Hello! After a bit of deliberation the United Kingdom let us back in, and today we took advantage of the sunshine to do a bit o' busking. Started out on Rose St. then went to the Royal Mile. Both were quite slow; maybe everyone was lounging on grass rather than walking around? That shouldn't really effect tourism though. I had to remember a few times that I can speak English here! I said "Danke shoen" to the first couple of tippers, and was surprised when I was able to communicate with people. Wow!
Monday, May 28, 2012
1. The man who is Charlie Chaplin on Saturday mornings walked by in his normal attire. It took me a second to place where I knew that face; he has loads of long curly black hair and wore a red plaid flannel shirt, not unlike that jerk who is blocking Garth's view at the Gas Works in Wayne's World. We exchanged smiles! Usually it's the other way around, with him busking and me walking.
2. An older man came up and prefaced his introduction with, "I'm a professional." He then identified himself as Tony, and explained that he plays a whistle and does Elvis impersonations in the meadows. He said more about his act and told me to come say hi sometime! Then he asked if I was a Christian. Uh-oh. I assumed there would be more to that conversation, but there wasn't. Phew!
3. One of my favorite people came by to say hello! This guy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qi1Tj3fw6KA Lewis is an old guy with a white ponytail and handlebar mustache. His slight frame is clothed in full traditional Scottish attire, paired with a wooden cane. I had admired him from afar previously, but one time busking recently he came to talk and commented on my skirt. He came by today again and said "Good to see you again!" This warmed my heart, since I'm pretty sure nobody in Edinburgh (besides my flatmates and band) noticed that I had left for the better part of two months. He had! He's really a riot. At first I thought he was crazy but now I think he's just eccentric and awesome. We talked about photos; it was nice to vent my frustration at being photographed without being tipped. He suggested I put up a sign that says "Photographs £1." Speaking of which, my "follow violator down the street while glaring" routine worked once out of three times today! Lewis gets the same thing walking down the street in his outfit. I asked him his name, and he said "Lewis, the King of Scotland!" So glad to have him as a character in my story! He's off to Dublin tomorrow. The main reason is that he promised his mother that one day he would visit the Emerald Isle. He is getting on in years himself, so this promise must have been around for a while. I told him to look for my new busker friend Philip who is in Dublin this week!
4. I met a Canadian who identified his hometown as "six hours North of Detroit." Funny way of saying it! Surely "two hours Northwest of Toronto" is more logical.
5. Flaca got a lift from one little girl! It was so nice being able to communicate in a common language!
6. Two cheerful guys walked by holding beers on the opposite side of the street, and one just pointed, then did one of those "I'm watching you" gestures with a big smile, so I did it back. Later learned that they are from Canada and Australia. Fun fun.
7. I saw Tom the juggler/magicial/circle pitch guy walk by with his gear and begin to set up in the circle pitch. But then next time I looked he was gone. Maybe he figured out something I didn't about bad crowds?
8. It was so strange, a really fat lady wearing all hot pink except for a hat that looked like an elephant sped over in a motorized wheelchair and stopped short right in front of me, but still facing the direction of travel. She took out a phone and started texting, never acknowledge me. I really think it was an accident! I kept playing, and after a couple minutes she continued on.
It was good to be back to where I could faintly hear bagpipes! I was trying all instruments, and generally got good feedback. Oh, I finally found the way to get the tambourines to stay on! The new elastic one goes on normally, and the old blue one just gets strapped in to the velcro strap on my Mary-Jane shoe. Voila! doesn't have the exact sound effect I want, but it's a compromise that I'm willing to settle with. Next project is to find a way to look at the keys of the accordion without dumping saliva out of the kazoo onto it. Sorry, gross!
The end! Keep an eye out for us practicing in the Meadows too!
Edit: Forgot to mention that I think I saw someone with whom I went to high school! She was on the other side of the Royal Mile, walking with people, and we both kept looking at each other, which helps the chances that she is who I think she is. Crazy, that happens in Ptown, not here!
Monday, May 28, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Köln
Hello again! Today we got back to work. But first, something very exciting happened! I was walking around the old town, Altstadt, when a sign caught my eye: Nutcrackers! There was a shop selling nutcrackers and other German wood carvings. Obviously I went down this street. I was focused so hard on finding the nutcrackers that I almost walked right by the music shop. However someone was inside sampling percussion instruments which perked up my ears! I went in, and sure enough this shop was a treasure trove of percussion isntruments. I sampled various tambourines, bells, and shakers in every possible combination. I finally told the man working about my problem with the tambourine falling off my foot, and he showed me an actual product called "foot tambourine" that had been right there throughout my sampling. It felt like Christmas morning. I was so excited and walked down the street grinning afterwards. It's a little section of wood with tambourine chimes with a curved edge to go around your foot with elastic to hold it on. Perfect. I also bought two egg shakers with handles to put on the other foot.
That evening I headed out to try them out, as well as my new kazoo. First I went to the plaza by the massive cathedral, a huge tourist spot. A lot of people walked by and smiled, or of course photographed, but I made literally one tip in a half hour. My new friend Philip said that the previous night he had gone in the shopping area once shops close at eight, so I headed there but I hate shopping areas so I decided instead to go down by the river. It was quite lovely, nice night, people sitting on the grass and on benches eating, drinking, and being merry. I had the Rhine behind me, with boats passing by. Certainly a pleasant place to pass my evening! However, I made very little money! I don't know why, it didn't fall into one of the usual categories for not making money. I didn't really care though, since it was my last time playing on the road this trip! Some people were there for a long time, so they heard repeated songs which I don't like, but one was nice enough to clap after each song! My new hostel friends Yuko and Philip watched for a while too, which was nice.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
1. Two older ladies walked by. One asked, "Strasbourg?" Awesome!!
2. An older woman tipped me two big-girl sized coins and tipped Flaca two little-girl coins. She picked up Flaca, and I rushed to be the one to untangle her and show her how she can clap. It turns out this woman is a professional puppeteer, and she said Flaca is hard to operate! So it's not just me! Maybe I'll bring Flaca to a pro for some surgery.
3. People said long things in German and I couldn't be bothered to ask about them, so I said, "Danke schoen" to everything. These comments could have been super negative for all I know.
4. We had a Twin Peaks fan in the house!! That is all.
5. When the lady tipped both of us I had the idea to say "Danke schoen" in my normal voice for my tips, then say it in a high squeaky voice for Flaca. But then I tried this just when people tipped Flaca, which was totally out of context so they thought I just sounded like that.
6. I was obviously still a beginner at the one-woman-band stuff, especially because I have a wicked shin splint on the right side so I gave my left foot first-stand percussion duties, but my brain didn't like that. It was clear, especially to those who stayed a while, that I didn't quite have this combo down, so once it was dark out I started playing just accordion which sounded way better. I was playing "The Way You Look Tonight" on just accordion when some retirees walked by, and naturally they loved it. Maybe I should wait to do the new act until I really practice!
7. I've mentioned that I want to arrange "Sir Duke." Well last night I tried it! I put out my notebook with notes about it and chords, mainly just so people could see that it was a new song and I was looking at something. It actually went okay! I've been so excited to do the instrumental solo, and it was just as fun as I had hoped, and the new kazoo could handle it. Extra excited now to practice it.
8. When I was packing up a guy who had been listening came over to talk. He is Belgian and is here for work, but he recently got back from a long trip where he walked from Belgium to Toulouse, France, and just knocked on doors and told people he needed a place to stay and he found places! He has good philosophies about life and adventure and stuff too.
The end! Might go out again after my nap, but if I don't, it's been a great intro tour! In the Fall I will be more serious about busking on tour, and will hopefully have even more adventures. Before that, we're so excited to get back to Edinburgh tomorrow, see if we can wiggle back into our old pitches, and perfect the new act!
Love,
Sophie, Flaca, and Lil' Red (still not an official name)
That evening I headed out to try them out, as well as my new kazoo. First I went to the plaza by the massive cathedral, a huge tourist spot. A lot of people walked by and smiled, or of course photographed, but I made literally one tip in a half hour. My new friend Philip said that the previous night he had gone in the shopping area once shops close at eight, so I headed there but I hate shopping areas so I decided instead to go down by the river. It was quite lovely, nice night, people sitting on the grass and on benches eating, drinking, and being merry. I had the Rhine behind me, with boats passing by. Certainly a pleasant place to pass my evening! However, I made very little money! I don't know why, it didn't fall into one of the usual categories for not making money. I didn't really care though, since it was my last time playing on the road this trip! Some people were there for a long time, so they heard repeated songs which I don't like, but one was nice enough to clap after each song! My new hostel friends Yuko and Philip watched for a while too, which was nice.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
1. Two older ladies walked by. One asked, "Strasbourg?" Awesome!!
2. An older woman tipped me two big-girl sized coins and tipped Flaca two little-girl coins. She picked up Flaca, and I rushed to be the one to untangle her and show her how she can clap. It turns out this woman is a professional puppeteer, and she said Flaca is hard to operate! So it's not just me! Maybe I'll bring Flaca to a pro for some surgery.
