Dear France...

... you are everything I've always wanted you to be. Seriously. 

I've always thought I would live in the South of France, but until now I had never actually been to France. I liked Paris a lot but not for living in. Toulouse, though, is winning my heart. Its so friendly and warm and beautiful here. It might be the prettiest city I've ever seen... well St Petersburg is crazy beautiful but in a different and more impressive way. Toulouse is modestly beautiful. The old architecture, the churches, the Garonne River running through the middle, the parks... its just beautiful without really trying too hard. St Petersburg is covered in gold shimmer and sequins ... which I also enjoy a good deal.

I played a show at my friend jAms' house. It was super great. I am playing another house show tonight at The Persimmon House. Cyril, who runs the shows and a record label called "What A Mess Records", shot a video of me playing a song in the persimmon tree earlier this afternoon. Tomorrow I'm heading to Rennes tomorrow to play LadyFest! Weee! 

I'm feeling inspired to improve my French. I can struggle to have really simple conversation at the moment but its coming back to me quickly. I used to speak this language, you know? I think I might be buying myself some French language tapes for my summer/fall tour. 

Here is my friend jAms. We were having a snack in the park.

A church.

An exploded printer. We decided it must have been dropped from a second story window.

These are across from each other in Grand Rond park. That wolf stole one of her pups!

Jesus, its beautiful here. I went on a hike in the Pyrennees. 

My hike up the mountain to some natural hot springs.

The baths.

...and the way back down.

This one is for sale... I took down the number. Later I blew all the tufts off a dandelion and wished that I would live there sometime in the next five years.

I'm gonna live here... bit of a fixer upper.

This slug has a window.

The train station in the tiny town at the bottom of the mountain. This town has one bar and one little store. When I descended the mountain at 8 pm, the bar was closed. No wine for me.

Back in Toulouse. More churches.

Me with my crazy eye.

Portugal

So I woke up at 9:30 the morning I was to fly to Paris, only my flight left at 7. I decided to rent a car and drive there, from Lisbon… which is very very very far away. I was convinced against all odds that I would get there in time for my show… or maybe I'd be forgivably late. The GPS in the rental car told me I'd arrive at 9:00 the next morning, but I thought maybe if I drove really fast… Fucking anxiety dreams!!!

I am writing this from Gate 23 where I am about to board my flight. Its 6:20 am. I woke up at 3 am because my dear new friend Xana was snoring. From time to time I would reach over the space between our beds and touch her arm and she would stop, but it never did last long. On the elevator ride down to the lobby "Living On A Prayer" was playing and I couldn't really take that as a good sign, but then Men At Work accompanied me on my cab ride to the airport, so I figured things were looking up.

Portugal has been wonderful. As always. I love it here. Portuguese people are so friendly and helpful. When I arrived, I was greeted by Xana, my booking agent, who drove me directly (via two gas stations, her son's school, and a grocery store) to her small village in the North of Portugal, outside of Vila Real. Her family is welcoming and her 14 month old son has the sweetest face I've ever seen. Here are pictures of her village.

Afonso and Joao

For washing clothes, of course.

Just natural spring water, no big deal.

For storing grain.

This is right outside Xana's back door.

I played three and a half shows while here. I got to spend some time with two very entertaining ladies, Emmy Curl and Catia. Emmy was also playing the shows. She has a beautiful voice and impressive guitar chops. Catia was our tour manager of sorts. She wears combat boots, smokes like a chimney, drinks more coffee than water and is a total knock out. Seriously, what a babe. Here they are looking at an iphone ap that turned Emmy into a zombie.

On our last day together we went to see a mid-evil village at the top of a mountain outside of Portalegre. I was wondering around this castle and found a mysterious narrow stone staircase that led down into darkness, so of course I followed it. It led to this long cylindrical room that was filled halfway with water. The reverb was like nothing I'd ever heard. So I got out my iphone and started to sing. Here is what it sounded like.

And here is what the castle looks like:

Shortly thereafter Emmy came down and we sang an Italian opera together. There will be a video soon! It was magic. At the end of our show later that night, for my last song, I asked everyone to come very close and sit on the floor around me. It was kind of a bar setting with folks drinking and milling about (and it was 2:30 am) so it took some convincing, but they eventually obliged. I invited Emmy up and we sang the opera again without microphones. It was a sweet ending to the show.

The next day we woke in the afternoon and sauntered over to this venue/community center that just opened and is also someone's house. It was so lovely. We hung out there all day drinking sangria. I played some songs and then we ate dinner together. Our hosts let me know that the meat we were eating was from a pig that was raised on one of their parents' farms and his name was Jonas (the pig, not the parent). Some of the other dinner guests thought they could use this fact to make me feel guilty about eating it… but I'd much prefer to eat an animal that I know the name of than some factory farmed/tortured and nameless slab from the grocery store. Jonas tasted amazing.

                           

This lovely place is called Ficar, which means "stay", so maybe I will.

Telmo cooking.

Jonas takes on many forms.                                                          

     

Dora and Xana Marie

Telmo with pom poms.

                                                             

Hours later I played more songs around the fireplace. Dora and Telmo, our hosts, were so lovely and invited me back anytime. I think I might move in.

