By Giove

There is a place, deep in the Umbrian countryside, at the top of a mountain. 

There is a bee farm and olive groves.

There is an artist, Marco, who is a classical guitarist and is also the bee farmer. 

There is a kind, gentle woman, Ornella, who writes poems about her friends. There is a sprightly woman, who cares for animals, known as Tinkerbell.  There are cats called Matisse and Dali. There is a ballet dancing man. This man is developing a philosophical system to use the waves of the financial markets to distribute money more freely and creatively in the world. 

There is a gallery, run by the most amazing people, where I performed amid an exhibition of dramatic photographic seascapes. The sound of the piano drifting through the gallery and out to the tiny street outside, made me very, very happy. 

After the performance, I was taken for my supper, to a pizzeria with this wonderful group of people. At this pizzeria, no ordering of food occurs. Instead, round after round of anti-pasta and pizzas were delivered to the table, only stopping eventually after a unanimous declaration of ‘Basta Così” (nothing more!).

Until very recently, there was a festival every year in the woods near Giove. People searching to confront their mortality and find some peace, came to be hung by hooks in their flesh and to swing from the trees. This process of mortification of the flesh, stems from religious zealots of the twelfth century. Ornella and Marco hosted some of the flagelants, tending their wounds with propolis from the bees and wishing them well on their way back to the cities. 

I have found this piece of writing quite tricky, and I don't really want to post it - I think what I really want to say, is that for someone who has lived in a world influenced by stories and fairytales, I have never been somewhere that so much feels as if I fell into a very magical, storybook world. The name of the village is Giove. In English this means Jupiter. I think that kind of sums it up for me. 

Zurich and The Alps

My journey to Zurich may have been the most frightening of my life. Gale force winds, driving rain. The tiny red jeep is blown across the autobahn and aquaplanes constantly. I am a shaking state upon arrival. Luckily, I have a reconnaissance with GW, who is at the start of his own European journey.

We set up a tent in the rain, at the most expensive campsite (although very beautifully situated) in the world. At the edge of

the lake, we eat local fish and drink wine, before the storm pours down further.

Zurich in the sun is, of course, much more beautiful. No gig here, so a day of tourism, not touring, instead, wandering through alleys of artisanal shops and galleries, before eating huge cakes at the oldest conditorei in the city and later, wurst at a tiny Metzgeri, where a jolly man asks if “yes, I really want a whole sausage?” Of course I do (that’s what she said).  

I also have fun drinking, ‘without hesitation’ at some of the city’s 500 water-fountains, because that is what the free guide book in a bar said I should do. 

As the rain starts once more, huddled over a beer in a place that used to be the oldest railway station in Zurich, I decide I can’t face a two hundred mile journey that night. Instead, GW and I hatch an ingenious plan…

Back at the campsite, we blithely tell the man in charge that we are leaving and drive out, round the corner and then back on ourselves to the public car park across the road. Stealthily, I park the tiny jeep in a space behind a bush. From there, we swap coats and I put on my glasses and a hat: a brilliant disguise, I’m sure you’ll agree. We lurk in the shadows for a while, before strolling, as nonchalantly as possible, through the gates to the end of the campsite, where we pitch the tent in the dark.  At six am we decamp and scramble up the bank, over the wall, back to the car park. I do my best to justify ‘stealing camping’ to myself by the fact that we were there for seven hours and didn’t use any electricity or hot water. Yep, no shower before a five hundred mile drive. Lovely. GW wanders to Salzburg and I and the jeep trundle off to Umbria.

Driving through the Alps, I am heartbroken by the beauty and can’t quite take it all in. By the time I am halfway into the mountains, the weather has changed – I have broken the stormfront – hurrah!

At ten am I do as mamma Maurer advised me to in Wallhalben. Just over the Italian border, I stop at the first Italian services and have a perfect espresso: 1euro, my heart leaps. The sign overhead tells me it is 30degrees. As I get to the first toll, the sultry young man in the booth leans towards me and says, “beautiful car”. I am in Italy. 

Wunderbar Wallhalben

Wallhalben is, I have discovered, the German equivalent to Co. Down (where my Northern Irish family home is). Why? It’s beautifully green with gentle landscapes and a bit of rain (at least when I was there), it’s famed for potatoes and dairy farming and, most importantly, its inhabitants are warm and wonderful as toast and fond of good food and good drink. I felt very much at home. Ok – so maybe in Co. Down I don’t swim in a pool at the top of a hill like I did in Wallhalben…

The Maurer family have been in this tiny village (900 inhabitants) for generations. Hans and Gertrude (either end of the photo below) were born here, at home, after their parents came to the village as a young couple. Hans grew up with the village, its life and its ways. He briefly lived elsewhere but he and his wife Ulla (next to Hans in the same photo) came back when they had children. They built a house at the top of the hill, from where you can see all of the surrounding area.

