SUNDAY EVENING BUSKERS ANONYMOUS

Giovanni plays amped up. He needs it for the loop and wah pedals he uses. His sounds ring out over Dam Square and I sit on the steps happily, with about fifty others all listening to the layers of sound he creates as he samples himself playing a basic melody line, and then freestyles over the top of it. One guy has his head to his knees in appreciation, and many are certainly using the music to get some of their own quiet time. It's instrumental, beautiful and kind of encourages reflection, if you know what I mean...

It's 8 p.m, Amsterdam on a Sunday night and it certainly has that feel to it; work or school tomorrow for many as they leave to get their dinner, or to settle in and relax with what's left of the weekend. The cobbled pavement is ridden with small puddles from the same rain that washed me away from my busking perch earlier, though I didn't mind - people in Amsterdam have been responsive to my sounds BUT my voice is tired from competing with all the traffic noise in this part of town. Giovanni, however, remains perfectly relaxed as he plays, his music perfectly suiting the cool evening. He even has a 'guest book' that people can write in - I have a read and it's filled with portraits of himself drawn by various listeners, and words from many countries.

People on bikes whizz past, two blonde guys stand about fifty metres apart grooving to the music and alternately waving to each other across the short distance and falling over laughing - they're obviously high. A little boy about 2 years old runs around and around in circles; his parents smile and let him dance his own dance while they enjoy the music. I wonder what I'll do tonight. Sleep sounds like a good option - the simplest of things content me recently, and after another day of wandering these beautiful streets, and playing / listening to good music I'll be happy to call it a day. However, when in Amsterdam you somehow learn to expect the unexpected... a good thing, BECAUSE...

SUNDAY NIGHT SPONTANEITY - IMPROMPTU GIG BY THE OBELISK

...just as Giovanni is packing up his gear, Daniel (Da-Rasta!) of Balaphone fame rocks up and begins to beat out some funky African rhythms for the people of the square. I leave my guitar with him and go to eat, and when I return he's nearly been washed away by one of those huge industrial cleaning machines - the ones that blast anything in sight with water to wash all dirty traces away. We stop to talk, and when his friend Sebastian (a French beatboxer also known as 'Eyes-Full') arrives we decide to do an impromptu gig ourselves! As the water blasters have found another piece of square to attack, the coast seems clear enough anyway...

It's perhaps a strange combination - a human beatboxer, a Balaphone and a guitar that no-one can probably hear as I sing over the top of it. But people begin to gather nonetheless; the sky is darkening and this is just the sort of strange combination of sound that the people of Amsterdam love. Before we know it there are about fifty euro's in the hat and we've only jammed out a few songs, it's great fun even if you can't hear the guitar. Sebastian tries to get everyone up dancing and it almost works - me and him are kind of mobile, grooving around little groups of people while Daniel runs behind him carrying the amp for his mike.. in all the excitement something falls off of it and we lose power. Ah well...

I love the comraderie that small groups of drifters, gathered in to listen to music, can create. After we play we sit and talk to people, eat the chocolate someone gave to Daniel while he busked alone earlier and talk about various things that are going on around the city. When I next look at my clock though its after midnight...ridiculous! And somehow I'm twenty euro's richer than I was a few hours ago, all on account of just having fun. We plan to meet next morning to do yoga in the Vondelpark and go our seperate ways, me back to my hostel dormitory and they to one of many parties, beatboxing and Balaphon-ing their way through the night...

Next morning, I take my mat down to the Vondelpark and await their joyous presence for yoga asanas and then breakfast. Nearby is a mass of blankets that I wonder at, until I realise that it's them! Da-Rasta and Eyes-Full, who laugh and tell me they've been up all night and needed to sleep but also didn't want to miss our meeting, so took their blankets to the Vondelpark to wait for me. Seems yoga is out of the question now, but as it is cold we all somehow squeeze onto my mat for a wee nap before we the grumbling of stomachs forces us to move...

We walk to a market and buy beautiful fresh juice for breakfast, and mill about in the lovely Amster-market. Their eyes are drooping however so we soon say goodbye on the busy street. I see them one last time that night; they are jamming on the streets, this time with a Polish violinist they have met somehow - she is great... As I'm off to Salzburg the following morning, I say goodbye to them for the last time - they are too nocturnal for me and I'm not feeling up for one of their many parties of the evening... not this time, anyway.

DAMN IT'S GOOD TO BE BACK IN THE 'DAM!