3. People said long things in German and I couldn't be bothered to ask about them, so I said, "Danke schoen" to everything. These comments could have been super negative for all I know.
4. We had a Twin Peaks fan in the house!! That is all.
5. When the lady tipped both of us I had the idea to say "Danke schoen" in my normal voice for my tips, then say it in a high squeaky voice for Flaca. But then I tried this just when people tipped Flaca, which was totally out of context so they thought I just sounded like that.
6. I was obviously still a beginner at the one-woman-band stuff, especially because I have a wicked shin splint on the right side so I gave my left foot first-stand percussion duties, but my brain didn't like that. It was clear, especially to those who stayed a while, that I didn't quite have this combo down, so once it was dark out I started playing just accordion which sounded way better. I was playing "The Way You Look Tonight" on just accordion when some retirees walked by, and naturally they loved it. Maybe I should wait to do the new act until I really practice!
7. I've mentioned that I want to arrange "Sir Duke." Well last night I tried it! I put out my notebook with notes about it and chords, mainly just so people could see that it was a new song and I was looking at something. It actually went okay! I've been so excited to do the instrumental solo, and it was just as fun as I had hoped, and the new kazoo could handle it. Extra excited now to practice it.
8. When I was packing up a guy who had been listening came over to talk. He is Belgian and is here for work, but he recently got back from a long trip where he walked from Belgium to Toulouse, France, and just knocked on doors and told people he needed a place to stay and he found places! He has good philosophies about life and adventure and stuff too.
The end! Might go out again after my nap, but if I don't, it's been a great intro tour! In the Fall I will be more serious about busking on tour, and will hopefully have even more adventures. Before that, we're so excited to get back to Edinburgh tomorrow, see if we can wiggle back into our old pitches, and perfect the new act!
Love,
Sophie, Flaca, and Lil' Red (still not an official name)
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Heidel Heidel - berg berg berg
Yesterday was another beautiful day! My plan was to take the train from Munich to Heidelberg, fahrt around for a few hours, then continue to Bonn. But when I was shoving my stuff into a luggage locker at the station I decided to bring my accordion along. Smaller cities probably have fewer regularions, right? We did our sightseeing pretty quickly. Squeezebox staed in the custody of building employees while I cimbed the church tower and castle. I made hilarious jokes about it usually behaving itself that were met when tepid laughter. The town seemed to be full of rich tourists! (Rich=multiple ice cream scoops.) Our train to Bonn wasn't until 18:20, so we had plenty of time to find fame and fortune.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
We set up between two little plazas against a building. It would have been a great spot. But two songs in (the new set-opener "Call Me" and the old set-opened "Vals de Libunca" to which a man waltzed), a nice lady came over and said I couldn't play there. The police would come! Not in this square or that square. But I was between the two!! She said that there was oen corner in the Universitatplatz where one could busk where the sign was. Sure enough, I found the sign, which explained the rules in German, English, and illustrations. I chose to read the latter, of course. It depicted that you could play the notes B, G, and D in a strange rhythm, do drama (changing faces), or juggle ONLY CLUBS. You could not play drums or use a boombox. Verboten, that's one word I have learned. The problem was that there was a beggar on that corner. I didn't want to be an total ausfahrt and play right next to him, so i took a psot a little ways away, not really in the platz, but oh well. Another beggar set up right across from me later. i can't imagine my rpesence heled his business, strange choice of spots for him.
It was quite hot out, 28 degrees, and this spot was in the direct sun. I admired the corner across the street that was identical to mine except in the shade. Unfortnately it as in front of a shop selling Christmas decorations, so I didn't think they'd like my January-Novemebr repertoire. Luckily, after the previous day I had thought to bring sunscreen, but I was literally dripping with seat. I'd catch my reflection in passing buses and it was not a nice sight. I had to keep wiping my hands on my dress to be able to get enough traction. I hadn't had a day like that in a while! Anyway, it wasn't great. The temerature was obviouslz uncomfortable, I wasn't playing well, and folks weren't tipping. As you know, I#ve been thinking about what I can put on a sign to suggest that people who take photos tip withou sounding totally rude, and I decided in Heidelberg that a simple "(camera picture) + (image of currencies crossed out) = (sad face)" shold do the trick. Oh, and the kazoo stopped working. It's a little off pitch, won't do high notes, and has a strange delay. And it kept falling out of my mouth too!
There is not a lot to report. One girl played with Flaca. The most interesting interaction was with an old man. He liked my "klavier" dress and aksed if you can get it in a shop. Nein! I adjusted my tambourine and he enthusiastically asked, "Vas ist das?" just like my dad says when he's being silly. I couldn't bear the heat and the feeble tips weren't worth my time, so i went to go jump in the river (I didn't but that would have been great). I vowed that in Bonn, Cologne, and Dusseldorf I would stick to songs I know and play them well! At the end of the day, sounding good is actually important.
I did not play in Bonn, but two productive things occurred there:
1. I saw a flute player wth foot percussion. I looked closely and saw that he had to standard cymbals around his feet, about 4-5 inches in diameter. One was strapped to his left toe, the second to his right heel, so he did this shuffle to keep a standard beat. They didn't fall off! I'll have to find some.
2. I bought some new supplies! I found a music shop and bought a "deluxe" metal kazoo that comes with extra membranes that you can easily install! I will have to blow harder, but there is a better range on it. Also, I asked the man about ankle percussion, and he actually had bells that strap around an ankle. They were very nice, little brass bells on a leather thing. Expensive! Also thee was a plastic bracelet with four big bells. Cheaper, and louder, so I went with that. Excited to try this stuff out!
Also, I´ve decided to order more piano fabric and make a new dress (actually using a pattern this time) that covers my shoulders! Too much sun!
Aufviederschein!
Sunday, May 20, 2012
We set up between two little plazas against a building. It would have been a great spot. But two songs in (the new set-opener "Call Me" and the old set-opened "Vals de Libunca" to which a man waltzed), a nice lady came over and said I couldn't play there. The police would come! Not in this square or that square. But I was between the two!! She said that there was oen corner in the Universitatplatz where one could busk where the sign was. Sure enough, I found the sign, which explained the rules in German, English, and illustrations. I chose to read the latter, of course. It depicted that you could play the notes B, G, and D in a strange rhythm, do drama (changing faces), or juggle ONLY CLUBS. You could not play drums or use a boombox. Verboten, that's one word I have learned. The problem was that there was a beggar on that corner. I didn't want to be an total ausfahrt and play right next to him, so i took a psot a little ways away, not really in the platz, but oh well. Another beggar set up right across from me later. i can't imagine my rpesence heled his business, strange choice of spots for him.
It was quite hot out, 28 degrees, and this spot was in the direct sun. I admired the corner across the street that was identical to mine except in the shade. Unfortnately it as in front of a shop selling Christmas decorations, so I didn't think they'd like my January-Novemebr repertoire. Luckily, after the previous day I had thought to bring sunscreen, but I was literally dripping with seat. I'd catch my reflection in passing buses and it was not a nice sight. I had to keep wiping my hands on my dress to be able to get enough traction. I hadn't had a day like that in a while! Anyway, it wasn't great. The temerature was obviouslz uncomfortable, I wasn't playing well, and folks weren't tipping. As you know, I#ve been thinking about what I can put on a sign to suggest that people who take photos tip withou sounding totally rude, and I decided in Heidelberg that a simple "(camera picture) + (image of currencies crossed out) = (sad face)" shold do the trick. Oh, and the kazoo stopped working. It's a little off pitch, won't do high notes, and has a strange delay. And it kept falling out of my mouth too!
There is not a lot to report. One girl played with Flaca. The most interesting interaction was with an old man. He liked my "klavier" dress and aksed if you can get it in a shop. Nein! I adjusted my tambourine and he enthusiastically asked, "Vas ist das?" just like my dad says when he's being silly. I couldn't bear the heat and the feeble tips weren't worth my time, so i went to go jump in the river (I didn't but that would have been great). I vowed that in Bonn, Cologne, and Dusseldorf I would stick to songs I know and play them well! At the end of the day, sounding good is actually important.
