Asado Dacal Part Two
There has been traffic. There has been a whirl of nights. Visits to gothic churches and castles. Everything is mixed up in English and Spanish and I am reading the subtitles to our movie we call the Asado Dacal tour. I am learning new words. I have to learn them again and again each day. Pablo is patient. We play each others songs. I am singing in Spanish. I feel very Asado. My back has been funky, some vertabrea knotted. I walk as if a pole keeping me upright. Somehow it fits this feeling between languages. Yesterday we met up with The Burning Hell in Zürich and I got to dance my body to their amazing songs. Yes, it is possible to dace with a pole. There is a panik that this tour will be over before I have properly settled into songs and the rhythm of packing, car, unpacking, plugging, tuning, eating, packing, singing, walking, unpacking, sleeping. When I first heard Pablos songs I was terrified by their elegance and rhythm. I imagined this Argentinian cantautor surrounded by an orchester, by dancers, by everything that glimmers and glows. But my name is not for nothing and so I guess it was meant to be that Pablo and I go on an adventure. And so we are. Sherlock and Watson deciphering the codes of our travels. Four more shows to go: Schaffhausen, Freiburg, Frankfurt, and Düsseldorf. I feel lucky.