Another city, another song, another day of busking experiences, though they're all good this time. Back in Amsterdam after more than a year I'm happy to say I'm in my flow again, even if I only play for an hour due to exhaustion from a sleepless night on the bus from Paris. I arrive at 6.30 a.m and after a beautiful morning walk along the canals, a compulsory visit to Maoz Falafels to sample the all-you-can-eat salad bar, and a few hours of sleep in Bob's Youth Hostel (ahhh, so many memories from last year.. this year I am the only girl in a dormitory of boys who seem to like walking around in their underwear - I feel pretty safe as always though, and tuck a sheet into the bunk above me so I have some tent-likeprivacy...) I'm back on the streets and singing on a busy stretch of mall near Dam Square.

Today in my blog however, I am the observer. I finish my 'set', count my 'wages' and sit to watch Daniel about to play his balaphone. He's a beautiful Swiss brother with ringlets of brown curls and a huge smile, who carts his 13 kilo 'Balaphone' around town searching for places to play. Wow, he's amazing! He sings as he plays ( the Balaphone is a percussive instrument, like a huge xylophone but with an African feel to it) and the rhythms flow out of him. Earlier we sat and swapped busking stories on the sidewalk and now I'm happy to take a few minutes to sit and relax and watch him, and soak up this Amstersphere. There's weed in the air (of course!). The sun is out and it's just hot enough, t-shirt weather but not hot enough to make your t-shirt stick to you. Hoorah! My spirits have well and truly lifted and people are passing, eating fries with mayo (a Dutch specialty) or icecream and it's a good feeling.

I ask myself why I've only given myself three days here?! Could it be possible I purposely miss my flight to Salzburg, Austria in three days time and spend more time in this Dutch capital? I'm seriously considering it, just sitting here soaking up this vibe on the street. A tram comes and temporarily blocks the sound from me. Ahh, there it is again...

Now a helicopter overhead obstructs the beautiful African beats... There's a crowd of people around my friend now as he bops away at his instrument. As I don't have a camera I have to capture these moments somehow, so although my throat is sore and my body needs more rest for sure, just for now I'm gonna sit and enjoy this sound a while longer...

ME AND J.C DOWN BY SACRE COUER

I'm singing away on these steps leading up to the immense beauty of the Sacre Couer cathedral, and when I open them next there's a vision in black velvet to my left. Long hair falls over his tanned and stubbled face, over piercing blue eyes that are peering curiously at me. He's decked out in gear from another century - shiny black buckled shoes, over black knee socks, over black breeches and of course the velvet jacket in this Parisien heat! An eternal cigarette dangles from the side of his nouth and for the first time (but not the last!) I notice the clear and dangerous looking bottle of liquor in his pocket. He offers it to me and I politely shake my head before he shrugs, takes a drag and tries to tip me in cigarettes.

I see addictions have gotten a hold of him - nicotine stains cover his fingers and his brain seems bent a little too far, though he's still beautiful in a kind of tortured Jim Morrison - druggie Jesus kind of way, just ravaged by various demons is all...

He likes the music. He also loves 'Chreest' and when I see him point behind us to the cathedral and then up to the sky I know he's talking about the son of god. Someone translates for him and I learn that he thinks I come from the planet Venus. Cool! He then requests a song by the Beatles - it takes me a while to work out what 'Elp!' means but then I remember the French don't pronounce their 'H's the same way I do...

There's a good crowd today. It's been so hot that now a slightly overcast sky brings only relief to these souls that come to sit and stare over the panorama of the city. People clap after each song - it's almost a gig! - and the rest of my time in Paris feels redeemed somewhat - up til now it's pretty much been all sun, sweat, blisters and tears no matter how much I've tried to look on the bright side of things, so I'm happy to stay here and play till the sun finally sets for the evening.

Dahmony is there- an Algerian guitarist - and when I finish, he plays beautiful songs that I harmonise to. His version of 'Me and Julio down by the School Yard' becomes 'Me and everyone down at the Sacre Couer' and on hearing this, the crowd cheers. Its a great moment! Mark from the U.S.A takes what must be a great photo of us - me and Jesus and the rest of the day's gang, Sacre Couer behind us, J.C holding his rum / vodka / whatever high and me laughing with the hilarity of it all.

Next day... I make it back for a last few hours before i head to Amsterdam on the overnight bus. I must admit I'll be grateful to get out of this city I loved so much last year - we haven't been getting on at all. I even got moved on today by the angry, over-masculine energy of a local street performer as I was playing under 'his' bridge down at Paris Palace (the fake summer beach - its quite beautiful actually...) He didn't speak much English but I made sure I told him how rude he was anyway - I just feel worn out from this rat race...

