"Sounds Like a Tune"

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I'm writing this on the train to Glasgow! Aren't I cool?

My time in Edinburgh is winding down. I am now entering my final week in Auld Reekie, and I'm simultaneously trying to busk a lot to raise money for my travels and deprioritize work in favor of packing and organization. That said, I have two days of playing to catch up on.

Although tourism has slowed down, there are still people out. I'm not sure if this will be the case a month from now, so I am glad I decided to take off when I did. It has gotten quite cold, and I am now beginning to don my winter busking attire: double leggings, quadruple sweaters, hat and gloves.

I had the slowest Saturday I've had in a while. I attribute this to the Scottish independence march on Saturday morning. I mentioned in Friday's post that a local songwriter gave me sheet music for a song he had written for the aforementioned cause, and we discussed the possibility of playing it together at the march. As fun as it would have been, I deemed this less of a moneymaker than simply playing at the market, so I skipped it. The market ended up being quite slow, possibly because everyone was at the march, which wove through the Old Town and ended up in the Princes St. Gardens for a rally. Vendors at the market commented that many regulars hadn't shown up. It was quite interesting to see folks on their way to the march, though, typically wearing kilts and/or Scotland rugby jerseys and holding flags. Since I wasn't making a fortune anyway, I decided too late that it might have been worth it to just watch the march as a final Scottish experience. Oh well.

I got to the market earlier than I usually do, by 10:30. I figured I usually miss some of the primo market crowds, and since I'm trying to fundraise I got out of bed on time. I set up at my old end for a a last attempt at loyalty before assessing the disadvantages of that side and moving to the more popular end. An ensemble with three accordions and a few violins played folk music in the middle pitch, with a banner stating that they are raising money to donate to a charity that helps children in India. I later learned that one of the accordion players was the wife of the man who drives my choir carpool.

It was quite cold out, and standing in the sun made a big difference. Customers noticed this as well, and once again dragged the tables and chairs into the sun, where I usually set up. I set up there anyway, with my back to them, but business didn't pick up and I had the added challenge of the sun being in my eyes. I finally moved across the street where I was at least facing the crowd, but it was quite cold in the shade. I've got to stock up on thermals to busk my way through Europe as it just gets colder and darker! Luckily, not a whole lot happened Saturday so this should be quick.

Saturday, 22 September, 2012, Part I

1. I met a really nice American guy about my age. I'd seen him before, but today we had a nice talk. I'm only including this because it was a good reminder that there are cool people in America. I can find a nice community closer to home with interesting young people.

2. This was especially nice after this American lady came up and, without even saying hello (something I've noticed Americans do) just asked “What did you study?” When I answered that and her follow-up questions she sort of did that rolling-eyes looking-down expression of disgust and left without further salutations. That's what I DON'T want to go back to!

3. I've mentioned this regular guy with long dyed orange hair who always seemed to walk by during “The Final Countdown.” I just like that I now have a friendly banter with him and his partner and dog, regarding whether or not they come during the aforementioned song. Today, they walked by during my tamest most accordion-friendly songs, and we joked about that, that his timing was off. Going to miss the characters of Edinburgh.

4. Part of the winter routine is blowing on my fingers a lot both to warm them up and increase my appearance of suffering to therefore increase tips, and it totally worked. I was set up across from the coffee box, and one older man kept looking back (I assume in disgust if it's someone of an age to be familiar with proper accordion music) and saw me do my hand-warming routine a few times. Finally, he came over and handed me a cup of coffee, saying, “Something to warm your hands!” Isn't that nice?

5. Jan the German accordion player who has been there before came by, but without his kit. I asked if he was playing and he said he was not because he had gotten “a little too hammered” the night before. His word choice along with his accent made me smile. But...he was in luck because I don't have caffeine anymore (well definitely not coffee), so although I appreciated the older man's generous donation of coffee, it would go un-drunk if left with me. So I gave it to Jan.

I didn't pack a lunch today, planning to get something at the market. However, despite it being a slow day, everything was sold out. No burgers, no hog rolls, no haggis, no soup.

And so I went to the Mile for part two. I began at McGregor's, but it was quite slow and I was cold. Eventually Charlie Chaplin picked up so I set up at my old favorite spot.

September 22, Part II

1. A middle-aged man tipped, winked, and cheerfully said, “Sounds like a tune anyway!” Well that's good!

2. Scottish-dressed people continued to roam around post-march, and a group of three young men stopped in the chip shop across from me. I took this as a cue to play Flower of Scotland, but they didn't notice. But then when I was packing up, one of them came over and asked where I was going, saying that he had liked it. We discussed the march, and he said there had been 15,000 people there. He was drinking an Irn Bru and his lips were bright orange. That is all.

3. An older American man, from New York, stopped to talk. He asked me how to get to a restaurant, so I directed him, and he asked me to play a nice song. “Werewolves of London” was next on the list, but it wasn't excessively “nice,” so I skipped it and played the beginning of “Fly Me To the Moon.” His expression indicated it wasn't nice enough, so I stopped and asked what he'd like to hear. “Something folky.” I began an Irish folk song. Nope. “Clancy brothers.” Couldn't help him with that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. “Now I'll need you to help me with this. What's this one?” he asked. “That's a pound.” I resisted adding, “That's the one I want.” He picked up another, a US quarter. He said something like, “As much as I like it...” and threw in the quarter. Not to be ungrateful, but US currency is just extra weight to send home, and the restaurant he was headed to was quite expensive, and he had taken quite a bit of my time. Hey, better than getting 2p!

4. Another man must have heard me speaking American, and gave me two US dollars. That's actually good, both because it's generous and because I'm really going to want a bagel at Boston Logan Airport when I arrive, but I'll have no local currency!

5. I'm having trouble with one circle-show guy called Stickman. He's a kind-hearted Canadian with dramatic looking long hair and facial hair and cowboy hat. He's a pro busker and has done it all over the world. He is super nice in person, but he's difficult as a street performer. He came for the Fringe then decided to stay.

Specifically, he's loud. Hogs the air space. Most of the circle lads play a song as they set up, but the speakers face the side of the road and it's usually at a reasonable enough volume to play over. If not, no biggie, I can wait two minutes. Stickman, however, faces his speakers up the mile, so the sound travels far. He plays two songs as he sets up, and at least two more during the show (a fact that he denied when I mentioned it). He also does a bit with a chain saw. I'm not the only one lamenting his volume. Apparently the traders have had to talk to him as well, and sources say he's been causing similar trouble for fifteen years. You'd think he'd figure out by now how to do a show without upsetting so many people!

On this day, I saw him getting ready to set up, so I asked if he would please keep the volume down. He defensively said, “I turned it down last time you asked!” Okay, well not enough. He said he would, but just didn't, so as he was setting up I left my stuff unattended to run down there, and, in front of his budding crowd, ask him to please turn it down again, citing the fact that I had made no money that day. He did, but of course not by enough. I planned this great dramatic speech to deliver afterwards, but then finally I didn't want to deal with it so I let him win and packed up. Yet another reason it's okay that I'm leaving.

6. As I was grumpily packing up, cold, hungry, poor and angry, a vendor stopped by. She noticed that I had played “I've Just Seen a Face,” and said that she loves that song. She additionally beat me to the punch in saying that nobody knows it, which is so true. “I mean, it's the Beatles!” I was happy to hear this because I had technically decided to retire this song, due to its lack of response here, but I'll keep it going for the rare few who know it. This woman was super nice in general, Gemma. Sells jewelry.

The end.