The Hillhouse

I have spent much of the past two days driving on super narrow, twisting mountain roads, and at the moment I am exhausted. And even though I’ve learned some tricks to keeping the car properly centered and to remain calm when enormous trucks and vans pass within inches of me – going the other direction – it is still a feat of concentration the likes of which I haven’t known in ages. Within only a few precious feet of the road’s edge there is usually a drop off that would mean certain death if I succumbed to a moment of panic or misjudgment, so naturally I am highly motivated to be prudent and safe. But it’s taxing. It feels rather like playing a relentless video game. The scenery is beyond description, and our jaws drop around every bend with the unbelievably idyllic scenery, and it helps to motivate me onward. For a place that neither one of us was truly excited to visit (mostly we felt it was a doable adventure for the two of us before he went off into the world on his own), every moment that we are here we are convinced that we needed to come here. It is changing our lives to be sure.

Last night was a beautiful and insightful experience for us both. I played my original songs in a tiny and love-filled room where every face was looking at me, every person engaged and listening to my songs as no one has ever listened before. They clapped with enthusiasm, and afterward many thanked me and told me how my songs had reached their hearts. To be honest, given the nature of my material and how directly it addresses mid-life and end-of-life issues, I’m always a bit surprised that more people don’t seem to resonate with my songs as strongly as these folks did. But I’m beginning to think it’s a cultural thing. There was a human and intimate aspect to the crowd last night which I just don’t sense from audiences I’ve played for in the US. I might have thought it was just me, but Elihu also felt a different energy there. Usually I resent playing cover tunes and often find myself angry that I am paid to play while hardly a person even seems engaged or interested, but last night I obliged some late night requests with a few Carole King and Carly Simon songs and everyone in the room sang along. I’m a bit jaded and snarky when it comes to playing covers – but it brought the room so much joy that it transformed my thinking about the value and purpose of music. Even my son – a classical composer who has little patience for pop music in general – he was singing along, swaying in a sort of rapture, smiling, eyes closed, leaning deeply into the moment. It was a night of connection the likes of which I have never known in my home country. Eye-opening for sure.

We have met people from so many different countries, and my polyglot kid is in overdrive mimicking accents and trying out short conversations in other languages (his Scottish accent is brilliant, imho). The woman who served us dinner tonight was from Peru, lived years in Argentina, had a home in Greece and longed one day to go to Japan. She and Elihu spoke in French, Spanish and Greek, and we three enjoyed a lovely exchange which ended in hugs and goodbyes as if we were long lost friends. It seems everywhere we go we share stories with people and part feeling very satisfied that we have connected with another human in a beautiful way. I could really never know a better travel partner than my son. He’s easy-going and up for unplanned stops. He doesn’t mind when his chatty mother asks the clerk where she’s from and how she came to this job. Unassuming at first, he’ll join in, and before long the three of us will be laughing together, feeling that unique type of camaraderie which strangers sometimes enjoy in brief encounters. The novelty of being passersby opens the conversation, and a sense of connection almost always comes of it, and what a beautiful thing that is.

[Forgive me please, but the font size is about to change and I’m far too tired to jockey between phone and iPad to get it sorted.]

Elihu is wiped out and is upstairs sleeping. Although I myself have every reason to be asleep myself, I am in the lobby listening to a thirty-something group of US and Scottish tourists become acquainted and compare notes about their cultures and their travels. I’m fascinated with the people who choose to travel. It takes a certain courage to set out into new places – even with all the advantages of cell phones and the internet (btw, screw Verizon’s electronic SIM card – we’ve been without cell service the past two days and it is beyond frustrating – it’s potentially dangerous. Even after a good two hours on hold and working with an agent there has been no resolution. I will raise a bit of hell when I am home and have the time to properly deal with it.) Modern woes aside, there is still no better way to learn about yourself and others than to travel, and I am immensely grateful for this trip and all that I’ve learned thus far.