After six weeks of plaster, I was happy to get rid of it. I was planning to leave the hospital cheerfully, but that was a bit disappointing. In fact: I barely couldn't move. My leg didn't really cooperate. So. I wore my high boots for a few days until my foot squeezed and felt so painful that I started to worry. Back to the hospital. Fortunately no thrombosis, I was a little afraid of that; my foot was set up that way, it seemed like the veins were about to explode. Anyway. Made an appointment with physiotherapy and when I got home I packed my little travel guitar. Small backpack with toiletry bag, stool and music stand and a walk with this little luggage in my living room. Why? Because I had booked a trip to Paris this weekend. Let's try if it all worked out. Well, it was just possible. It could even be better: if I also leave the fishing stool and the music stand at home and only bring a pillow? Then I really have nothing to lug around, but then I have to sit on the ground .... Just like before. Singing on the ground .... that's how I started. Just like the beggars do, don't they. Now I need just an unused paper cup ...
Reminds me of last year in Avignon. I know the unwritten laws of the homeless people well. When I was 18 I spent a day walking along with the most experienced beggars in Bordeaux, now I know exactly what is allowed and what isn't.
So I knew very well that it was not done to sit in the same street as the woman who forced people to give her something in her cup. You have beggars and beggars. This woman was not shy. And yes, I actually thought it was a little MY street,too. I also sang there last year and it was just the best place for a street musician like me: a narrow street, not too many people shopping. Moreover: she wasn't there that day I came along....! Hooray, so I started to sing. But unfortunately .. who arrived? SHE.
And yes. “Go away, this is my street, go sing somewhere else! ”, She shouted at me (in French) after I had sung two English folk songs. I sang stiffly through, I was first. And she shouted through my singing to the passers-by: “Allo allo !! Here I am, give me some change (.. or I will HIT you)! " I felt very uncomfortable, of course, but did not like to walk around for another hour in the heat to find a good spot. I really just wanted to sing and even share my money with her. So I beckoned her. I asked her if she might want to sit next to me. She reacted somewhat reluctantly, then thought for a moment, and damned, she sat down next to me. I sang a song but earned nothing. Then she made a decision: "Look," she said strictly, "Here is my cup. You can put the money in here. We divide it. I'm leaving now and coming back soon. " "Okay," I agreed. Because what the heck.
Her cup was next to my hat. I really hoped that I would earn something. I felt like giving her money. Not for the money, but to stimulate the cautious development of a positive relationship. Somehow I liked her. She commanded respect. And yes, some euros came in. After an hour she came to collect the loot. With a satisfied look she said: "Tomorrow again?" "Yes," I said. I was also satisfied. I had sung nicely in a nice place, so it was fine to me. So this is what happened the next days in Avignon. Singing with a cup in front of me, in which I distributed the income. And look, the woman who begged could now chill out with her sister, niece or the entire gitanes family hanging out in the center of Avignon. I met her every day, shopping or not, in the city where we greeted each other cheerfully. I think I grew up as a gypsy in a previous life.
Return to Paris. I have to decide NOW. I go sitting and singing on the ground in the subway with my old repetoire ... unencumbered .. loud, high singing ... difficult walking on crutches ... in the rain .... lonesome s in a hotel ... (I am having fun in itself)) OR stay home and enjoy watching the final of the Voice at home, rehearsing in the morning in café Zamen and enjoying a friend's performance in the evening? Why do I doubt? What the hell attracts me, that vulnerable, poor back to basics exist? All I need is a guitar. And a toothbrush, and clean underpants. And shelter of course.
But no, I now decide that I am not going. It's too complicated with those crutches and my foot. With pain in my heart I cancel the hotel and my printed train tickets remain unused in the cupboard.