Busk or Bust

Traveling, for me, has always been about the people you meet. Yes, of course, I want to see beautiful sights, and visit wonderful places, but the truth is, all of my favorite memories are because of the people involved, not the places we went.
Croatia and Cambodia have been my two favorite countries in all my travels over the years. Why? Because the locals were kind and accepting and wonderful.
Meeting people from all over the world while traveling is probably the best thing I've ever done for myself. The best tool for becoming a better person.
Forming friendships with people from different cultures breaks stereotypes in your mind, teaches you to communicate more effectively, and have patience with each other while overcoming barriers between you. It reminds you to get to know someone before judging them on race, religion, nationality, and all those other outward variations of humanity. It teaches you to be more accepting of differences. It can bring things into your life you never would have experienced within your own culture.
Honestly, it's the best thing I've been shown, and I am grateful everyday I was put in these situations starting when I was six in Cuba, and that I can continue to put myself in them now that I'm grown.
Traveling for me, is heavily focused on the people you meet, and the moments, big and small, which you share with those people. And to everyone who has welcomed those moments, and welcomed me...Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

There are certain situations we get ourselves into in which we cease to grow. These situations are not necessarily negative. In fact, often times they are fun. They feel good and we want to stay there for this reason. But if you aren't growing, it's likely you're stagnating. It's the unfortunate truth of, well... my reality, at the very least. I shouldn't speak for anyone else.
And it was just such a situation I found myself in the last few weeks. I was having fun.  I was enjoying life, and I was loving the people around me. All of these things I can say with certainty. What I can't say, unfortunately, is that I was growing.
And therefore, I quickly began to stagnate.
Stagnation is not a place I want my brain to sit for long. Especially when undertaking creative endeavours.
When you get to the point where readers are coming forth to let you know they can sense the stagnation in your writing, well...it's certainly time to move on.
So that was it then. Time to get out of Dodge.
Or, ya know...Clifden, in this case.

Then there are moments in life, they often happen when I'm feeling uncertain, where the universe conspires in my favor, coming together with perfect timing, to say, "Don't fret, little one, you're on the proper track."
And so it was.
Leaving Clifden was hard. Tears were shed.  Hearts were cracked.
But I arrived to Galway, and the universe said, "Don't worry. We've got ya."

I walk into Fabio's house right as he comes down the stairs.
"Hey! Did you get my text?" He asks, grabbing his amp.
"Oh, no. What's up?"
"I'm supposed to be busking right now, I didn't know earlier, but now I'm late. If you wanna meet me down there, we'll be at Evergreen."
"I'll just come now," I respond, dropping my bags in the corner.
"Sure. I'm on my bike, but you can just hop on the back."
I laugh at the image, uncertain how trusting I'm feeling. But screw it, why not?
So with an amplifier, a fiddle, and a hula hoop, two hippies jump on a bicycle and roll right into traffic and on into town.

As we roll between cars, pedestrians laughing at the sight of the two of us, and shout news of the past few weeks back and forth to each other, the unease of the day begins to lift off me.
I leap off the back of the bike as we approach the buskers spot, and jump right into a number of arms and embraces.
"Welcome back! How long are you staying??"
Once they start playing, I plant myself behind them, back against the health shop on the corner, and listen to all my recently found friends do what they do best. Jam out. Captivate the audience. Transport people. Make them smile.
And I'm one of those people they're making smile.
And I'm in the right place.

With instruments on our backs and amps in our hands, we head to the west side of town for some Celtic Storytelling.
A hush spreads between us as we head up the stairs, opening the door as quietly as possible.
It's meant to be 10 euros at the door, but the woman looks between the faces of our ragtag group, and says, "Now, I recognize some of you...are you all musicians?"
We nod.
"Okay...how about just 10 for the lot of you? Since you're local."
"I didn't know there was a cover," Kai says. "I don't have anything on me..." He kind of trails off and we all wait as she decides.
"Oh, just go on in. Enjoy, you guys."
The room is dimly lit. A few lights on the little stage, with an equally little man on it. Spectacles and wispy gray hair.
I feel immediately that he will be a good storyteller.
And I'm right!
He keeps the audience captivated through two hours of stories. Of little green men. Of magic bottles. Of serial killers. Keeps us hanging on with wit, humor, chills, and sad endings.
His Celtic tales mixed with the mood lighting and his heavy Irish accent make me very aware of where I'm living these days, and I cant' help but grin as we listen. In fact, I grin nearly the whole two hours.
What a life.
When the show ends, we move outside so the guys can smoke, and when the storyteller exits the building he gets overly excited to see them. He "fangirls". Tells them he loves their music and loves seeing them play, and he asks for a picture with the band. It's an adorable scene. Art appreciating art.