Anyway, back at Sacre Couer Jesus is in full force. A bit too much actually, and I have to tell him to leave me alone as he keeps trying to touch my hair. I can't play for laughing later though, when as I play 'Let it Be' he gets so excited he lies on his back in front of my case and does a kind of ecstatic dance whilst bicycling his skinny legs in the air. What a character... Later on, as a Spanish belly dancer shakes her hips for money, he has no qualms about doing his own dance beside her - unravelling the white scarf that is around his head today and acting like some kind of rhythmic gymnast. He looks so ridiculous that everyone is keeling over and I'm happy I have these memories of this beautiful place to leave on. Bring on another city, I say... Au Revoir, Au Revoir...

MUSINGS FROM MY YOGA MAT

I want to change all that I wrote yesterday about this Paris experience. Earlier on today, in the thick of what I thought was a hard day - and it was in a lot of ways - I could focus only on the bad points - the heat, the fast pace of the passers by, the expense and apparent non-vegan-ness of everything... I even came back to this haven of a hotel room and lay on my mat to write it all out before this thunderstorm came and thankfully washed the negativity out of me. And now its like an instant RECHARGE, and I'm glad.

So here's my day in brief - the impressions, the images, the overall feeling.

Hot Parisien streets. Tooo many people and a SUN thats stretched tight over so much touristic mayhem. Passers by not so appreciative of the notes I play, or perhaps I've just gotten used to the Irish love of music - I certainly miss the response I got there that's for sure, they are memories I carry deep within. Also I know that, because I'm determined to make back the thirty Euro's I 'lost' yesterday at Dublin airport, there's possibly a sense of desperation in my sound. I play long and hard, callouses on my fingers deepening, my voice breaking and remaking itself. It's hard work today and I realise this as a stranger leaves me the following note after sitting and watching on a dirty park bench for a while:

'You deserve to be listened to more carefully. I wish you luck. Adrienne'

I meet VINCENT , my angel of Chatelet who brings me cold water and cool fruits, and hangs around to make sure I don't get any hassle from the drunks, though I feel I don't need protecting - I'm getting tougher by the day, inside and out. Skin brown from this European summer. Biceps not quite rippling (god no...), but strong nevetheless from lugging my case around everywhere. Conversation-wise, I'm just not willing to engage with the myraid of sleazy men around; one tries to tell me how boring he found New Zealand to be when he went there, obviously ding his best to egg me on and evoke a reaction. I just smile, teeth clenched inside, and make for the nearest Metro station with an 'Au Revoir!' and a raise eyebrow. Later indeed, my opportunistic friend...

So now that another day is over, I look back and see how my clinging to money only made me miss the small beauties I appreciate now... the Mexican band on the subway that had hands clapping and feet a-lifting even in the midst of the throng to and from the Chatelet line. Terrance, the young (16 yrs?) Christian from Virginia, U.S.A who bought my CD and whose heart sank at the thought of leaving Paris in a week, the city he loves and has studied in for the past year. Beautiful snapshots I capture in word alone, now that my digital camera has gone bust and I'm too busy wielding my case around to see any sights.

But now, on my yoga mat, I'm happy with my minimalistic Parisien lifestyle. Loadsa fruit to eat, and not much else due to the heat - maybe a falafel if they have good tahini. I'm always paying for things out of little plastic baggies of coins these days, and I'm quite used to the looks I'm getting from the shopkeepers - but what to do? This is busking for you...

Cars pass outside, I love the sound their wheels make in the puddles still forming on the noisy streets of Montmartre. I sleep early (again) and look forward to whatever tomorrow brings...

PARIS, FRANCE

25/7, Montmartre

It's been a bit of a shite day, to be honest. I wake from a grubby Dublin hostel after an anti-sleep and bust my way to the airport, only to be charged an exhorbitant fee for travelling with my guitar. Try as I might, there doesn't seen to be a way I can get out of it without leaving my most beloved travel companion behind so I pay the thirty Euros (more than the flight itself!) and swear to never fly Ryan Air again... When I touch ground, my favourite hostel in Paris is full although they do direct me to a place in Montmartre, and I must admit it's a great room - funny how when you are already in a bad mood you have a certain more negative outlook on the whole day...

Sacre Couer in Montmartre was my favourite part of Paris last year. I take Stella (guitar) along to see it and set up - the sun is hot hot hot - is this some kind of heat wave taking over Europe, pray tell?! - and I am happy to just make twenty Euro's before a boy from Toulouse rocks up and starts playing beautiful reggae songs. We sing together for a while before I chalo home for a much needed early night. One of the lyrics we sing together stays with me - it's a song by German reggae dubstar Patrice, and goes something like

'Every day is so good just because I am alive
From the day that me born to the day me gonna die - I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive...'
Hear Hear.

