I've begun to settle into island tourist lifestyle. I've got myself a new pair of shoes from the second hand shop and a set of new looking clothes. I've found myself a nice private roof to sleep on away from the gypsies.
Yes, gypsies. They're a thing in most of europe and turkey. I once fantasized about being one when I was an ignorant young Australian. Now I know what a gypsy is and it's not generally a desirable thing to become. Not all people are good people. Not all gypsies are bad either. But you never trust a gypsy.
Living on the street, gypsies are the main threat to my existence. They will steal and even kill recklessly. Not all of them are like this but they generally come to a richer place than where they were like Chania and camp out in the parks while doing various forms of begging including street music and sending their kids to do to same. They never meld with the culture they come to, they always stick to themselves. They're always desperate. At least that's the impression you get from them when they're begging. And sure not all of the musicians are the begging type, some of them are actually good musicians.
One thing I've learned living rough is that desperation can only be maintained for so long. Brain chemistry clicks over and you have to be happy at some stage, unless you dwell in some brooding state of hatred of everyone and everything around you. That's gypsies. You can't 'help' them, you can't really befriend them, to expect to work with them on the street and share the street is a sign of pure ignorance of how they work. The street is 'territory' and you are competition.
If you are concerned about beggars, there are certainly some genuinely desperate people. But there is also a lot of false desperation. Living on the street you learn to see through it. You never see how much a beggar earns because there is always only a small amount they leave in the cup. Beggars make more money than me. A lot more. I buy my tissues in Turkey from tissue vendors, they're desperate people that don't want to beg because they still have self esteem. I see that desperation as more valid than some begging desperation. There is a lot of false emotion thrown around on the streets.
Aside from the gypsies in Chania taking up great busking spots with children that bang drums (yes, their parents put them up to it at threat of violence) - there are other non-threatening begging types from countries like Pakistan that sit and sell those splat ball things as their form of commerce. Then of course there is those flying light lacky vendors and the selfy stick vendors. There's always a token african guy walking around selling belts and wallets and things. Open market capitalism.
Despite all the bad things that can be said about gypsies. I have respect for them. I have respect for their ability to survive. I feel they are a direct manifestation of the greed of the men at the top of the business societal model. Like a reflection of the side of culture that people like to ignore or disacknowledge but everyone knows is there. Lurking.
I like the way they shit on rich countries and their touristic hot spots. It's a kind of activism. The inequality that exists is exposed in the existence of the gypsies and their constant street performance of being who they are. They are art in life. They're also the bane of the streets and without them I wouldn't have to be so careful at times.
Beneath the surface of all the fluff and hot air of a touristic area lies a dark heart of all the things people do for money. When you have eyes to see the street, you see everything. There is no plastic glossy coating that makes everything ok. There is problems, there is life. I watch people on the street and see the world wash past. People wander into an area like Chania staying in a fancy hotel for a few days walking around in their own little world of wonder, tunnel vision. If I qualify the parts of the tourist's mind that make me acceptable as a musician to give money on the street then I get paid for what I do.
Life is a game of dress codes, mannerisms and language.
And don't worry about me on the street. I'm very careful. I met a polish guy here who begs with his pet rat and a flute. He's been here for a few months. He stays in an empty house right on the beach, right near the gypsies. He's crazy. But so am I. You have to be to live like this. I ask him how he gets away with it. He says he's got a huge knife that he keeps close and he's let them know he's not having any of their bullshit. It's certainly one way of doing things. I can see how the influx of 'bad people' (as has been described by a Greek) has hardened Greece's heart a bit. To a certain degree, I don't blame them.
People in the west have a habit of romanticizing gyspies and gypsy lifestyle. When you live on the street with them, you learn the harsh reality of what is real. It's not a good fantasy. I'm a nomad, a long-term traveling street musician, a troubadour. I'm NOT a gypsy.
Aside from all this, I'm making reasonably good money. My difficulty here is that it's hard for me not to get angry at society in a place like this. Everything is a like a false wall of illusion. None of it is real except through that illustrious world provided by holiday energy and the la la land people go in their minds when they reach this form of 'gnosis'. So I sing some political stuff every now and then and generally get funny or discouraged looks for it. Sometimes I even get a 'righteous' coin. That's the type of coin when people look you in the eye and give you a hard look when they drop it in like 'you're doing the right thing' kind of look. This kind of coin makes me smile.
As I mentioned in a previous post my Ud playing friend is here at the moment but I won't meet up with him until much later. He's near Heraklion, which is almost three hours drive away. Crete is a big island. I'm not in too much of a rush to get to a big city.
I just need to save now. Save money. It's a difficult thing for me. Finding the patience to just sit and relax when I need to just stop is also a difficult thing for me. I put a lot of pressure on myself. Really between playing music and sleeping and eating and practicing and writing and other things, filling time by simply existing can be the most difficult part of my day. Not letting my mind wander into realms of dark delusion is an important part of survival.
I got a pretty hefty wallet dump from some drunk american air force guys a couple of nights ago which helped me get a few things. We ended up having a conversation about God, him being a christian, I said I just wanted to play music because I was there to make money at this spot at 1am in the morning. Occasionally people just want to interrupt you and talk when you're busking. It's kind of hard to stop these conversations. So one of the guys dumped the contents of his wallet in my case and asked for a conversation.
It's the most well paid conversation I've had in my life.
Yesterday, I played in front of the fountain right in the centre just as the sun was setting and I was doing pretty good. I drew a small crowd for Soul Kitchen by the Doors. At the end of Lakes of Fire a stall owner from around a corner I couldn't see strut his inflated physique up to me and said 'that's enough now, you stop.' I don't really have a choice in these sorts of situations, I mean if I personally asked other stall holders what they're opinion was on my keeping on playing, I would likely have the democratic consensus but I can't afford to create a kaffuffle in a place I'm just getting to know and will be dependent upon for my survival.
Sometimes street performers can be to blame for all of life's problems. But I've learned not to take it to heart. Doesn't mean I don't get frustrated when someone says to stop, refusing to enter a conversation about it and you know you have no choice. I believe that frustration comes from being powerless.
So I continued on to a place I played before and ended up meeting a guy from Melbourne who did some traveling through mongolia and russia recently and ended up in crete. We sat on the beach had a hand ground coffee cooked in my stove and played a card game he learned in Russia called Carbo (I think that's how you spell it).
So, save money, learn to repeat the same thing over and over again in a touristic area for a few euros for a few weeks and attempt not to go insane in a delusional reality. This is the task I've set for myself.
Wish me luck.
In love,
Monty