Now I'm in Paris... I will report on that later.

Here are some cool things:

Mid-evil village... squished stone face.

door

They know how to do sidewalks in Portugal.

Just for walking on.

From up in the sky they're just.... 

Modern art or ...?

Europe tour, episode 3 - Picture Book

In Berlin wearing my friend Cindy Wonderful's robe.

I've played three shows in Berlin with almost entirely 

different audiences. I love this city. Last night I played at

 Madame Claude's with a band called Nadine And The Prussians.

They were so good.

One more Berlin show left and its tomorrow night! Then off to Portugal!

Last week:

Lily... my Dutch distant cousin.

Noah, Lily's brother. I sang him a bedtime song that night.

A boat called Kim at the harbor in Rotterdam.

Scary red eyed geese with little goslings!

I speak Dutch!!!

I thought my last name was cool until...

Slagroom (whipped cream) with Jasmine after her 

beautiful dance show in Amsterdam.

This man gave me a piece of candy on the u-bahn in Berlin. 

I tried to refuse, but he insisted.

This falafel was so delicious. Like holy shit. 

I might go get some for linner (dunch) right now.

Its right down the street from where I am staying. 

I effing love Berlin.

Its All Relative

Rotterdam is where my grandfather is from. Its where he met my grandmother, the most beautiful woman in Rotterdam. Its where they worked in a department store together, he as a decorator, and she at the cosmetics counter. Its where he told her, the day he met her, that he would marry her. Its where she laughed at him when he said this. Its where, six months later, he proved himself right.

I have learned a lot about my family history today, my first time to Rotterdam. Before today, I had never met any of my relatives on my grandfather's side. I spent the day with my grandfather's second cousin (his first cousin's daughter... is that a second cousin?) and her daughters and their kids... there were a lot of generations represented. Tomorrow I'm going to meet my great aunt... or great second cousin... I don't understand these things. She is the only living relative, other than my grandfather, who knew my great grandmother, Eva Boekbinder. Eva died in the war. My grandfather says she was a very unhappy woman, but I can't help but see her as stoic, and a hero. One of the many stories my grandfather has told me, that sticks in my mind, is one of his mother when he was in concentration camp with her and his little brother. Eva used to bring them food, Bobby (my Opa) and Tommy, and tell them she had found it or snuck it from somewhere. What my Opa later realized was that it was her food all along and she lied because she knew they wouldn't eat it if they knew she was starving herself. You see why she is a hero in my mind.

When I was younger, the war didn't seem like an unusually tragic thing to me. In concept sure, but it had been something I heard about for as long as I could remember and never felt very emotional for me. As I get older, I find it harder to read about, or watch movies based on the Holocaust. Even just being in Rotterdam and noticing that there is almost no old architecture because of the bombing is really difficult. Just now on the phone, my Opa asked if I'd visited City Hall. I asked if was still standing, and he said "Thank God, because I was sitting on the steps when they started bombing."

My cousins here are related through my grandfather's cousin, Bob. Both he and my grandfather were called Barend, but went by Bob and Bobby. My grandfather by Bobby because he was smaller, as he explains it. They were very close as kids. They ended up in Bergen Belsen together. Today I heard a story that I had not heard before. Apparently Bob never talked about the war, because it was too difficult for him, but there is one story that he did tell, and it was one of Bobby. My grandfather's family had all died and Bob was all he had left. Bob had typhus and dysentery and was covered in flees and weighed 83 pounds (as a fully grown man) and was ready to die. He wanted to die. My Opa begged him to live. He said that he needed him because he was all he had left. He gave him the little food he was rationed and got into bed with him to warm his body. Bob and Bobby were two of very few in our family who survived the war, and Bob credits my grandfather for saving his life. It makes sense that my Opa never told me this story. He only tells stories of the clever ways he found to get extra food or the people who helped him survive, or the amazing people he met in the camp who used to be doctors or scientists or great artists. He told me once that he traded a diamond ring for a piece of brown bread. He has many stories like that, and he is very good at telling them.

When I heard this story, I couldn't hold back the tears that had been building all day. I felt a little silly crying in front of these people I had just met... these, suddenly very close, distant relatives.

One conversation that I had today was with my cousin, Chiara. Neither of us are Jewish, technically. Neither of us were raised in the Jewish faith. In fact, both of us were told by our grandfathers never to tell anyone that we were Jewish. My grandfather told me this when I was in sixth grade. He said it quite seriously, I was almost scared of him in that moment. I saw that fear in my cousin today... Bob's daughter Bess. The people who were old enough, during the war, to remember what happened, are almost all gone. My grandfather will be 91 this year and his cousin Bob died some years ago. For Bob, those memories died with him. This fear of who we are, though, lives on through the generations.

My mother is not Jewish, and neither is my grandmother, and so I am not Jewish. Technically speaking... this is true. I don't know any of the traditions and I didn't attend my first passover until this year. I've never rested on sabbath or lit a menorah. I've never worried about eating kosher or memorizing hebrew prayers. But when I hear these stories of my family, it feels very close. It feels closer than what I did for my thirteenth birthday or any Christmas I've ever celebrated.