THE COUNTRYSIDE AT LAST - CLIFDEN, CONNEMARA

This coastal town in the beautiful district of Connemara is where I find myself for one night only - if I'd known the beauty of this place and its surrounding areas earlier, I would have forfeited some of my time in the city for sure...

As my bus creeps along the coastline I realise how much I'd been craving this kind of place, albeit unknowingly. I check into 'Brookside Hostel' ( a fantastic, clean and friendly place to stay - a total joy after my Galway gross-fest) and immediately meet Harry and Sean - two fellas that met here two years back and decided to meet again this year to film a documentary - Harry makes films for a living in Vienna, Austria and Sean is an English singer travelling around Ireland singing traditional Celtic folk sings acapella for his living at the moment, so as I'm there they decide to include me in their footage as well. Later that night, Harry films the two of us having a conversation about music, performance and the ups and downs of busking... He also gains some footage of me as I sing outside the bank machaine (ha ha.. but actually it's a great place to play because while people wait in line they have time to listen to a verse or two) on Main Street in Clifden's small town centre.

I love busking in places like this. Reminds me of my first busking escapades ten years ago in the Wairarapa, a small cluster of towns in New Zealand, where I'm from. Small places where people have time to stop and listen rather than having to rush to the next cafe, pub or shopping mall... Sure enough, many people stop and comment on the songs, some sing to ones they know and an Italian couple takes about fifty photos of me - it's a good day...

Later that night, in a pub with wonderful traditional music (banjo, fiddle, guitars, beautiful vocals) I'm overwhelmed with the moment... being here with such great people and with my heart so full and open to beer and beauty. Sean is telling us stories all about the songs that the band are playing in between pints of Guiness, and it's all so good I can't quite believe I'm heading back to Dublin tomorrow and then onto Paris. I've been moving so fast lately and it's been completely my choice of course, but right now I'm wondering if it's been the right one. Ireland has certainly been the best country to busk in thus far (including Germany, France, Holland and also Barcelona in other years) and I feel like a week has just been too short...

GALWAY ARTS FESTIVAL 2006

GALWAY is a place I'd been looking forward to - but somehow as soon as I arrive, things don't seem to flow for me. Firstly, my bus from Dublin takes five hours rather than three and a half. I'm also unable to get in touch with the people I was planning on staying with, and so go out searching for a hostel, at 7 p.m on a Friday night - not the best idea at this most busiest time of the year! Due to the annual arts festival going on, almost everything is fully booked, but luckily just before I resign myself to sleeping in the park I find a hostel, admittedly grotty but obviously the last choice for me. At this stage I am tired, grumpy and just glad of a place to crash so I take it.

My bed for the night sorted, I leave with my guitar to hunt out a perch - I don't need the money so much today but I've become used to this routine - get to a new place and immediately take to the streets, often for better or for worse. There are buskers EVERYWHERE and they range from the brilliant to the absolutely surreal. There are a bunch of German girls in school uniform; one sits on the pavement and strums a nylon strung guitar while the others sing songs in their mother tongue. A Native American group I saw in London two weeks back are settting up their soundsystem, complete with massive generator... there's even infamous old 'Plink-Plonk' - a guy I'd been told about before, who stands on a corner with a cardboard guitar next to a music stand where the music for 'Plink-Plonk' is clearly visible - he stands next to it repeating the two words of his song whilst simulating playing the guitar, and seems to be doing allright as well!

SO at this stage there doesn't seem to be a space for me - I'm fine with this however, not being the kind of busker to bust in on another person's perch. This is certainly a time to let the whole game go for a while...

I wander down to the Spanish Arch, a grassy seaside area where straight away a guy with a guitar calls me over. He is PETER from Poland, and seems to be warming up for a night of busking himself - his 'warm up' consists of drinking cheap beers that are hidden inside his guitar case (he calls it the 'Garda Bar' - Garda being the name for Police here...) and drawing in small crowds of people with his throat tearing versions of 'Twist and Shout' and '500 Miles'. He's a nice guy though - like almost all Polish people I've met - and persuades me to come along with him, if only for the experience of seeing how easy it is to draw money from drunk people.

