It is raining. We've come all this way to Nadada, and we have to stay inside like a damp Sunday afternoon.
This is not a light drizzle solved with waterproofs or an umbrella. Some of this rain can saturate your clothes in one drop. Get two that size in a row and you will get washed away to a tree full of lobsters wearing tutus.
Or somewhere similar. I made the lobster thing up.
Do not despair. The blog will carry on during our confinement. This is a perfect moment to explore The Kandinsky further.
Despite the incident with the Archipenko snake, my gigs are going well. Jean Michel has understood I suit the smaller bars on the lower levels. I perform once every few days, and my audience ranges from ten-fifteen on a quiet night, to nearly sixty on a good one. Not bad considering there are about two hundred passengers on board.
Although I have a framework, our show focuses around improvisation, which is most likely why we got this gig in the first place. The big change on The Kandinsky is that the audience gets even more involved. Rather than working with their names, where they come from, and their jobs, in Nadada we play off the things they are creating at that very moment.
We play late at night, and even out here most people stick to a sleep schedule. The Butter Mouse and I patrol the corridors in the early morning to look for changes, and rarely see another soul. If there is one definite advantage to this job, it’s that I don’t get up for nine in the morning.
Our route takes us past the other cabins first. No matter what the outside looks like, little changes in these corridors, and most of the doors are closed. Not everyone can or even wants to try out the powers of Nadada.
But one has the glow of disco lights flashing under the door. Another has ivy crawling through the keyhole. A man on an ostrich passed us, dropping black and white feathers over the carpet.
We walk past a theatre, a cinema, a restaurant with live performances at every hour. I peeked through the door last night, on stage were five performers in pig masks and uniforms, shouting in a language I didn’t understand.
Regardless of the weather, our journey ends on of a balcony. Nadada is always worth a look outside. Today falcons made of paint flew past the tips of redwoods, and we were the only ones who noticed.
I am glad I keep a record of all of this.