I did not play in Bonn, but two productive things occurred there:
1. I saw a flute player wth foot percussion. I looked closely and saw that he had to standard cymbals around his feet, about 4-5 inches in diameter. One was strapped to his left toe, the second to his right heel, so he did this shuffle to keep a standard beat. They didn't fall off! I'll have to find some.
2. I bought some new supplies! I found a music shop and bought a "deluxe" metal kazoo that comes with extra membranes that you can easily install! I will have to blow harder, but there is a better range on it. Also, I asked the man about ankle percussion, and he actually had bells that strap around an ankle. They were very nice, little brass bells on a leather thing. Expensive! Also thee was a plastic bracelet with four big bells. Cheaper, and louder, so I went with that. Excited to try this stuff out!
Also, I´ve decided to order more piano fabric and make a new dress (actually using a pattern this time) that covers my shoulders! Too much sun!
Aufviederschein!
Busking in Bavaria
(Typing fast, copying from notebook, and no autocorrect or spell check so beware of typos! At least I've almost mastered the switched Y and Z!)
After a hiatus from playing during which sunbathed in Israel and Lil' Red bonded with a new friend in Switzerland, we hit the streets of Munich (München), Bavaria (Bayern), Germany, (Deutschland). This city had quite a bit of potential because there are ample tourists and Germany does love its accordion. The problem, however, was that there were also ample regulations, which is to be expected in a big city. I had done a wee bit of research on said regulations, and it seemed that the danger zone was Marienplatz, where a busker could only work at pre-assigned times. One must audition and be granted a €10 day permit. Sounds comlicated. My plan was just to set up a little ways out of the main square and smile and bat my eyelashes and play dumb were I caught. I considered asking about the permits and actally getting one, but I read that there is a limited number of them issued and I didn't want to risk them saying no then seeing me out anyway.
I forgot to mention that last Saturday was coincidentally the Champions League (football) final, held in Munich against Chelsea. That pretty much eliminated my chances of getting a permit, I thought. I asked some buskers and locals if they had any idea about the rules. Some said I would certainly get busted, while others were more confident that the riot squad woud go easy on me and that it was the unlicensed tramp-looking men with half a guitar that they were after.
There were a lot of street acts in Munich, and most were quite impessive! That's also to be expected, if everyone's paying by the day. There's a list of exactly all the acts I saw:
I. Statues
a. A miner, made of "gold"
b. A gladiator-type, made of "bronze"
c. A female angel (?) made of "marble"
d. A Pinnochio/clown (?) in normal costume. Stood in box wth shoes mounted by his knees to appear
small. Good effect.
II. Ensembles
a. Konnexion Balkon. Fabulous! This was like a funk string ensemble. The entertaining leader was on violin, and there was a double bass, piano, accordion, and maybe drums? They did dramatic and eclectic covers of classical favorites, and were on Beehoven's ifth when I stopped by. I didn't want to buy a CD but do want to look them up. Had I been alone I would have left them my business card with a note, possibly indicating my proposal of marriage to the bass player.
b. I forget the other grou's name, but they were a jazz ensemble with saxophone, drum, marimba, and something else. Not accordion. More on them later.
III. Solo acts
a. Old man not looking too well-off who would ocasionally play soe clarinet.
b. Three different men on accordion (just accordion? Booooring!)
c. Guy on harpsichord
d. Only one trampy half-guitar player
e. Juggler/magician
f. Best for last: a one-man band! This is the act closest to mine that I have seen, which is both awesome and inspirational and threatening. I decided to stomach my pride and competitive tendencies and watch him, to pick up ideas (not that I need them!!!!!!!!!). He is a young foreign-looking man (as in not German, exotic looking) who wears a semi-matching green suit and hat. He plays guitar. his foot stamps a tambourine. Around his neck is a harmonica holder with a kazoo, duck call, whistle (like that clown prat fall sound), and more. He played gypsy sounding music, and it was great. I bragged to myself that I have a lot more control of/sound from my tambourine having it strapped to my foot, but I give him credit for all the mouth instruments. I will be copying him on that. He also sang a little. I was slightly grossed out to see a gallon of saliva fall from the kyzoo until i remembered that my shoes have been moistened in the same way. i wanted to talk to him, to compliment his act (maybe) and ask again about permits (and through his follow-up questions reveal the details of my act), but he did not stop playing! just kept going on between songs. Sometimes people will interrupt me to talk, whcih is fine, and other times they just linger. When someone stays for more than ten seconds I suspect they might want to talk so I skip the second verse or something to hurry it along and talk between songs, but this guy didn't catch on. Maybe he only speaks Spanish and assumed we couldn't communicate! I should start wearing a badge like flight attendants and tour guides with the flags of all the countires whose language I speak. I had to meet people so I didn't wait any longer to chat.
Anyway, let's talk about me already!! I was planning on only playing Saturday (didn't want to get shut down before Saturday even started) but Friday was a nice day and it actually made sense to get some playing time in on the day there weren't 2,000 extra police officers on patrol.
Friday, May 18, 2012
I went to Odeonsplatz, wehre I had seen the One Man Band. This was definitely still the city center, but i was going to claim that I thoguht the permits were only for Marienplatz. I might as well tell you some new knowledge of mine. In this square there is a bright yellow church, the name of whcih sounds like "Tina Turner Church," on one side and a government building on the other. Between them is a big structure with stairs and columns (perfect description, right?). Up the stairs in the middle is a statue that Munich had sent as a gift to Chile, who sent it back. it has some people and a lion. Beside the stairs are two other lions, identical except for one difference: the one on the side of the government building has his mouth open slightly, and the one closer to the church has his mouth closed. (I was ofended when my tour guide said "his," but then I rememebred that mane=male lion.) This is a message to not question the church, religious doctrines, or your faith, but that one ought to speak out against the government.
Also in this platz at this time was an old man laying accordion and the second ensemble I mentioned near the gates to the beautiful Englischer Garten. I talkd to them about permits as well. Unfortunately it began to rain. The band packed up and moved under the arch to keep dry. The accordion player stayed put, safe under a ledge of the Tina Turner church. I climbed the stairs between the ions and sat up there to wait it out. The football match wasn't for another 26 hours but people were already out in their jerseys with crates of Augustinerbräu. One such hooligan came to talk and switched to English seamlessly despite his admitted drunkenness. Of course i claimed to be from Scotland (I must enjoy my last few days of being able to do this) and he bought it. After a litle while he said, "I'm annoying you, right?" He was, a little bit, so i said, "A ltitle bit." He laughed at my politeness, citing the manners of the Brits such as myself. "A German would just say, 'Fuck off!'" Glad I'm a good representative of British manners! I told him that I was waitign for the rain to stop, and he said it had stopped. I wasn't convinced that it had stopped entirely, but he said, "Tust me, I'm a meteorologist." I guess I can trust a drunk meteorologist to assess whether or not it is still raining! I asked him if he could promise me two hours without rain, and he promised me fifteen hours without it.
The accordion player was still out so i crossed the platz to take over the jazz band's pitch. But then I saw the marimba in the archway, a sign that they would be back. In my own city I would set up anyway, but not as a one-time crasher. i took a long walk around, trying to get to this other platz where my tour had stoped, the one with the Hofbräuhaus. It had seemed to be quite touristy. But when I arrived the place was full of riot police, with another troop running in. I saw one man covered in blood. Moving on then...I took another long walk, through part of the park, back to Odeonsplatz. The jazz band had still not set up, but the marimba player seemed to be giving a demo in the archway. Luckily the accordion player was gone so i set up in front of the church where my cohort had been the previous day. i stayed here for about ten minutes. What a waste of an afternoon! An older couple waited while I set up, and I decided to launch right into a song with the complete new act. this was a bad idea since these songs are new and not ready and I hadn't played in two weeks. Totally bombed! No tip. I did received a tip "just for the kazoo" as well as there from three little girls in matching oufits (they tipped Flaca).
First, it started to rain, more heavily than before. I realized that I, too, was under a ledge so I kept going, but my box and Flaca got wet. Then an old German woman with a grocery trolley stoped and began a lecture in German. Interruped her to say "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" and she attemptd to convey the message in her minimal English: "No music here." She exlpained something about a flower seller and pointed around the corner. Then, "Police...no ooniform. No money." That was pretty clear. So nie of her to warn me! I called it a day, the shortest of my career.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Luckily, I still had Saturday! Cristiano, my most recent amazing Couch Surfing host, suggested I play in the massive English Gardens. At first I wasn't keen on the idea since I didn't want to disturb the peace, but my nerves about the police convinced me that hiding among trees would be advantageous. this was an absolutelz gorgeous day (which also happened to be my 5/6 birthday) and there were a million people in the park. I had packed extra sweaters and my hat and gloves just in acse, but when I got outside I began to pine for my sunscreen isntead. I had to pay attention to where i was going because my hosts and new friends Cristiano, anna, Gonzalo and Alejandro would be coming along to picnic near me and I had to be able to tell them where to find me in the massiv park. There were crowds of football fans everwhere both in red and blue. There were obvious tourists, exercisers, dogs. The park has it all: paths in the sun, paths in the shade, water with ducklings, even a "surfer's wave" in the river where crowds gather to watch brave wet-suit clad wave-catchers do their craft in a comically small body of water.