Maybe the best thing about Wallhalben, is the fact that it is very much ‘alive’ unlike similar villages in the area and indeed in Europe. There are working farms, shops, community; it isn’t merely a commuter nest. Oh, that and the amazing dialect, which of course I learned. Almost all the Germans I met had no idea where Wallhalben is. Those that know it told me I would have a hard time understanding anything. I had a crash course in Wallhalbenisch and will demonstrate this to anyone who cares to hear (and probably those who don’t as well). I think if it were English it would be a bit like Yorkshire or rural Northern Irish, fittingly.

What to tell about my visit? It was basically one big party. We ate: amazing slow cooked beef, dumplings, bratkartoffeln (like sautéed potatoes), four kinds of cake, ten kinds of cooked meats, cheeses, pickles, breads. We drank: Prosecco, beer, wine, whiskey - we had an amazing blind whisky tasting, that I and Christina (second from right at the back)  won. 

There was music - Christina is a friend of the Maurers’ and a soprano who sings classical and gospel music in choirs and with a group. We played together; German songs, English songs and American songs. (I forgot my music stand - of course - but our human music stand did a great job). I played solo also and then somehow ended up doing an acapella performance of Irish folk. Like I said, it really was like being at home. 

Little Wallhalben tales

Ulla took me on a wonderful walk, on which I found this little slow worm and sent him on his way with a cheery 'auf wiedersehen'. 

Wallhalben Area Emergencies


In Zweibrucken (the next town), on the morning I was in Wallhalben, the entire town was evacuated by the fire service because an unexploded WW2 bomb was found near the foundations of a school that was being built.


The fire service were also called to evacuate a street last year, not for a bomb, but for fruitflies. For an as yet unknown reason, a plague of the flies swarmed along just one street to the extent where it was unpassable. It didn't happen anywhere else, has never happened before or since. Scientists are apparently writing reports, humming and hahing about it. The fruit flies are long gone. 

Bits and Pieces - Berlin to Warsaw

It's been a few days without internet so I have some catching up to do, But before I start, just a quick note about  people. Last night in Warsaw I was fed the most incredible supper of baked fish stuffed with almonds, garlic and herbs, 

before playing a gig to an amazing group of people, who then fed me excellent Polish vodka. We talked long into the night, until the point where they got up to leave to stay elsewhere because they had given up their bed for me to stay in! 


In Berlin previously, I stayed in the amazing apartment of a girl who I have never met, who wasn't even there but simply gave me her keys. Before that in Hamburg, I was treated not exactly like a princess (I don't think princesses are allowed to laugh so much or get so drunk) but certainly hosted with charm, grace and excellent food (and drink). In Rotterdam, Renia - another total stranger, gave up her time, her space and was warm and welcoming beyond belief. I am blown away by the way people are inviting me into their lives. If your faith in human nature and society ever falters, simply wander off and throw yourself upon the kindness of strangers. Even the slightly strange lady who worked at the campsite in Wrzsenia ( I camped one night so far) was jolly lovely. Hurrah to you all. 


So, Berlin. Seems like a long while ago now...I love Berlin and as ever, had an amazing time there. Intersoup is a great place, very Berlin; cosy, kitsch and cooler than I'll ever be. Here would be a picture of their soup, but I ate it too quickly -  I hope you can tell it was ace. 



 The gig was  funny, brilliant and surreal - a hot Saturday night  in a basement playing to a handful of people who were a very interactive audience. Ray the Australian told me some interesting forays into the world of Berlin bureaucracy (sorry Germans, you know I love you and I hate to reinforce stereotypes but his 
tale will make it into a song as it made me laugh a lot.) He also sang me some of his own, spontaneous, fake Italian opera, fabulous. 






The highlight of the night though, was this comment from beautiful Danish actress Katrin, who was on holiday with her boyfriend - I think it might be the biggest compliment ever:
 I make pregnant women feel drunk.
 I have achieved. 


I then moved on to Wrzesnia.
I stuck a cyberpin into Googlemaps halfway between Berlin and Warsaw, and this is where I found. 