I've always known the money is where the drunkards are. However, I still prefer to busk in the daytime, where people can listen to and appreciate the music. Last year in Barcelona with Paul and Brian, I saw how rich we became from going round the terraces of bars there, and had an amazing week with all kinds of nocturnal adventures, often drinking our takings away til dawn, at which time we'd go down to the beach for sunrise.. good times... Anyway, even though I know it's not really my thing anymore, I go with Peter on this new mission. We find a perch outside 'Abrakebabra' (same name as a store in Wellington - ha ha) and sure enough, our first chords seem to invoke some kind of magic spell of their own. Within a chorus of that ole Scottish classic '500 Miles' (I cringe to hear it but decide to quickly get used to it) we've made about ten Euros, coins seeming to spill from pockets and purses of besotted young Galwayites and festival goers, stiletto heels doing the drunken shuffle on the dirty pavement.

I'm uncomfortable with this straight away - it doesn't feel like real music and we seem to be contributing to this culture of 'drink til you can't see straight anymore' - certainly eyes seem to be going in different directions anyway - and my heart sinks as I observe beefy guys clumsily dancing with girls in painted on dresses just as an excuse to cop a feel of their starvaceous curves -I hate this shit, it makes me sad and almost sorry to be human...

But I end up staying a while longer. It's not all bad. There are some good moments - a Bob Marley singalong, some guy that requests a song by INXS (!)... some good craic as they say... but city life can be so gritty, so raw... I leave after making possibly the easiest money of my life, but knowing that I cannot play music in this way. I'd be rich in a week but I guess I have a problem with the musicless-ness of it all.

Seems in this world most people would rather pay for a mindless 2 chord drunken scream than a meaningful folk song - and if the charts are anything to go by, I understand who so many people are saying music is dead. Not my reality, not my way... I go back and feign sleep over the roar of inebriation outside my hostel window and decide to try on my own again in the daytime before leaving the city for a quieter place in the countryside - certainly my soul is calling for it...

CAPITAL CITY CHORD CHANGES

I love the magic of alchemy - the art of turning an empty guitar case into gold. My first two days in Dublin have certainly been wonderfully lucrative. However, I busk first and foremost because I love it; I get to do my favourite thing - sing - whilst observing all kinds of people passing by, plus I get to be an outside observer into the small windows of their worlds I see on the street. Sometimes I feel like a kind of psychologist and I search my brain for songs to change the energy on the street... 'Welcome to the Machine' by Pink Floyd, definitely one of my favourites right now, is such a song - emotive and moody, whereas 'I Can See Clearly Now' is the perfect song to play on days like today when the sun is shining bright.

I have been avoiding the popular spot of 'Grafton Street' simply because I can't stand to walk down it due to the sheer amount of people hurrying there all day long... there are also a tonne of buskers here fighting for perches, and I have never been about this kind of thing - I prefer to find quieter spots where I don't have to vie for audio space. Having said that, there are some pretty neat buskers down there - a girl decked out in black and white, whiskers painted on her cheeks, and black and white poi's for hands. Whenever someone puts a coin in her box, she unwinds herself into position and does a short poi show for them. I might try the area of 'Temple Bar' tomorrow - I walked there last night and marvelled at its beautiful pubs and music venues - but today I go back to my same spot as yesterday - outside 'Clery's' (some shop - I'm not sure what they sell...) on North Earl Street.

My first busking adventure of the day begins when Michael sits down beside me and plays me some of his self-penned songs about this city he loves. He's a tattoo artist down on Grafton Street and says he only gets to play guitar when he meets a busker that lets him play a few tunes, so I'm happy to oblige. I join in on the choruses; his minimalistic lyrics 'Freeee and easyyyyy' and 'Summertiiiiime' are pretty easy to pick up. Later on, a woman with black hair and intense eyes stops to talk to me and our conversation soon shifts from my music to her four children, how the Irish built America and the dangers of some people on the street... She assures me I'll make enough money to 'get me dinner out of it' and reminds me that this is how Bono started out, after all...

I play on. A family of three young blonde boys, temporarily void of parent, are out for a laugh and thus approach me. They are too innocent to create real mischief though, and I happily answer their questions: 'Do you ever get robbed?' 'Do they speak English in New Zealand?' and 'Wow, did that lady really give you two whole Euro's???' At their request I play a song in te reo Maori on guitar, but they leave before I finish. Ah well...

Later, as I'm packing up and counting over 70 Euros in change, I'm approached by Mike, an ex-Londoner who, like Patrick the day before, shares his European busking tips with me. Sounds like Budapest is definitely a place to go and I make a mental note to find a way there... He has been playing music in South Cyprus recently and I have lunch with him to finish the worldly conversation we have started. We play a few tunes together in practise for his gig tonight at a Backpackers hostel before I go to enjoy this glorious sunshine that I never thought could exist in such longevity in this part of the world... guess I am being pleasantly suprised about a lot of things right now...