I walked in the direction of the biergarten, passing the nude sunbathing area (slowed my pace to peek, naturally), a picturesque footbridge over the river, and an ice cream stand. I looked around as I ate the ice ream that I immediately gave in to and decided that this was a perfect spot. Shady for me and my fair shoulers, lots of foot trafic, well hidden! i didn't want to be too close to the ice cream vendor so I went father down the path, losing some traffic at the turn off to the main park, but that was okay.
This was a nice time. Obviously it was nice to be out in the park, there was a great festive spirit about, and I hadnÄt played in so long1 I tried utilizing the hands-free device (little joke for those of us who don't care about technology) for my kazoo, but it clashed on my shoulders with the squeezebox and also it obstructed my view of the keys. that won't do. Too bad, it would look really awesome. The most exciting endeavor this day was working on Kaiho songs (my other band in Edinburgh!). We have a gig the night I get back, and I'm rusty on the songs already know. Additionally, there are new songs to learn. These songs are the best for my one-woman-band act because there is a distinct accordion part in adition to the melodies. It's tricky to incorporate the kazoo into old songs since my right hand is already doing the elodies. With these songs i can have separate accordion and vocal parts without compromising my old arrangements.
I had already been doing "Call Me," but this day I tried "Hot Water," "Home," and "Rest My Bones." They were very popular! One girl asked if one was Yann Tiersen! There are other new songs that will eb great wtih kazoo, such as Stevie Wonder's "Sir Duke" and Sharkira's "Hips Don't Lie," but these will require writing out music and actually practicing. I´m trying to add kazoo to my pre-exiting songs, but so far it messes up my accordoin playing more than it augments the songs. But I used it on the melody of "So Long Marianne" which went okay. The other new addition to the act is some bells. I strolled around the town of Meersberg, Germany the other day and came across a shop selling mostly child-sized knight and princess costumes and relevant weapons and accessories. Outside, hwoever, were bins of toy musical instruments! There were little pan pipes, whistles, and those things where you roll the little handle between your little palms and the little balls swing around and hit the little drum head percussively. Then there were the bisn with mini tambourine, sticks with tambournig things (okay?) and various settings of bells. In Israel I had been actively looking for bells or something that would strap around my ankle, to no avail. One bell set was a strip of something with bells mounted on it, in a semi circle, with a wooden handle closing it. These handles were paitned, with heads attached, to look like animals. I handeled all these instruments, assessing their control and volume, even testing their timbres with a tambourine. i stuck a few in my shoes to test the execution, which earned me more intersting looks from passersby than merely shaking them all with a look of concentration had done. After about fifteen minutes of this I settled on the aforementioned bells, much to the relief of the store workers. I rejected the alligator, giraffe, and monkey and chose the mouse because it was a neutral color. This totally didn't matter because I was planning to remove the mouse, thread some string through the remaining holes, and tie it to my left foot. I should have gone with the giraffe becuase then I'd get to have a cylindrical giraffe after! Unfortunately, the bells are not loud enough to be heard over the accordion. Listeners may be able to hear a faint jingle, but I cannot. I decided that rather than including the bells in the regular percussion, i would use them for quiet bits, makin the transition back into the loud parts with tambourien mroe dramatic. The only place I've thought of so far to do this is in "Call Me," where it switches to only soft, high RH during the chorus.
I had more troube keeping the tambourine on than usual, which was endlessly frustrating, but the lognest I kept it on was actualy when I used the bells as a device to hold the mischievous tambourine. I can't think of any other technical difficulties, so are you ready to hear what happened?
1. A gruop of (young, drunk, male) Bayern fans stoped by. They wore an array of jerseys and one wore leiderhosen. They asked me to play "God Shave the Queen," a request I thought to incldue an English mispronounciation until I remembered that they oppose Chelsea. After this they wanted Rihanna, specifically a song with "California" in the title. I didn't know it, but suggested Lady Gaga or Adele instead ("Sometimes you play Rihanna, and sometimes Adele insteeeeaaaaaaaad"). They were up for a "Someone Like You" singalong, and their tempo and pitch were spectacular, as you can iamgine. After, one asked "Can you play this one?...'When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, "What will I be?..."'" It took me a minute to place it, but we had a rousing chorus of "Que Serà Serà" much to the amusement of passersby. I handed over my set lsit for them to choose their final song, and they settled on "By the Rivers of Babylon." Off they went to enjoy the festivities! They took a video which hopefully they will send along.
2. Not long after, my pitch was once again shadowed by a group of equally (more?) drunk Chelsea fans. One made an inappropriate comment about my act's name. Those bawdy Brits. But then they asked me to play a song which sounded pretty identical to "Lord of the Dance," but with funny lyrics. I had heard another group of Chelsea fans changing the words to "Battle Hymm of the Republic" earlier as well! These guys have sent along their video! Woo-hoo! Click here to watch.
3. Everyone in the world was drinking beer and I wanted to join the festivities, so luckily one of the Brits gave me my first Augustiner, a bräu I had been advised to try. It certainly made the kazoo playing interesting Hm, I wonder if that could be why it broke. Can alcohol fumes melt wax paper or something?
4. Others lingered, some talked! A duo did both and asked if "Cal Me" was from Amelie How's that for a comlpiment, Sas and Freya?
5. A few kids stoped, but most tipped then bolted. I sure am scary! For one I picked up Flaa and did a demo. It actually works to do LH and kazoo and do her with RH! I will have to pratice like crazy when I get back. But the kid didn't want a turn (she ran into the forest when I presented Flaca). I wonder if they´ve found her yet.
6. As usual, I was working the same turf as the rickshaw pedalers. Their customers often waved or presented hands for high-fiving, but my hands were obviously full! I began to recogniye the same drivers and one yelled something about a "mautharmonica" or something. Probably noting the lack of it in the current song!
I could have played all night (and still have begged for more) but I quit after a while to find my new friends. They had been unsuccsesful in finding me despite my very clear and specific directions of "go past the nude people, cross the river on a foot bridge with an ice ream vendor, and you will hear me." I joiend them on their picnic blanket and did "Call Me" there for them to record so I can show the world my new act. When we all left we passed by another ice cream vendor on another bridge. Of course. Then I left my gear at the flat and went to the Oktoberfest park to watch the game! Unfortunately Chelsea won in sudden death penalty kicks due to a missed shot by poor Schweinsteiger (Pigclimber).
The end!
After a hiatus from playing during which sunbathed in Israel and Lil' Red bonded with a new friend in Switzerland, we hit the streets of Munich (München), Bavaria (Bayern), Germany, (Deutschland). This city had quite a bit of potential because there are ample tourists and Germany does love its accordion. The problem, however, was that there were also ample regulations, which is to be expected in a big city. I had done a wee bit of research on said regulations, and it seemed that the danger zone was Marienplatz, where a busker could only work at pre-assigned times. One must audition and be granted a €10 day permit. Sounds comlicated. My plan was just to set up a little ways out of the main square and smile and bat my eyelashes and play dumb were I caught. I considered asking about the permits and actally getting one, but I read that there is a limited number of them issued and I didn't want to risk them saying no then seeing me out anyway.
I forgot to mention that last Saturday was coincidentally the Champions League (football) final, held in Munich against Chelsea. That pretty much eliminated my chances of getting a permit, I thought. I asked some buskers and locals if they had any idea about the rules. Some said I would certainly get busted, while others were more confident that the riot squad woud go easy on me and that it was the unlicensed tramp-looking men with half a guitar that they were after.
There were a lot of street acts in Munich, and most were quite impessive! That's also to be expected, if everyone's paying by the day. There's a list of exactly all the acts I saw:
I. Statues
a. A miner, made of "gold"
b. A gladiator-type, made of "bronze"
c. A female angel (?) made of "marble"
d. A Pinnochio/clown (?) in normal costume. Stood in box wth shoes mounted by his knees to appear
small. Good effect.
II. Ensembles
a. Konnexion Balkon. Fabulous! This was like a funk string ensemble. The entertaining leader was on violin, and there was a double bass, piano, accordion, and maybe drums? They did dramatic and eclectic covers of classical favorites, and were on Beehoven's ifth when I stopped by. I didn't want to buy a CD but do want to look them up. Had I been alone I would have left them my business card with a note, possibly indicating my proposal of marriage to the bass player.
b. I forget the other grou's name, but they were a jazz ensemble with saxophone, drum, marimba, and something else. Not accordion. More on them later.
