These are the true tales of the rail and the wing, seen from the vantage point of train stations, dressing rooms, airports and the not-so-glamorous back of a cab. Buckle up in the jump seat for this caffeine-fueled 15-day tour of Italy, Austria, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands, France, England and Ireland. Don’t forget your passport.
April 18: London To Cantu
Heathrow is an architectural organism. Ever expanding, jutting toward the future, it’s how I visualize a space-station on some presently unobtainable hub of the heavens. Even my mode of transport to this progressive structure of glass and steel is straight out of science fiction. “You’ll want to take the pod,” the cheery English deskman tells me. My hotel room may have been just another white box for the night, but I would be traveling by pod come sunrise.
True to the deskman’s word, a polished white bean silently approaches the platform where I and a few businessmen wait in the cold morning air. The pod resembles a cousin of my iPhone or Pixar’s Wall-E. No hard edges. A perfectly efficient delivery system, shuttling passengers every 30 seconds from white boxes to the future. The driverless capsule was large enough to hold about four passengers of European origin or roughly two and half Americans and a jumbo flattop guitar. I could have rode it all day long, I found it so novel. It’s surprising as the whole notion of automated travel leaves me anxious. It’s hard to imagine the kind of driverless future my eight-year-old daughter might inherit.
Kubrick would have loved the pod. He would have had little use for it, since he almost never left England, but he would have appreciated its curves and its implications. Airports, for me, symbolize the potential of freedom. All of these terminals going to different places, connecting human interaction. Airports are also sad places. Places where people say goodbye. In the days of rail travel, a lot of effort was put into making a good first impression. Central Station had to be Grand Central Station. Airports serve that function today. You expect to be wowed by the monolith, even when you arrive by pod.
I’m off to Cantu, Italy.
Arriving mid-afternoon, Italy feels like spring. The first show of the tour kicks off at 10:30 p.m. tonight at All’Una E Trentacinque Circa. Jetlag kicks in about 3 p.m. this afternoon. Fortunately Cantu, at least on this day, is all about nap-time. It’s so peaceful. The clouds are in no rush in Cantu. An occasional car motors by … a cyclist. It’s 1 p.m. and the place is like a ghost-town. Most shops are shuttered on this Monday afternoon.
It’s hard to imagine that back in the 15th century, an all-out war between the cities of Milan and Como broke out here. But it did. Cantu’s main historic marker is the Basilica di San Vincenzo, one of the few structures to survive from the Romanesque period. Another outstanding structure is the San Paolo Church in the Piazza Garibaldi, where I manage to take a stroll. Cantu’s central trade back in the 1400s was lace. Such a frilly and yet aggressive history.
I doubt few of these topics will come up tonight onstage. It’s the second time I’ve played in Cantu. Based
on that show, I left with a positive feeling. The people were friendly and laid back: wonderful. I had a good meal. These are these things that stick. I can’t recall what songs I played. I hope I can think what to play tonight.
Outside, it’s beginning to thunder.