DUBLIN!

Three hours of sleep later I'm on the plane to Ireland, where I've never been before. I'm hazy and feeling slightly worse for wear, so my immediate plan is to find a hostel and rest for a while before hitting the streets. However, I arrive just as they are cleaning the rooms and aren't too happy about my placs for sleep, so I've no choice but to busk, really!

This job constantly amazes me... on the corner of EARL STREET NORTH and MARLBOROUGH STREET I make five Euro on my first song and it's a great start and sign for things to come. Three songs in, Patrick approaches me; an Irish musician who's busked around Europe and who shares his tips with me - Budapest, Greece and Croatia sound fabulously lucrative as well as loads of fun. He tells me about various festivals he's recently been to and the community of buskers in Croatia that support each other, and I feel stoked to be a part of this world, or at least on the fringes of it...

A song or two later I notice I'm being filmed by a rather Italian looking man who keeps periodically throwing Euro coins in my case, possibly so I don't stop and ask him what he's doing. I finish the song I'm playing and he promises to email me the video - he's a musician himself (actually not Italian as it turns out, but from the U.S, near Boston) and he plays my guitar while I sing 'Like A Rolling Stone' with him - Patrick comes back with his guitar and is incredulous to see me jamming away with another stranger- he asks me if I'm trying to start some kind of street band or something! We're certainly a bit of a spectacle on the street by this stage... it's a whole lot of good 'craic', as they say in these parts.

So, after half an hour of busking I have the promise of a place to stay and play on the West Coast of Ireland, a video in the (e) mail, and the offer of dinner from a lovely Zimbabwean woman who stops to listen and talks to me about how important it is to play music... it's all happening so fast but I'm not overwhelmed, though I do start to tire in another hour so take a break after an easy 35 Euro's - more than enough for my return ticket to Galway in a few days. I'm off to find the vegetarian restaurant Patrick told me about, and also to take my guitar in for a check-up - too many plane rides lately have not been ideal for her and she's beginning to sound a bit tweaky...

THE ICING ON THE CAKE

It's Monday 17th July and my final day in Edinburgh for a while before I fly to Dublin - another absolutely glorious day in this city where no-one takes the sun for granted... Believe it or not, I have actually become browner from two days of busking in the rare Scottish sunshine than I was in my last few months in India - strange but true!! Anyways, I'm running like a mad thing around town all morning trying to do last minute tasks, and am suprised come 1 p.m when I find a couple of spare hours in which to busk. It's a perfect day to frequent the Middle Meadow Walk, and I rock up just in time to catch the end of the construction workers' lunchbreak - I had promised them on Friday that I would learn 'How Much is that Doggie in the Window' for them today... he he... I don't disappoint and they go back to work happy.

The sun shines on. An old friend that I had no way of getting in touch with chances upon my perch and goes to fetch homemade elderflower cordial and wild cherries for our nourishment; also a shirt he had been making for me seven months ago - it's amazing when he comes back bearing so many gifts. Another friend passes by, beauteous dreadlocks gleaming in the sun. He sits and dreams and eats his lunch to my sounds as babies are strolled by, dogs are let loose and students bask on their lunchbreaks. I sing to this Monday crowd and yet another friend comes to join us... it's idyllic. Imagine if life could be like this every day! I'm amazed... and it's with great reluctance that I pack up at 3.50 p.m to go and meet a friend. There's a gathering to be planned for tonight...

Later on we eat so well, my old workmates gathering together to cook organic food and give me yet another 'welcome back AND farewell again' dinner. Mung beans, Yucca, salad, dahl, curry and rice... organic gin and ginger ale... Italian beer... me and my black guitar as always at Leire's house in the city where we sit and drink and reminisce. It's so good to celebrate this wonderful existence with such good people that I don't mind if I don't sleep tonight. Just a few last songs before I go - some Diana Ross and some Bowie and then some Floyd, before I crawl into Leire's spare bed for a few hours of befuddled rest before my next lift-off...

BUSKING REALISATIONS

Today is an absolutely glorious day and I'm back on a good busking wave after a day off from playing yesterday and way too much mental deliberation. After just a few days back busking I realised I was in danger of becoming attached to the income of things rather than just letting the music do its thing, and as well as this, I'd been playing what I thought other people wanted to hear rather than what came naturally to me. As a result I've decided to stop noting down how much I make every day - it's just enough to know that I'm making enough to survive, isn't it? So now that I've reconnected to this idea of letting the music speak for itself, I realise again how it's going to be an amazing journey...