Through the joy of the internet and satellite navigation I found  a hidden campsite (there are signs on all the main roads to it, which then stop as you reach the final, vital directions). Super cheap and with a small open air communal area, the woman at the desk, after first looking a mite suspicious, then agreed that it would be a lovely idea if I played some songs in the evening. Alas, this was not to be. Having wandered to the town centre, I experienced the biggest thunder and lightning storm I have ever been in. No photos, as I was hidden for a while under big beer umbrellas in the town square, and then engaged in the process of dodging from shelter to shelter on the way back to my tent (after my fingers went blue). Hatches were battoned, shelter was taken.


 Post storm the next day, I continued my wanderings. There is a huge photographic project taking place in Wrzesnia.

 Outside in the square, pictures taken by Franciszek Wlosik show the town in the early 1900's. I love the 'tache of the man in the front row (reminds me of Hamburg) and the disapproving look of the woman in black. 


In the local museum, I met Ewa, the curator. Inside the museum gallery, photographers have been invited to exhibit pictures that show aspects of the town. Ewa is standing next to her favorite picture - a photograph of the house of a man who had decided to sell televisions. They are lined up outside his house like dominos. As Ewa said, she finds it not the most beautiful, but the most interesting scene from this picturesque town with some darker moments in it's history....



Historical fact of the day? Wrzesnia is the place of the children's revolution. Ewa told me this and I love the story. In 1901, under Prussian rule, children were supposed to be taught in German, including religious instruction. The children of the school in Wrzesnia got together and refused to take classes in German, even when they were physically beaten by the authorities. The strike then spread to other neighbourhoods and lasted until 1904. In 1908 a film was made of the strike by French film makers - who referred to the children as 'The Polish Martyrs' (though none of them died from the beatings). 


Ewa's own story of Wzresnia is much more beautiful. Her love for the town is so evident, in her speech and in the care with which she showed me around. She moved away once and felt like she had to come back, to 'her' town. As the museum curator, she has a responsibility to the preservation of the town's history and she does this with pride.  Her own son is now growing up in this place that she loves - although he is not a revolutionary (so far!) 




Onward, onward through traffic jams aplenty (Small rant coming, skip if you like). TRAFFIC. I may never drive again, the guilt is too immense. Through three countries in Europe I keep seeing almost empty cars, roadworks widening autobahns and autostradas to fit in more empty cars, traffic in every direction and people just ignoring what it means. I don't know how else I could have taken a piano, PA, ukulele, tent, camping equipment, clothes, food etc around Europe but if sitting in all this traffic makes me think, then surely some of the people in cars around me must be considering their transport methods too? Buy a bike, take a train, get a pair of skates. I love the tiny jeep, and I did research that it was better than flying, but this is a one off. Back to public transport in blighty. Sorry. But I do feel better now... and so to......

WARSAW! 

Warsaw, you have earned your capital letters and bold font, mainly due to my unbloominbelievably brilliant hosts, Kathi and Wojtek, seen above with friends Lars and Julia. I have already mentioned the brilliant food, fun and music that we shared. What I don't quite know how to start with is the stories I heard from them. Maybe I will take this photo as a starting point to tell you about them individually...

But not tonight as I have no more internet time or energy. Instead - deal with the unbearable anticipation with a picture of a Polish bear. (I'm really sorry about the pun. Honestly.)

Rotterdam!

It seems fitting that my little journey started in Rotterdam, as it is a city of journeys. From Dutch settlers who left from here to go to America (the picture is of the New York Hotel, which was where they left from), to the colonisation of countries including Surinam (more of in a bit), to students from  all over the world (the Erasmus programme is from Rotterdam). I was only in the city for a couple of days but I seemed to see lots of arrivals and departures in that time and it made me think a bit about the nature of travel and the different reasons why it is so addictive to some, so imperative as a life choice for others. 


Anyway, I turned up and guess what - Rotterdam has a rush hour too - who knew? This meant that I missed the skate tour, so instead, my lovely host Renia fed me and showed me around the city. As we joined the apres-skate (lots of sound systems in the city centre and people effortlessly wheeling round on their skates drinking beer and eating ice-cream) it turns out that me missing the tour was a VERY good thing. Rather than a quaint tourist notion of donning a pair of skates and being led through the city, it is several thousand Rotterdammers (and people from other regions) skating (pretty fast) for 16km around the city. I probably would have died. Or broken something. 