III. Solo acts
a. Old man not looking too well-off who would ocasionally play soe clarinet.
b. Three different men on accordion (just accordion? Booooring!)
c. Guy on harpsichord
d. Only one trampy half-guitar player
e. Juggler/magician
f. Best for last: a one-man band! This is the act closest to mine that I have seen, which is both awesome and inspirational and threatening. I decided to stomach my pride and competitive tendencies and watch him, to pick up ideas (not that I need them!!!!!!!!!). He is a young foreign-looking man (as in not German, exotic looking) who wears a semi-matching green suit and hat. He plays guitar. his foot stamps a tambourine. Around his neck is a harmonica holder with a kazoo, duck call, whistle (like that clown prat fall sound), and more. He played gypsy sounding music, and it was great. I bragged to myself that I have a lot more control of/sound from my tambourine having it strapped to my foot, but I give him credit for all the mouth instruments. I will be copying him on that. He also sang a little. I was slightly grossed out to see a gallon of saliva fall from the kyzoo until i remembered that my shoes have been moistened in the same way. i wanted to talk to him, to compliment his act (maybe) and ask again about permits (and through his follow-up questions reveal the details of my act), but he did not stop playing! just kept going on between songs. Sometimes people will interrupt me to talk, whcih is fine, and other times they just linger. When someone stays for more than ten seconds I suspect they might want to talk so I skip the second verse or something to hurry it along and talk between songs, but this guy didn't catch on. Maybe he only speaks Spanish and assumed we couldn't communicate! I should start wearing a badge like flight attendants and tour guides with the flags of all the countires whose language I speak. I had to meet people so I didn't wait any longer to chat.
Anyway, let's talk about me already!! I was planning on only playing Saturday (didn't want to get shut down before Saturday even started) but Friday was a nice day and it actually made sense to get some playing time in on the day there weren't 2,000 extra police officers on patrol.
Friday, May 18, 2012
I went to Odeonsplatz, wehre I had seen the One Man Band. This was definitely still the city center, but i was going to claim that I thoguht the permits were only for Marienplatz. I might as well tell you some new knowledge of mine. In this square there is a bright yellow church, the name of whcih sounds like "Tina Turner Church," on one side and a government building on the other. Between them is a big structure with stairs and columns (perfect description, right?). Up the stairs in the middle is a statue that Munich had sent as a gift to Chile, who sent it back. it has some people and a lion. Beside the stairs are two other lions, identical except for one difference: the one on the side of the government building has his mouth open slightly, and the one closer to the church has his mouth closed. (I was ofended when my tour guide said "his," but then I rememebred that mane=male lion.) This is a message to not question the church, religious doctrines, or your faith, but that one ought to speak out against the government.
Also in this platz at this time was an old man laying accordion and the second ensemble I mentioned near the gates to the beautiful Englischer Garten. I talkd to them about permits as well. Unfortunately it began to rain. The band packed up and moved under the arch to keep dry. The accordion player stayed put, safe under a ledge of the Tina Turner church. I climbed the stairs between the ions and sat up there to wait it out. The football match wasn't for another 26 hours but people were already out in their jerseys with crates of Augustinerbräu. One such hooligan came to talk and switched to English seamlessly despite his admitted drunkenness. Of course i claimed to be from Scotland (I must enjoy my last few days of being able to do this) and he bought it. After a litle while he said, "I'm annoying you, right?" He was, a little bit, so i said, "A ltitle bit." He laughed at my politeness, citing the manners of the Brits such as myself. "A German would just say, 'Fuck off!'" Glad I'm a good representative of British manners! I told him that I was waitign for the rain to stop, and he said it had stopped. I wasn't convinced that it had stopped entirely, but he said, "Tust me, I'm a meteorologist." I guess I can trust a drunk meteorologist to assess whether or not it is still raining! I asked him if he could promise me two hours without rain, and he promised me fifteen hours without it.
The accordion player was still out so i crossed the platz to take over the jazz band's pitch. But then I saw the marimba in the archway, a sign that they would be back. In my own city I would set up anyway, but not as a one-time crasher. i took a long walk around, trying to get to this other platz where my tour had stoped, the one with the Hofbräuhaus. It had seemed to be quite touristy. But when I arrived the place was full of riot police, with another troop running in. I saw one man covered in blood. Moving on then...I took another long walk, through part of the park, back to Odeonsplatz. The jazz band had still not set up, but the marimba player seemed to be giving a demo in the archway. Luckily the accordion player was gone so i set up in front of the church where my cohort had been the previous day. i stayed here for about ten minutes. What a waste of an afternoon! An older couple waited while I set up, and I decided to launch right into a song with the complete new act. this was a bad idea since these songs are new and not ready and I hadn't played in two weeks. Totally bombed! No tip. I did received a tip "just for the kazoo" as well as there from three little girls in matching oufits (they tipped Flaca).
First, it started to rain, more heavily than before. I realized that I, too, was under a ledge so I kept going, but my box and Flaca got wet. Then an old German woman with a grocery trolley stoped and began a lecture in German. Interruped her to say "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" and she attemptd to convey the message in her minimal English: "No music here." She exlpained something about a flower seller and pointed around the corner. Then, "Police...no ooniform. No money." That was pretty clear. So nie of her to warn me! I called it a day, the shortest of my career.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Luckily, I still had Saturday! Cristiano, my most recent amazing Couch Surfing host, suggested I play in the massive English Gardens. At first I wasn't keen on the idea since I didn't want to disturb the peace, but my nerves about the police convinced me that hiding among trees would be advantageous. this was an absolutelz gorgeous day (which also happened to be my 5/6 birthday) and there were a million people in the park. I had packed extra sweaters and my hat and gloves just in acse, but when I got outside I began to pine for my sunscreen isntead. I had to pay attention to where i was going because my hosts and new friends Cristiano, anna, Gonzalo and Alejandro would be coming along to picnic near me and I had to be able to tell them where to find me in the massiv park. There were crowds of football fans everwhere both in red and blue. There were obvious tourists, exercisers, dogs. The park has it all: paths in the sun, paths in the shade, water with ducklings, even a "surfer's wave" in the river where crowds gather to watch brave wet-suit clad wave-catchers do their craft in a comically small body of water.
I walked in the direction of the biergarten, passing the nude sunbathing area (slowed my pace to peek, naturally), a picturesque footbridge over the river, and an ice cream stand. I looked around as I ate the ice ream that I immediately gave in to and decided that this was a perfect spot. Shady for me and my fair shoulers, lots of foot trafic, well hidden! i didn't want to be too close to the ice cream vendor so I went father down the path, losing some traffic at the turn off to the main park, but that was okay.
This was a nice time. Obviously it was nice to be out in the park, there was a great festive spirit about, and I hadnÄt played in so long1 I tried utilizing the hands-free device (little joke for those of us who don't care about technology) for my kazoo, but it clashed on my shoulders with the squeezebox and also it obstructed my view of the keys. that won't do. Too bad, it would look really awesome. The most exciting endeavor this day was working on Kaiho songs (my other band in Edinburgh!). We have a gig the night I get back, and I'm rusty on the songs already know. Additionally, there are new songs to learn. These songs are the best for my one-woman-band act because there is a distinct accordion part in adition to the melodies. It's tricky to incorporate the kazoo into old songs since my right hand is already doing the elodies. With these songs i can have separate accordion and vocal parts without compromising my old arrangements.
