When I tell people I’m heading to Europe for a month to tour, the reaction is always, “Wow, need a [insert job description of your choice] with you on the road?” It is a treat to drive through beautiful places, try different foods, and meet all kinds of interesting people, many of whom you never quite figure out what they do for a living.
But touring a foreign country as a musician is largely different from being a tourist. As a musician, you often can’t stop at those beautiful places; you drive through them in the morning on your way to the next gig or in the dead of night on your way to your hotel.
For example, when we drove south from Milan toward Tuscany, we passed right by Pisa. We never got as far as Rome. We didn’t visit Venice or Florence. We drove the same four-hour stretch of mountainous highway four times in as many days. In one grueling series of events, we drove across northern Italy; walked to the wrong TV studio (they sent us the wrong address); were insulted by a TV host just before going on air; had a power transformer fail, frying my laptop one day before I had several deadlines for sending ad graphics and this blog back the U.S.; got locked out of our hostel in the middle of the night; paid too much for a hotel whose garage entrance was so narrow we scraped the side of our tiny KIA rental; lost our UK phone; and got 90 minutes of sleep before heading to the airport, where our 43 kilos of luggage (including the guitar and Dobro!) cost us about 40 Euros in fees. (European flights have a strict 20-kilo per person limit).
Somehow, when five o’clock rolls around, and we are loading into the next club, we have to find the ability to smile and be absolutely thankful to play another show. And at eight or nine, when the audience is sitting with their beer, trying to understand my lyrics and Doug’s and my lame attempts at jokes, cheering us on, it’s easy. At one in the morning, we pack the last of our unsold CDs along with our instruments and gear and head back to the car, hoping it is where we left it, without a ticket.
At about two in the morning, we get to the hostel or the promoter’s girlfriend’s apartment or occasionally a very comfortable music fan’s home. We unload everything again, spend some time getting to know our hosts, sleep for a few hours, get up, load out, and start over.
It feels a little like every day is moving day, and that part isn’t any different from touring back at home in the U.S. Of course, it’s expensive to get here, and some of the daily living expenses are higher here, especially with the exchange rate as it is. And of course there is the language barrier and the occasional difficulty of deciphering road signs and traffic patterns. But there is also the gift of unexpected generosity from music lovers, the small tavern owner who remembers you from 18 months ago and has a snapshot he took with you framed on his wall, the old woman who gives you a special deal on her homemade eggnog, and the surprise of a fan mouthing all your lyrics while you sing.
At the end of the day, what makes this worth all the trouble is not only that I get to do what I love, playing music. My reward comes in the connections I make with people everywhere. Some people are moved by the songs, crying or laughing as they listen to the lyrics and the melodies. And others move me, with their stories and hospitality, with the political and religious discussions we have late into the night. I didn’t visit the Spanish Steps, but I have new friends, some of whom I hold as dear as friends I’ve known for years. Jan and Maria, Willem, Gianna, Andrea, Thomas and Hillie.
BettySoo and Doug Cox are touring through Europe this spring and in the UK for several weeks in September. Both musicians tour year-round in North America and abroad to promote their project, Across the Borderline. Their new album, Lie to Me, comes out this summer.
This article appears in May 27 • 2011.