Instead over my couple of days, I learned a lot about Rotterdam and Surinam from Renia, a Rotterdammer who came from Surinam as a child. I'm not going to go into the massive political situation there - you can google it - or wait for the song I write about it maybe... One thing I can write about Surinam is that their food Rocks; they use the hottest chillies in the world and they put boiled eggs in everything, which for me is a very good thing. 





Because it was bombed so much, Rotterdam is full of new buildings, and people really seem to mourn their lost architecture - so they make up for it with huge amounts of public art. Sculpture and murals are everywhere. The fire boundary from the war is marked by lights all around the city and the Brazilian graffiti (from a project last year) is amazing.



There is also a decidedly quirky project that turns the entire Noordereiland into a ship, with it's own mast, lights and flag, so that one day it may sail off on it's own. I am now sailing off (in my jeep) to Hamburg. 

Bye Bye Blighty!

So, I’m all at sea, literally, as, thanks to the wonders of wifi, I’m writing this from the Stena ferry to Hoek Van Holland.

 I’m sitting pondering what my travels will be like, as I wave goodbye to England. The picture I have in my head is this: Imagine the scene from ‘Almost Famous’ where they’re on the tour bus for the first time, it’s loud and crazy and full of cool people getting high. Now juxtapose this alongside the image of me, alone, mapless (I forgot my map), navigating the roads of Europe (probably on the wrong side), too scared to have a drink EVER because of the severe drink-driving laws and the fact that the German police can take your licence off you on the spot. With a jeep full of everything a girl could ever need, including a full PA, stage piano and my new ukulele (which I intend to master by the end of the journey). My co-star in this adventure, the lovely SST, will possibly be a tad squished in the passenger seat when she joins me...

I arrive in Rotterdam this afternoon and by this evening I shall be rollerskating through the town. It's a skating tour and the idea is that I will join, and sing a few songs perhaps, along the way. I have donned a pair of roller skates but once in my life, and I stayed upright for all of five seconds - with no word of exaggeration. This could be interesting. Assuming I am still alive by this evening, I will then have a day in Rotterdam tomorrow, before heading to Hamburg on Friday, then onto Berlin on Saturday and Poland on Monday - Hurrah!

Only non-private gig of this week is Intersoup so if you happen to be in Berlin, come along to Prenzlauerberg. In Warsaw, I'll be playing for Kathi and friends at konsofa, there will be video of this on their site and I'll put a note up when it is uploaded. For now though, back to the Stena lounge and maybe some more free coffee. I'll leave with a couple of lovely pictures of London in the sun....

Arnold Circus Sharing Picnic

This is Arnold Circus, a bandstand and public space where I live. Sunday 18th was the celebration of it's centenary, with a day of music, stories, food and sharing (sharing of cake especially, brilliant). This amazing place is going to be one of the locations for my stories of Europe and travel to be told and sung on my return to the UK. This is a little snapshot of why I wanted to bring stories here...

Storytelling is at the heart of this area and on www.spitalfieldslife.com you can read

new stories every day about the life of Arnold Circus and it's inhabitants. This very nice man (whose name I'm very sorry but can't remember) was giving out some of the stories at the picnic. War stories, immigration, changing and growing communities and even visits from a certain Mr W. Shakespeare are documented on the site.

Graphic designer Alexandre Bettler (www.aalex.info) lives locally and the poems of Arnold Circus from his stand will be up on his site soon.

Being a bandstand, there was music all day at the circus, including by Eastend locals Brassroots. They were all amazing but their Tuba player was practically inhuman, lips of steel, I think. If my computer starts behaving again, I'll upload a video soon...

Finally, this is a message from an Arnold Circus resident about the future of life here and elsewhere, which I loved. I can't wait to add my stories and songs to this place.

Video of the Berio Folksongs

Here is a short video with a couple of the songs from the Berio cycle: Loosin Yelav from Armenia and the Azerbaijani Love Song.

Berio Folksongs

Not strictly singing for my supper, but feel I need to mention the concert of the Berio Folksongs that I performed on Sunday, as the piece has been a big inspiration for my journey. Performed with West Forest Sinfonia at Southill Park and, despite it being the world cup final, we had standing room only - a completely full house!

Just a wonderful experience all round, performing these songs with a great group of musicians, thinking about the different places the songs were collected and how they affect the audience and performers in different ways. To Jude (cellist) especially, thank you for this comment; "I found myself dancing the final movement, as much as one can with a cello!!"