My wicks burn out, signalling the end of our busk, and I'm high on...everything. The power of the fire. The energy of the crowd. I miss spinning regularly.
A beautiful girl, with red dreads down to her waist and an oversized jumper, bounds up to Fabio and I, excitement in her eyes.
"That was amazing!" She exclaims in an Italian accent, beaming. "I'm so sorry I don't have any money to give you, but that was so beautiful."
We laugh. "Don't worry about it!" Fabio tells her. "You're one of us. You don't need to pay us, just enjoy it. You're one of our fairy family."
We embrace happily, and she sticks with us from then on. Two days later, she's busking herself.
Another fairy flitting about Galway, bringing music and laughter wherever they go.

I'm still packing my equipment when a couple approaches me. I've seen them around the last few days, and kept meaning to talk to them. Drawn by their colorful robes, dreaded hair, and hoops and staffs hanging off their packs. I'm happy to turn and come face to face with them.
"That was beautiful. Thank you so much," the woman says to me.
"Ah, no, thank YOU!"
Her partner walks up with a brown bag, "Are you hungry? We don't have money, but we just got dinner, if you want some food."
"Oh, I don't want to take your food..."
"No, please, we want to give it to you. That was beautiful."
With that they place a whole meal in my hands, still warm in the container. I laugh and thank them many times as I dig in, realizing in the now dark streets that I haven't eaten yet today.
"We also decided that we want you to have these," the woman holds up two posters with beautiful artwork on them, and a fairytale related to each image typed at the bottom. "We draw them, and our friend writes the stories. We usually sell them on the street, but we would love to gift this to you."
I am overcome with gratitude at their gesture. Sharing art for art.
We talk for a while longer, and when they eventually depart, I am left feeling warm and fuzzy and inspired by such generosity and kindness.
This gifting of food, art, and friendship is more valuable than some coins on a blanket will ever be.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I sit on the ledge of a building in the city center, eating a croissant and watching the people go about their days. I feel eyes on me suddenly, and glancing over, laugh out loud at the giant camera pointed at me across the street, croissant half-way to my mouth.
I flash back to Piazza Nettuno in Bologna, Italy. I sit on the ground in the square, enjoying the sunshine and spending a few hours alternating between reading my book and watching the people interact.
There, too, I feel someone watching, and look up into the large eye of a lens pointing at me. I laugh, startled, and the photographer takes this as encouragement, kneeling down and getting even closer to me.
He stands, a man in his 70's, and gives me a big, encouraging smile, before turning to a girl sitting near me and declaring, "lei è un'artista." ("She's an artist.")
This happens again in Prague three weeks later.
And again last month while I stood behind the counter at work, talking to a customer.
"Are you an artist?" He asks me, out of the blue.
I laugh. "I'm a bartender."
"No, but like...do you like art?"
"Doesn't everyone like art?"
"It's just the way you're dressed. It's very abnormal."
"Well," I shrug, "It's normal to me."

Maybe in some of these cases, it was my freshly shaved head. Maybe in others it was my clothes. Maybe...well, to be honest, I'm not sure what it is, because at home, I've never stood out much. Many of my friends have the same style as me, so no one thinks twice, but for some reason, here, I just keep looking up into the lenses of cameras.
Another thing for tourists to gawk at. Take pictures of. Go home and show their families, triumphantly. "Look what we saw while on vacation!"
I have to just laugh. At myself. At the situation.
So I sit on the ledge of the building. And I laugh as this man takes a picture of me eating a croissant.
Whatever floats your boat, right?

I've said goodbye to everyone at least twice, and I just keep saying I'm leaving, but something keeps me stuck in the street. A bubble of buskers, amid the tourists and crowd. With the right people, four nights can turn into a lifetime of friendship, and dare I say it...I think I've found those people. One embrace after another. It's hard to let go.
They tell me I can't leave. Or reassure themselves that I'll be back. But I just chuckle, and tell them it's not likely. But I'll meet them down the road.
I am full of gratitude for all the laughter, dancing, friendship, and kindness, but most especially, all the MUSIC. So much music. And so much encouragement among friends.
I think when long-term buskers are throwing money onto your blanket while you spin, that's a pretty powerful sign of approval.

Coffeeshop jams on my last morning.

Eventually it's really time. My bus is coming soon.
"You can't leave Galway, you just look like you belong here. You're part of the scene now," a stranger in a bar told me last night. Now, with bag on shoulder and guitar in hand, I feel like that's probably true. Just another crusty street kid. You can spot us from a mile away. But I love it.

As I walk down Shop Street, one last time, toward the bus station, the rain that's been threatening all morning finally comes down. And I smile, feeling it's a sign. Each tiny droplet letting me know I'm leaving at just the right time.
Because often times, when I'm in doubt...the universe conspires to let me know...
Everything is perfect, just as it is.