I had already been doing "Call Me," but this day I tried "Hot Water," "Home," and "Rest My Bones." They were very popular! One girl asked if one was Yann Tiersen! There are other new songs that will eb great wtih kazoo, such as Stevie Wonder's "Sir Duke" and Sharkira's "Hips Don't Lie," but these will require writing out music and actually practicing. I´m trying to add kazoo to my pre-exiting songs, but so far it messes up my accordoin playing more than it augments the songs. But I used it on the melody of "So Long Marianne" which went okay. The other new addition to the act is some bells. I strolled around the town of Meersberg, Germany the other day and came across a shop selling mostly child-sized knight and princess costumes and relevant weapons and accessories. Outside, hwoever, were bins of toy musical instruments! There were little pan pipes, whistles, and those things where you roll the little handle between your little palms and the little balls swing around and hit the little drum head percussively. Then there were the bisn with mini tambourine, sticks with tambournig things (okay?) and various settings of bells. In Israel I had been actively looking for bells or something that would strap around my ankle, to no avail. One bell set was a strip of something with bells mounted on it, in a semi circle, with a wooden handle closing it. These handles were paitned, with heads attached, to look like animals. I handeled all these instruments, assessing their control and volume, even testing their timbres with a tambourine. i stuck a few in my shoes to test the execution, which earned me more intersting looks from passersby than merely shaking them all with a look of concentration had done. After about fifteen minutes of this I settled on the aforementioned bells, much to the relief of the store workers. I rejected the alligator, giraffe, and monkey and chose the mouse because it was a neutral color. This totally didn't matter because I was planning to remove the mouse, thread some string through the remaining holes, and tie it to my left foot. I should have gone with the giraffe becuase then I'd get to have a cylindrical giraffe after! Unfortunately, the bells are not loud enough to be heard over the accordion. Listeners may be able to hear a faint jingle, but I cannot. I decided that rather than including the bells in the regular percussion, i would use them for quiet bits, makin the transition back into the loud parts with tambourien mroe dramatic. The only place I've thought of so far to do this is in "Call Me," where it switches to only soft, high RH during the chorus.
I had more troube keeping the tambourine on than usual, which was endlessly frustrating, but the lognest I kept it on was actualy when I used the bells as a device to hold the mischievous tambourine. I can't think of any other technical difficulties, so are you ready to hear what happened?
1. A gruop of (young, drunk, male) Bayern fans stoped by. They wore an array of jerseys and one wore leiderhosen. They asked me to play "God Shave the Queen," a request I thought to incldue an English mispronounciation until I remembered that they oppose Chelsea. After this they wanted Rihanna, specifically a song with "California" in the title. I didn't know it, but suggested Lady Gaga or Adele instead ("Sometimes you play Rihanna, and sometimes Adele insteeeeaaaaaaaad"). They were up for a "Someone Like You" singalong, and their tempo and pitch were spectacular, as you can iamgine. After, one asked "Can you play this one?...'When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, "What will I be?..."'" It took me a minute to place it, but we had a rousing chorus of "Que Serà Serà" much to the amusement of passersby. I handed over my set lsit for them to choose their final song, and they settled on "By the Rivers of Babylon." Off they went to enjoy the festivities! They took a video which hopefully they will send along.
2. Not long after, my pitch was once again shadowed by a group of equally (more?) drunk Chelsea fans. One made an inappropriate comment about my act's name. Those bawdy Brits. But then they asked me to play a song which sounded pretty identical to "Lord of the Dance," but with funny lyrics. I had heard another group of Chelsea fans changing the words to "Battle Hymm of the Republic" earlier as well! These guys have sent along their video! Woo-hoo! Click here to watch.
3. Everyone in the world was drinking beer and I wanted to join the festivities, so luckily one of the Brits gave me my first Augustiner, a bräu I had been advised to try. It certainly made the kazoo playing interesting Hm, I wonder if that could be why it broke. Can alcohol fumes melt wax paper or something?
4. Others lingered, some talked! A duo did both and asked if "Cal Me" was from Amelie How's that for a comlpiment, Sas and Freya?
5. A few kids stoped, but most tipped then bolted. I sure am scary! For one I picked up Flaa and did a demo. It actually works to do LH and kazoo and do her with RH! I will have to pratice like crazy when I get back. But the kid didn't want a turn (she ran into the forest when I presented Flaca). I wonder if they´ve found her yet.
6. As usual, I was working the same turf as the rickshaw pedalers. Their customers often waved or presented hands for high-fiving, but my hands were obviously full! I began to recogniye the same drivers and one yelled something about a "mautharmonica" or something. Probably noting the lack of it in the current song!
I could have played all night (and still have begged for more) but I quit after a while to find my new friends. They had been unsuccsesful in finding me despite my very clear and specific directions of "go past the nude people, cross the river on a foot bridge with an ice ream vendor, and you will hear me." I joiend them on their picnic blanket and did "Call Me" there for them to record so I can show the world my new act. When we all left we passed by another ice cream vendor on another bridge. Of course. Then I left my gear at the flat and went to the Oktoberfest park to watch the game! Unfortunately Chelsea won in sudden death penalty kicks due to a missed shot by poor Schweinsteiger (Pigclimber).
The end!
Sunday, May 6, 2012
The Search for Sarah's Flat, or "That Time I Broke and Entered in Tel Aviv"
This is supposed to be a blog about busking only. However, every once in a while I have a non-busking-related story that I want to share, and the blog seems to be the best place to share it. I hope you enjoy the tale of last week's misadventure!
(*Street name changed to prevent further breaking-and-entering.)
Introduction
In May of 2012 I shed my accordion and piano dress for a week to bask in the sun of Israel and visit my dear friend Sarah Yourgrau. My flight was to arrive in the middle of the day when Sarah was at work, so we planned that she would leave me the key to her flat on top of the electrical box so I could let myself in. She sent me her address: 23 Devengal*, top floor, the door on the left. She additionally warned me that I would be greeted by an ancient pit bull. She promised to leave me a note!
To be honest, I didn't think everything would go perfectly, since this plan was laid out by the girl we had to lie to about a cappella rehearsal time so there would be a prayer of her showing up within the first hour. It's safe to say that I expected a hitch or two. My plane landed, and I got on the right train, and got off at the right station. I held my map in one hand and my cheap plastic Thrift Store compass in the other, and navigated my way on foot through central Tel Aviv to Devengal St. There was 23, right between 21 and 25! My first error was that I climbed a few stairs and emerged in a private residence. After standing around in the living room for a moment, a young man asked me, "Are you looking for the building?" I was. No problem.
I ascended to the top floor, felt around on top of the electrical box, and sure enough there was a key waiting for me. I put it into the door on the left, but the key did not fit. I tried the door in the middle, but it did not fit either. It fit perfectly into the door on the right. This was the first time that day I felt like Goldilocks. "This one's juuuust right!" "Okay," I thought, "That's Sarah's mistake, she said left instead of right." No big deal. I stepped into the spotless apartment, quite impressed by the adult level of cleanliness and decor that Sarah must have developed in the two years since we'd last seen each other. There was the bedroom, then another bed neatly made up. Sarah had said she wouldn't have time to make me a bed, so I inferred that the time must have materialized. I didn't see a note, but she could have forgotten that. That forgetful Sarah! I opened the door to the kitchen that led out to the balcony where a gray and white cat bounded towards me. Hm, that's strange. At this point I still didn't suspect I was in the wrong flat. The explanation I decided upon for the feline appearance was that it was a surprise for me! Sarah must know how much I love cats, so rather than just telling me she had one, she set my expectations low by lying about the pit bull so I would be pleasantly surprised upon my arrival. Aw, what a great friend!
Check #1
Despite my confidence that I was in the right place, I thought I should find some proof that Sarah lived here. In the preliminary look-around my eyes settled on something that could be proof: a holographic poster of a unicorn. It was so tacky that Sarah could definitely own and display it to be ironic! To be sure, I examined the rows of shoes, and didn't recognize any. That's okay, she's in a new country with new fashion, she probably has different shoes. I examined the living room, with a fancy, expensive flat-screen TV, and didn't see a single book or magazine in English. Hm. I glanced at the drawer in the bedside table, and opted to not open it unless it was necessary. You know in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure when PW is rescuing the animals from the inferno of the flaming pet shop, but keeps walking by the snake terrarium, grimacing, and rescuing something else instead? It was just like that. As long as there were other corners to investigate, I could avoid checking the bedside table. I rifled through the cosmetics and beauty products, looking for an American brand, but they were all covered in unfamiliar alphabets.
I thought about what I could look for that would put an end to the mystery forever, and remembered some skills I had learned in the Worst Case Scenario: Dating and Sex book. Specifically, the "What To Do If You Wake Up In Bed With Somebody Whose Name You Forgot" chapter suggests looking for prescription medication, magazine subscriptions, or luggage tags that might state the owner's name. I looked for these things, but all I found was a suitcase with a checked luggage label for a flight from Moscow to Tel Aviv. Would Sarah have gone to Moscow? I came across a photo of a bunch of women, none of which was Sarah. I was really starting to doubt her occupancy of this flat. At this point I ran down the stairs again, feeling around atop every electric box to make sure I had the right floor, to no avail. I came back upstairs to go even deeper into this flat's possessions.