I play at various places today on the Mile and feel myself getting tired after just a few songs. I realise it's because I'm going through the motions; singing LOUDER to complete with all the surrounding traffic and street noise and the like. As soon as I stop doing this and begin to play only songs that I want to play, people seem to respond more, AND I'm no longer fatigued. Hoorah...

One of my favourite songs to play lately is 'Feeling Oblivion' by Turin Brakes - it's not well known, but it's so darn pretty and I can feel the effect its music has on passers by. It's good not to add more NOISE to the street, but rather to just sing at my own volume and observe how certain quiet, beautiful songs can almost work as an undercurrent, contributing towards a change in atmosphere in the market place or wherever a busker happens to be.

I get moved on, as I am playing outside a council office, so I soon flee to...

THE NATIONAL GALLERIES OF SCOTLAND
(just off Princes Street and next to the beautiful Princes Street Gardens)

There's a piper and some Scottish drummers already playing here so I choose a quiet spot, away from the main square where people are sitting eating their lunch. Instead I play on a busy but peaceful walkway, where I imagine my melodies wafting their way into peoples' worlds, them on their lunchbreaks full of dreams about busting out of their moulds perhaps... I try to play inspirational, thought-provoking songs in the hope that maybe a line or two will stay with them, back at work in the coming afternoon. 'Civil War' by Guns 'n' Roses is one, as is 'I am the Highway' by Audioslave.

It's not the most ideal place to play if you want to make money, as not too many people stop - and so often it's just that people are too SHY to stop! - but I enjoy it simply for the chance to practise certain songs I don't know so well. I also run into Ross and Davina from 'Mars Patrol' - a fantastic band I met ages ago. It's great to catch up with them, and I kind of sell my first CD to them (I say 'kind of' as they insist on making a donation when I offer to give it to them).

It's beautiful to be back in Edinburgh, to stop and have lunch in the Princes Street Gardens. Life is good. The sky is cornflower blue with perfectly fluffy white clouds, the weeping willows wave in the breeze by Scots Monument - a wonderfully Gothic building in this medieval city.... Edinburgh, I'm certainly lovin' your ways today...

BACK IN THE 'BURGH - EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

Middle Meadow Walk, 10/7

My old busking haunt, 'Middle Meadow Walk' consists of a path, tree lined on either side, that connects 'The Meadows' to the city centre. It's close to the university, and a perfect place to play on a sunny day while students and families stroll through the green fields and muse upon the aesthetic pleasures in life...
However, this is Edinburgh and sun is kind of rare. It's also a Monday, although I play for a couple of hours and manage to do allright. My highlight however is running into a customer from my old work and jamming out 'Lazing on a Sunny Afternoon' and 'Jealous Guy' with him.
I think these Edinburgh escapades are going to be pretty standard - I'm using them as a kind of warm up to more of the real thing I suppose, as in this coming week I'm more focussed on catching up with friends. So that's cool.
TOTAL - £17.07

High Street (Royal Mile), 11/7

The famous 'Royal Mile' of Edinburgh, packed with buskers and various street performers in the world famous August Fringe Festival - now July and filled with noisy trucks unloading stuff in preparation for the festival. Too noisy for me, although it is lucrative, being a tourist haven all year round - it's just I cannae handle competing with the various vehicles blocking my view of the sunny side of the street. So it's back to the Meadows I trot...

Like yesterday, I have a small audience for lunch - a bunch of construction workers having their smoko break. It's nice to feel like a regular again after two days, even if one of them accosts me for my phone number and tries to bully me into going out with him. He he - India has taught me to be strong in this regard however, so I quite enjoy saying NO, buddy!!! I don't stay too long today as there's a cold wind threatening to blow my takings down the road and also, I hate to admit it but I'm TIRED. Perhaps everything is catching up with me today - so much travel in the past week, different climates, timezones... I observe that when I have energy, people are more drawn to the music as opposed to when I'm just going through the motions; a bit like an eclectic jukebox. In times like these they are more likely to just pass me by... so I'm off to meet Dave for a curry (Edinburgh mosque - can't beat it) and to give my voice a rest.
TOTAL - £6.03 Hish Street (20 minutes)
£4.65 M.M.W (an hour. Hmmm...)

DAY ONE - LONDON CALLING...

July 8, 2006.

I've never busked London before. Always thought it too big for me somehow, too massive and fast-moving for people to pay attention to a mere acoustic singer-songwriter busker.
BUT the times they are a-changing, and now that I'm surviving on this music thing I think I better get out there and start warbling.
I'm staying in Earls Court at the 'Olave House Millenium Lodge' (pretty flash name for a ten pound dormitory bed...) so as soon as check out time hits, I'm out of there and on my way over to LONDON BRIDGE.

