudly to everything. Excellent film.

Note: Photos in Bergen are from Ranveig :).

Earnings: 286.5 NOK + €2.50, 2.4 hours
Song of the Day: To Be Alone With You - Sufjan Stevens

A Handsome Bergen for a Busker, Day 1

The train ride to Bergen from Oslo was billed as one of the most spectacular in Europe and while I have little to compare it to, it certainly didnt disappoint. I took a nap for the first three hours on Bengt's assurances that I'd miss nothing and became alert just in time to see 4 hours of epic. Or as Sam might say, super dish towel. Norway seems a whole country of Yosemite, the granite rises on either end side of the tracks strongly reminiscent of half dome or the squamish chief, except multiplied endlessly. Most of the faces were quite sheer - strong evidence of glacial activity - and a profusion of deep green trees of a variety that if Brent read this blog he could identify blanketing all the more level bits. The train often followed streams or rivers or mesatop like stretches and took long stops (5 to 10 minutes) along the way. I froze my ass off whenever I stepped out (which worries me for the immediate future a bit) but it was certainly worth it. Though the sky was entirely clouded over in an immutable grey, the blanket was thin enough that this rather lent the day a strange, ethereal glow. Not unlike the morning I spent with Ben at the Lost Rocks in California. And the taste of the air was truly wonderful.

Upon arriving I walked through the rain (the prediction "You're going to Bergen? Bring and umbrella!" proving quite true) to Madame Felle and met with my couchsurfing host, Ranveig, who Id messaged only two nights previously. We sat about in her living room while I relearned songs and generally relaxed before heading off to watch Spain dominate Germany at her brother's place across the harbor. On a happy coincidence he had just signed up for couchsurfing and so I managed to snipe him for the rest of my planned stay in Bergen.


A beautiful ring of light on the harbor.

So today (7.8.10) I headed straight for the pedestrian plaza, Torgallmenningen, in the center of town. I found the place sonically dominated by an abyssmal brass band who had quite a crowd and at the other end two female violinists who played at about a Suzuki 4 level. Yes Im being disparaging and elitist but meh. I asked this pair about busking rules and they directed me to the nearby police office, where I registered to busk for three months, anywhere in Bergen, one hour max in any one location. When I returned to Torgallmenningen the Brass band was mercifully taking a break and the girls had vanished. I set up my pitch near the harbour.

Owing to the previous day's relaxation and practice I was able to sing quite a few songs that were heretofore rusty. I knew instantly that Bergen was going to be much better than Oslo when two somewhat heavyset girls tipped me (both of them!) before finding seats across from me to listen. The vibe was completely different. When I smiled at the parents of lingering children, theyd usually give some small tip to the child to toss in my case. I decided to sing exclusively happy, fast music to test my theories on mood. By the end of the day I determined that its better that I like my music because people can tell, somehow, and since I dont like happy music, in general, its not a particularly wholesome marriage. The other memorable moments from the pitch: a middle aged black man who reminded me strikingly of Junebug in his dress and demeanor passed back and forth and tipping his immaculate white hat at me, a tour group that passed a few times gave me all of €0.50, a couple alternated between making out and watching for most of the set, a kind eyed young man stayed and smiled. At this pitch I also decided to debut High and Dry, to a very warm reception.

After a longish break during which my sinuses obstinately reminded me of their existence, I played a short pitch in a tunnel leading to the bus station. Like Kaisaniemi in Helsinki, this was a perfect pitch for me. I knew this as soon as I started the rather appropriate Sound of Silence and was tipped generously by a group of high school girls. The acoustics in there are excellent. The one downfall of the space is that it seems favored by skateboarders and cyclists, who make quite a racket. My scratchy throat only lasted about twenty minutes but that was enough to do reasonably well - as in Helsinki the tips werent often but large when they came - one nice man cut through a surge of bikes passing by to tip me and a couple sent their child running back to tip me after I finished Hey There Delilah.

My final pitch was largely a fail. I tried once more at Torgallmenningen, but the wind and cold largely prevented me from having any success. When I arrived I had to wait out this terrible terrible flautist who breathed in all the wrong places, played almost everything staccatto and most high notes a touch flat - the simple melodies of Fly Me to the Moon, etc. Poor thing. After my first song, a girl came out of the shop behind me and asked "Not to be rude, youre very good! but its very confusing in the shop with our music and you... could you move down a little." How could I not be super obliging after such graciousness? I wandered about a bit trying to decide where to set up and a set of girls made the decision for me. They requested me to "sing them something," settled on How Great is Our God, laughing away as if it was rather ironic, but I silenced them very satisfactorily when I started singing. They didnt tip as they walked sheepishly off and I perservered to very slow tips for forty minutes (one of these tips coming from a set of Japanese girls Id met on the train).

On my return to Ranveig's flat I inhaled a mountain of pasta and watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (one of her mind bogglingly bigger than David's collection of DVDs) as I ate and she dozed off on the other couch - quite curiously the exact model that Im rather familar sleeping on - the loveseat from Ikea that I retained from the senior suite.

Earnings: 188 Nok + €0.50, 2.2 hours
Song of the Day: Torn - Natalie Imbruglia