Check #2
Not having found anything, I started really rummaging. I opened cabinets and examined the wardrobe (Counterpoints shirts?), and looked over at the bedside table once again. There was nowhere else to look but in there. I bravely opened it, and saw everything I feared I would see: a lacy red something, a ton of condoms, and a tube of "Love Gel." Ewwww. There was an envelope. Letter from Sarah's mom? No, it was filled with money!! Lots of it!!!! Wow! Still without real proof in either direction, I "hacked" the computers. Two laptops lay around (both PCs, definitely not Sarah), so I booted them up, hoping to see a photo of Sarah and her boyfriend on the desktop. Both were locked, with accounts bearing initials that began with A. This was my cue to put my clothes back on (I had made myself comfortable), smooth down the groove that my pack had made on the bedspread, and book it out of there, feeling like Goldilocks once again. "Who's been unpacking on my bed/petting my cat/examining my Love Gel?" Good thing I didn't raid the fridge!
The Search
I decided that Sarah must have given me the wrong building number, and that the other key was coincidentally there for those who come in to feed the cat and to partake in the use of Love Gel. When I hit the sidewalk of Devengal street once again, the guy whose flat I had entered first was outside with a friend. I asked them if they know Sarah and Yogev, and they do not. I explained the predicament, and the guy kindly called the landlord to ask if Sarah and Yogev rent from him. They do not. Well that clears that up! They asked why I don't call Sarah, and I told them I had forgotten to record her number, which was out of reach in my email. The guy invited me in to use his computer to get her number. Aren't Israelis nice? I crafted an SMS asking Sarah if she was quite sure she lived at 23 Devengal St., and I got a response from T-mobile saying that her number was out of range. Lovely.
Sarah must have just mistyped 23, so I made a list of numbers it could be: 2, 3, 32, 21, 12, 34. I tried all of these buildings, rubbing my hand on the electrical boxes of each one. All the mailboxes were in Hebrew, so I couldn't seek their names. Numbers 21 and 2 were construction sites. Number 3 is the Embassy to Moldova. That's not it! When none of these produced anything, I began running up and down the stairs of every building on the block, thanking my lucky stars that I did not have my accordion with me. At this point, my right hand was a nice shade of black from the decades worth of dust, sand, and mouse shit I had rescued from the umpteen electrical boxes I manually examined.
Several people on the street saw me wandering around sweating through my backpack and asked what I was looking for. "Thanks, but it's not really something anyone can help with," I would tell them. One nice man asked why, so I told him the misadventure so far, mainly for my diversion in retelling it. He stood up for Sarah, unwilling to blindly join me in blaming her, and suggested, "Maybe she didn't mention the cat and she's out with the dog!" He did suggest I take a break from entering strangers' homes and have a lemonade with him. Lemonade sounded good, but my real goal was to get into the Mediterranean Sea, so I wanted to find the place and get on with my afternoon!
Mega-Happy Ending
It was clear that the only thing to do was to get in touch with Sarah. My plan was to walk past #23 again, where I would see the helpful people on the porch again, and they would ask if I had made any progress. I would tell them that my text to her didn't work, at which point one of them would offer to text her on his/her Israeli phone. Perfect! But they were no longer outside, and I didn't want to take advantage of their help by going inside. Bidding farewell to the £1.50 per minute T-mobile had promised to charge me for calls in Israel, I dialed Sarah's digits hoping that this method would be more successful than texting. Indeed it was! "Hello?" "Hi! Where do you live???" "23 Devengal St." "Are you sure?" "Yep, top floor on the left!" "The one with the cat?" "What? No! That's the Russian cat lady!" "Well that explains the Russian luggage tags." "Wait, you went in there??" Etc. Sarah promised that the key worked, that it was the key that she and Yogev used every day. You just have to wiggle it a little. I had spent several minutes trying the key in the door on the left, even squinting to examine the bends of the key compared with the light shining through the key hole. I couldn't remotely get it in. "Wiggle it a little" my foot. I told Sarah I'd call her back if (when) I had more trouble.
I climbed the stairs at number 23 once again, picked up the key, and looked at its shape once again. Then, just for kicks, I put my blackened hand on the electrical box again. Sure enough, there was a second key. This was the one box I hadn't thoroughly petted, assuming I had already located all it had to offer. I turned that key, opened the door, and was immediately filled with that relieved feeling of "That's more like it!" There was a big funny note in plain sight, the place was not immaculate, there were photos of Sarah (but none of me), and a lovable white canine whom soon got way more of a petting than he expected in his slumber. I never thought I'd be so happy to see a pit bull! I threw myself onto the hammock and helped myself to the crunchy Israeli peanut-butter snacks they had left out for me. Of course Sarah had made no mistake, and had gone above and beyond in her hospitality (even if she didn't surprise me with a cat). I later learned that they are subletting the apartment, which explains why the landlord didn't recognize their names.
But Wait!
As I got ready for the beach (and ironically did a search of the correct flat, as thorough as that I had done in the neighbor's, in search of sunscreen), it dawned on me that there was evidence of my break-in: the cat! When I went in, the doors to the kitchen, living room, and bedroom had been closed. The cat food in the kitchen (which leads to the balcony) suggested that the cat was only allowed in there, and I had let it wander freely around the flat during my investigation. And I hadn't closed any interior doors behind me! I looked at the clock, assessing, from the ample information I had about the neighbor, if I had time to go back in. Sarah had called her a cat lady, but was she a crazy cat lady? If she found her apartment in a state of disarray would she call the police? Deciding that it was worth it to keep her suspicion at bay, I swiftly picked up her key once again, looked around, and darted into the apartment. Sure enough, the cat was luxuriously asleep on the couch, somewhere it was probably not allowed. Without hesitating I grabbed it, giving way to a perfect "Reowr!" I heaved the furry rascal into the kitchen, slid the three doors closed, and left as quickly as I had entered, for the last time. Later I realized that the computers were still powered up, albeit closed, but that could have been a mistake the Russian shoe-obsessed, grocery-not-stocking, cosmetic-refrigerating cat lady made.
Conclusion
I loved every minute of this misadventure, despite the physical exertion and confusion. At the end of the day, I am on the road not to see sights, not to work on my tan, but to gather stories. I could have boringly walked from the train station and picked up the right key the first time, but then the image of entering Sarah and Yogev's apartment for the first time would hardly have been memorable. It is experiences like this that maintain my excitement to travel, especially on my own (since a smarter travel buddy could have ruined the fun by finding the other key right away). Although it cut into my beach time, this search gave me a taste of Tel Aviv architecture and the kindness of strangers, and it taught me that I ought to give my sometimes-scatter-brained friends more credit. The best part was retelling the quest to the residents of 23 Devengal, top floor on the left, and hearing that amazing laugh that I had traveled so far to hear. And if nothing else, the cat across the hall was slightly less dusty after the ordeal! And if I see some lost Moldovans wandering around, lost, I'll be able to direct them to their embassy. Shalom.
(*Street name changed to prevent further breaking-and-entering.)
Introduction
In May of 2012 I shed my accordion and piano dress for a week to bask in the sun of Israel and visit my dear friend Sarah Yourgrau. My flight was to arrive in the middle of the day when Sarah was at work, so we planned that she would leave me the key to her flat on top of the electrical box so I could let myself in. She sent me her address: 23 Devengal*, top floor, the door on the left. She additionally warned me that I would be greeted by an ancient pit bull. She promised to leave me a note!
To be honest, I didn't think everything would go perfectly, since this plan was laid out by the girl we had to lie to about a cappella rehearsal time so there would be a prayer of her showing up within the first hour. It's safe to say that I expected a hitch or two. My plane landed, and I got on the right train, and got off at the right station. I held my map in one hand and my cheap plastic Thrift Store compass in the other, and navigated my way on foot through central Tel Aviv to Devengal St. There was 23, right between 21 and 25! My first error was that I climbed a few stairs and emerged in a private residence. After standing around in the living room for a moment, a young man asked me, "Are you looking for the building?" I was. No problem.
I ascended to the top floor, felt around on top of the electrical box, and sure enough there was a key waiting for me. I put it into the door on the left, but the key did not fit. I tried the door in the middle, but it did not fit either. It fit perfectly into the door on the right. This was the first time that day I felt like Goldilocks. "This one's juuuust right!" "Okay," I thought, "That's Sarah's mistake, she said left instead of right." No big deal. I stepped into the spotless apartment, quite impressed by the adult level of cleanliness and decor that Sarah must have developed in the two years since we'd last seen each other. There was the bedroom, then another bed neatly made up. Sarah had said she wouldn't have time to make me a bed, so I inferred that the time must have materialized. I didn't see a note, but she could have forgotten that. That forgetful Sarah! I opened the door to the kitchen that led out to the balcony where a gray and white cat bounded towards me. Hm, that's strange. At this point I still didn't suspect I was in the wrong flat. The explanation I decided upon for the feline appearance was that it was a surprise for me! Sarah must know how much I love cats, so rather than just telling me she had one, she set my expectations low by lying about the pit bull so I would be pleasantly surprised upon my arrival. Aw, what a great friend!