Position: my back to the sun. A backdrop of the Thames behind me, various statues to my front. At about 11 a.m I begin to sing... Ahhhhh, I love it. Singing has ALWAYS been such an amazing release for me.. the best way I express myself I guess. I begin with Joni Mitchell's 'California', as usual, and as the first coins start to hit my glittery-scarf bedecked guitar case (three cheers for Indian paraphernalia!) I know I'm going to be allright. On this, my first day back on the streets, nothing very out of the ordinary happens. I feel like I'm back in India almost, when a few Indian passers by stop to have their photo taken with me - that's another mantle piece around the world that I'm on, I think... a few children stop and stare, but mostly today people stop for a while, smile, fish in their pockets for loose change... one young Turkish boy asks for 'Comfortably Numb' by Pink Floyd and 'Losing My Religion' by R.E.M - I always like getting requests that I know how to play so I don't mind at all.

One and a half / two hours or so later I stop for a break - my stomach is grumbling and I count
£22.12
10 c Euro
1 c American
in my case.

It's a good start- not great, but enough for the minute. I don't want this to be just about the money (it won't be!), but I think I'm going to continue to keep a record of exactly how much I make, if only just for interests sake.

Later, on KING STREET near COVENT GARDEN I play for twenty minutes and make a fiver, plus am given a can of sugary grapefruit juice that I don't dare to drink from a teenaged girl. I leave after a short while as it's too noisy and people aren't really stopping to watch - I could have busked in the the Covent Garden market of course, but there are just too many great human statues to watch and not really enough space for a late-coming guitarist.

At WATERLOO, near the LONDON EYE I make £8.82 in half an hour until a policeman politely asks me to move along as it's private land or some such thing... a shame, as I have a small crowd of Polish tourists watching me at this point. Ahh, this is busking for you... anyways, I'm kinda beat and it's time for me to prepare myself for a night bus journey to Edinburgh so I'm ready to chalo anyways....

LOGISTICS OF TODAY:

Total income: £35.28 British pounds
10 c Euro
1 c American
1 can sugary grapefruit juice

That's it for now. I'm updating this from a friend's house back in beautiful Edinburgh, where I gave myself a day off to catch up on sleep and friends after five months away ( I used to live here). Tomorrow I'll hit Middle Meadow Walk, my old busking haunt, and see where the day takes me...

Hey-ho, it's July 7, 2006 and all off a sudden I'm not in India anymore. Arghhhhhh.... my five months in a country I love deeply are quickly merging into one big montage of dreams and visions as I walk through the airport tunnel and unto British soil once again. Now, it's 7 p.m local time and a HEATHROW inspector awaits my passport in the long arrivals line. No problems, I'm thinking; although I no longer have leave to work here (my working visa expired back in Feb) I DO have a ticket back to my beloved Aotearoa in three months time, as well as a ticket to Dublin in a week, but this guy wants more proof than that. Spose he's just doing his job I think, as my passport officer asks for evidence of how much money I've got, what my income source will be and wants to know where I'll be staying for the next wee while. Thanks to my recent Vipassanna meditation course, I manage to answer all of his questions in a peaceful manner, and although he detains me at first ('detains' is such a big word isn't it - it doesn't mean what it sounds like! - I simply go and sit by myself while he takes my passport away for closer inspection) he does let me through after ten minutes or so with my passport thankfully stamped 'LEAVE TO COME AND GO FOR SIX MONTHS'. Thanks!!

So I'm back. The U.K and Europe for three months. Singing for my supper every day that I'm able.

I first had this idea to do a big busking adventure when I was in Europe busking last year on and off for a month. In between my alternately various crazy and wondrous experiences, playing music on the streets of Amsterdam, Paris and Barcelona, I thought 'wouldn't it be cool to really see if I could survive on my busking long-term... to interview other buskers and collate all of their experiences, including my own, into a kind of a busking guide for other hopeful musicians wondering if they could do the same one day?'

So here I am. A three month tour of 'I-don't-quite-know-where' planned, with just my guitar for company - no wonder the airport dude was sceptical... Me and Stella (guitar's name) taking to the streets, learning to survive perhaps on the bare minimum sometimes, learning to play music rain or sun, wind or storm. Weeeeeheeeee, I'm excited! So, although my blog efforts in the past have fallen kind of flat, this time I'm gonna try again just cause this is such a damn cool thing to try and do. You can find me here, at least when I can afford some internet time to do an update...