Songs on Trains (and about them)

Well, I'm in Holland. My home land, I suppose... or my grandparents' home land. I have been to Amsterdam once on a really long layover... I remember a lot of bicycles. BUT I want to start earlier in this story, so lets go back to the night before I left. I was packing, very lightly, and leaving room in my enormous duffle bag for all the CDs I sent in advance. I heard rumors about long customs lines at Heathrow, where I was flying into to the next day, so I was checking how long my connection was to my Berlin flight to be sure I had time. This is when I realized that I bought my Berlin ticket from the wrong airport. Apparently this is a classic mistake that foreigners make in London. Crap. So I tried calling priceline.com and the airline to change the ticket. In fact, I called them each, respectively, three times. They kept telling me to call the other one because they couldn't help me. In the end, I bought a new ticket leaving from a different airport entirely that left the next day.

I posted on twitter that I needed a place to sleep and a ride to the airport at 4 am. A lovely person named Tiffany offered to help. She has cute dogs, and a boyfriend named Haemish, and made me delicious food, and bought me gluten free cookies, and showed me the woods near her house. It was bloody lovely.

I arrived in Berlin the morning of my first show. The first thing I did was eat falafel. The second thing I did was take a nap. The third thing I did was soundcheck for my show. No one warned me about European outlets! They output twice the voltage and this caused two of my three power cables to fry. All the lights went out and the plugs were quite literally smoking. Angie, the sound person, and I ran to a nearby music store which was already closed. So, I played an acoustic show. The audience was so lovely and attentive though. The room was super full and made me feel pretty damn loved. Apparently people in Berlin go to shows even when they don't know the band playing. Rad. I love Berlin.

Jet lag made it hard to sleep that night. I finally fell asleep at 4 am and didn't wake until 4 pm and was greeted by giant, polka-dotted tonsils.

(As a side note, the other band is sound checking with "Folsom Prison Blues" right now, I bet they don't know how funny that is.)

So I woke up at 4 pm and jumped out of bed because I had to find a music store to buy new power chords before sound check for my second Berlin show. No time to shower... still hadn't showered since Oakland. 5, 600 miles (give or take) of grime. I found one of the cables for 25 euros but the other one was too specific so I had to replace the piece of gear (ugh). All in all 75 euros, just because I didn't have some special voltage converter. Fuck me.

My next show was weird. I was feeling a little crazy after 12 hours of sleep and felt like I was singing past tennis balls in my throat. Also, three interesting characters arrived right on time and at first they were the only people in the room. One was especially eager to help(?) me. One was giving me advice about my career... wait, didn't we just meet each other? Didn't you say you just discovered my music earlier today? Did I ASK YOU what you thought? A few more people filtered in but it was a sparce crowd for sure. Not a super awesome show but at least I got some really valuable advice, right? AND a really helpful tip about not trying to sound like Antony or Coco Rosie when I sing, because "your voice is really good but would be better if you sang like yourself". Cool, thanks. The best part if that these characters were headed to the same neighborhood as me and really wanted to take the train with me, even though they hate how I sing and think I suck at my career. Also two of them were being racist on the ride back and I was trying not to scream (the swollen tonsils helped control the urge).

I didn't sleep that night. I tried. I laid there for a while. But while laying there I realized that my euro rail pass was supposed to have arrived that day. I was leaving for Mannheim the next morning and really needed the pass... like real bad. So I got on the phone with DHL in the US who could not help me and since it was 3 am in Germany, the local office was closed. I set my alarm (which I didn't need because I didn't ever fall asleep) for 7 am so I could call DHL as soon as they opened. Unfortunately, the person who answered spoke no English. So I called someone I had yet to meet in person, at 7 am, to ask if he could call on my behalf. He was up, thankfully, and was happy to help. Turns out I had to take the metro across town to pick it up. I had to get my Mannheim train at 10 am so I lugged my guitar and luggage with me to DHL. Good thing Berlin transit is so kick ass.

I took the train with my friend Josepha (http://soundcloud.com/susie-asado) and we had awkwardly personal conversations about heart break, family drama, and sex. Only awkward because of the other passengers on the train, who were sharing a small cabin with us.  I got to Mannheim to meet Bernd, who helped with DHL (and helped me set up a lot of my shows... he is awesome). He drove me to my hotel where I tried to nap... and failed. Then we headed to the show and the booker was super great and friendly and the bar was western themed. The bartender was wearing a black cowboy hat over his long hair. He looked properly badass and at the end of the show, he bought both my albums. The show was really great altogether.

I ate ice cream before bed, which must have helped finally beat the jet lag. Also I'd been awake for about 30 hours so I slept so well. Today I woke up and took a train to Rotterdam... where I am now. On the train I worked on some songs by inmates at New Folsom. Taking trains to shows is so much better than driving because I can do all sorts of things when I'm not confined to a car seat.

I am playing a cafe called RAAF tonight. Paleo played here a few weeks ago. Our tours aren't overlapping at all... silly. If you have not heard him, do so now. www.paleo.bandcamp.com

That pretty much fills you in.