Check #1
Despite my confidence that I was in the right place, I thought I should find some proof that Sarah lived here. In the preliminary look-around my eyes settled on something that could be proof: a holographic poster of a unicorn. It was so tacky that Sarah could definitely own and display it to be ironic! To be sure, I examined the rows of shoes, and didn't recognize any. That's okay, she's in a new country with new fashion, she probably has different shoes. I examined the living room, with a fancy, expensive flat-screen TV, and didn't see a single book or magazine in English. Hm. I glanced at the drawer in the bedside table, and opted to not open it unless it was necessary. You know in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure when PW is rescuing the animals from the inferno of the flaming pet shop, but keeps walking by the snake terrarium, grimacing, and rescuing something else instead? It was just like that. As long as there were other corners to investigate, I could avoid checking the bedside table. I rifled through the cosmetics and beauty products, looking for an American brand, but they were all covered in unfamiliar alphabets.
I thought about what I could look for that would put an end to the mystery forever, and remembered some skills I had learned in the Worst Case Scenario: Dating and Sex book. Specifically, the "What To Do If You Wake Up In Bed With Somebody Whose Name You Forgot" chapter suggests looking for prescription medication, magazine subscriptions, or luggage tags that might state the owner's name. I looked for these things, but all I found was a suitcase with a checked luggage label for a flight from Moscow to Tel Aviv. Would Sarah have gone to Moscow? I came across a photo of a bunch of women, none of which was Sarah. I was really starting to doubt her occupancy of this flat. At this point I ran down the stairs again, feeling around atop every electric box to make sure I had the right floor, to no avail. I came back upstairs to go even deeper into this flat's possessions.
Check #2
Not having found anything, I started really rummaging. I opened cabinets and examined the wardrobe (Counterpoints shirts?), and looked over at the bedside table once again. There was nowhere else to look but in there. I bravely opened it, and saw everything I feared I would see: a lacy red something, a ton of condoms, and a tube of "Love Gel." Ewwww. There was an envelope. Letter from Sarah's mom? No, it was filled with money!! Lots of it!!!! Wow! Still without real proof in either direction, I "hacked" the computers. Two laptops lay around (both PCs, definitely not Sarah), so I booted them up, hoping to see a photo of Sarah and her boyfriend on the desktop. Both were locked, with accounts bearing initials that began with A. This was my cue to put my clothes back on (I had made myself comfortable), smooth down the groove that my pack had made on the bedspread, and book it out of there, feeling like Goldilocks once again. "Who's been unpacking on my bed/petting my cat/examining my Love Gel?" Good thing I didn't raid the fridge!
The Search
I decided that Sarah must have given me the wrong building number, and that the other key was coincidentally there for those who come in to feed the cat and to partake in the use of Love Gel. When I hit the sidewalk of Devengal street once again, the guy whose flat I had entered first was outside with a friend. I asked them if they know Sarah and Yogev, and they do not. I explained the predicament, and the guy kindly called the landlord to ask if Sarah and Yogev rent from him. They do not. Well that clears that up! They asked why I don't call Sarah, and I told them I had forgotten to record her number, which was out of reach in my email. The guy invited me in to use his computer to get her number. Aren't Israelis nice? I crafted an SMS asking Sarah if she was quite sure she lived at 23 Devengal St., and I got a response from T-mobile saying that her number was out of range. Lovely.
Sarah must have just mistyped 23, so I made a list of numbers it could be: 2, 3, 32, 21, 12, 34. I tried all of these buildings, rubbing my hand on the electrical boxes of each one. All the mailboxes were in Hebrew, so I couldn't seek their names. Numbers 21 and 2 were construction sites. Number 3 is the Embassy to Moldova. That's not it! When none of these produced anything, I began running up and down the stairs of every building on the block, thanking my lucky stars that I did not have my accordion with me. At this point, my right hand was a nice shade of black from the decades worth of dust, sand, and mouse shit I had rescued from the umpteen electrical boxes I manually examined.
Several people on the street saw me wandering around sweating through my backpack and asked what I was looking for. "Thanks, but it's not really something anyone can help with," I would tell them. One nice man asked why, so I told him the misadventure so far, mainly for my diversion in retelling it. He stood up for Sarah, unwilling to blindly join me in blaming her, and suggested, "Maybe she didn't mention the cat and she's out with the dog!" He did suggest I take a break from entering strangers' homes and have a lemonade with him. Lemonade sounded good, but my real goal was to get into the Mediterranean Sea, so I wanted to find the place and get on with my afternoon!
Mega-Happy Ending
It was clear that the only thing to do was to get in touch with Sarah. My plan was to walk past #23 again, where I would see the helpful people on the porch again, and they would ask if I had made any progress. I would tell them that my text to her didn't work, at which point one of them would offer to text her on his/her Israeli phone. Perfect! But they were no longer outside, and I didn't want to take advantage of their help by going inside. Bidding farewell to the £1.50 per minute T-mobile had promised to charge me for calls in Israel, I dialed Sarah's digits hoping that this method would be more successful than texting. Indeed it was! "Hello?" "Hi! Where do you live???" "23 Devengal St." "Are you sure?" "Yep, top floor on the left!" "The one with the cat?" "What? No! That's the Russian cat lady!" "Well that explains the Russian luggage tags." "Wait, you went in there??" Etc. Sarah promised that the key worked, that it was the key that she and Yogev used every day. You just have to wiggle it a little. I had spent several minutes trying the key in the door on the left, even squinting to examine the bends of the key compared with the light shining through the key hole. I couldn't remotely get it in. "Wiggle it a little" my foot. I told Sarah I'd call her back if (when) I had more trouble.
I climbed the stairs at number 23 once again, picked up the key, and looked at its shape once again. Then, just for kicks, I put my blackened hand on the electrical box again. Sure enough, there was a second key. This was the one box I hadn't thoroughly petted, assuming I had already located all it had to offer. I turned that key, opened the door, and was immediately filled with that relieved feeling of "That's more like it!" There was a big funny note in plain sight, the place was not immaculate, there were photos of Sarah (but none of me), and a lovable white canine whom soon got way more of a petting than he expected in his slumber. I never thought I'd be so happy to see a pit bull! I threw myself onto the hammock and helped myself to the crunchy Israeli peanut-butter snacks they had left out for me. Of course Sarah had made no mistake, and had gone above and beyond in her hospitality (even if she didn't surprise me with a cat). I later learned that they are subletting the apartment, which explains why the landlord didn't recognize their names.
But Wait!
As I got ready for the beach (and ironically did a search of the correct flat, as thorough as that I had done in the neighbor's, in search of sunscreen), it dawned on me that there was evidence of my break-in: the cat! When I went in, the doors to the kitchen, living room, and bedroom had been closed. The cat food in the kitchen (which leads to the balcony) suggested that the cat was only allowed in there, and I had let it wander freely around the flat during my investigation. And I hadn't closed any interior doors behind me! I looked at the clock, assessing, from the ample information I had about the neighbor, if I had time to go back in. Sarah had called her a cat lady, but was she a crazy cat lady? If she found her apartment in a state of disarray would she call the police? Deciding that it was worth it to keep her suspicion at bay, I swiftly picked up her key once again, looked around, and darted into the apartment. Sure enough, the cat was luxuriously asleep on the couch, somewhere it was probably not allowed. Without hesitating I grabbed it, giving way to a perfect "Reowr!" I heaved the furry rascal into the kitchen, slid the three doors closed, and left as quickly as I had entered, for the last time. Later I realized that the computers were still powered up, albeit closed, but that could have been a mistake the Russian shoe-obsessed, grocery-not-stocking, cosmetic-refrigerating cat lady made.
Conclusion
I loved every minute of this misadventure, despite the physical exertion and confusion. At the end of the day, I am on the road not to see sights, not to work on my tan, but to gather stories. I could have boringly walked from the train station and picked up the right key the first time, but then the image of entering Sarah and Yogev's apartment for the first time would hardly have been memorable. It is experiences like this that maintain my excitement to travel, especially on my own (since a smarter travel buddy could have ruined the fun by finding the other key right away). Although it cut into my beach time, this search gave me a taste of Tel Aviv architecture and the kindness of strangers, and it taught me that I ought to give my sometimes-scatter-brained friends more credit. The best part was retelling the quest to the residents of 23 Devengal, top floor on the left, and hearing that amazing laugh that I had traveled so far to hear. And if nothing else, the cat across the hall was slightly less dusty after the ordeal! And if I see some lost Moldovans wandering around, lost, I'll be able to direct them to their embassy. Shalom.
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