Well, the halfway point of my three-month journey finds me in the same place that I was on day one: Amsterdam Centraal. I am sitting on a train, preparing to embark on a day-long rail ride to Munich, Germany. It is a bittersweet departure.

In the last 45 days of my life, God’s blatant, undeniable presence has become more and more apparent and real than ever before. I could write a 300-page book about all the ways He has provided just within the last two weeks. But instead I will share a simple story about a suitcase.

Well, it’s about two suitcases, really…

Two weeks ago, as I was leaving Paris, the wheels on my suitcase stopped rolling. The axles were bent to the point that the wheels were wedged against wells, and would no longer rotate. I was dragging my suitcase (as opposed to rolling it) everywhere I went, which eventually took its toll on the wheels so that they ground down to almost nothing. But in the midst of my crazy schedule, I had neither the time nor the money to spend on a new suitcase. So I chose to look on the bright side and see it as an opportunity to bulk up my pectoral muscles.

But when I was in Frankfurt on Tuesday, I happened to find a luggage store just around the corner from my hostel. I found perfectly sized suitcase (with working wheels to boot) for only 20€. Once again, God had provided.

So when I got to Brussels the next day I wasn’t expecting to see my suitcase literally fall apart before my eyes. All of the support bars that held everything in place – including the wheels – simply fell off. I lost part of it without knowing, and the rest slowly dismantled itself over the course of a few hundred yards.

By the time the last piece fell off, and a lady at the Brussels train station shouted, “Monsoir!” to inform me that I had just left a vital piece of my suitcase by the escalator, I simply replied with an apathetic, “I know”, and kept walking, with suitcase number two grinding along behind me.

So there I was, lugging my luggage around Brussels, tired, sweaty, not feeling well, no clue where to go or where to find a hostel, no show booked, and I still haven’t figured out what twisted conglomeration of French and Dutch they were trying to speak. (Make up your mind Belgium!)

I saw two options: burn some cash to stay in Belgian hostel with no prospects of a show, or go to Amsterdam, where I knew I could find a respite, and a friendly face.

I chose Amsterdam.

I called my friend and fellow singer/songwriter Eva Ellingsworth, who I would be staying with for the weekend anyway, to see if I could come to Amsterdam a couple of days early. She was gracious enough to take me in.

I met her Thursday afternoon at the Amsterdam library, where she was performing a few of her songs live on Amsterdam’s version of NPR. I was able to catch her last song, as well as an interview. After the show, she introduced me to her friend Rufus, who is also part of the Amsterdam Songwriters Guild. Apparently she had told him about me, because I was immediately offered a pair of gigs for Friday and Sunday night.

So the most trying day of my journey thus far turned into the first of four amazing days in Amsterdam. I was able to have my own bedroom for four nights (for free!), and I sold more CDs in Amsterdam than in any other city. Add to that a very successful day of busking, and a wonderful time with my brothers and sisters at Zolder50 Church, and it’s more than obvious why God let me buy that busted suitcase. He knew what He was doing.

There are a lot of other details that I need to fill in, like my night as roadie for Eva and her band. And of being offered a joint for the first time in my life. (I politely refused.) And of getting a new, (hopefully) better suitcase for a decent price. (I decided to not go quite so cheap this time.)

And now I’m en route to Munich. A big part of me will miss Amsterdam and all of my friends there dearly. But at the same time, it feels good to be back on the rails, headed to a new city, rested up and ready to see what God is going to do in my last week on the continent.

Let’s just hope none of it involves a busted suitcase.

First of all, eighteen hours on a train beats 2 hours on a plane any day.

Secondly, my two all too brief days in Lisbon were some of the best of my life. It is a beautiful town with wonderful people. Of course, palm trees and warm, sunny weather in the middle of January doesn’t hurt either.

After the aforementioned train ride into Lisbon, I hiked (and it was a hike) from the train station to the Oasis Backpackers Mansion, where I was greeted and kindly offered a glass of water by Damien, the first of many friends I would make in Lisbon.

Without a doubt, this hostel was the best I’ve encountered. Heck, it was nicer than most hotels I’ve stayed at. It felt more like home than a hostel. The local staff and many of the guests shared nightly meals at the kitchen table cooked by Hugo the “Wonder Chef”. After 12 hours in Lisbon, I felt like I had lived there my whole life.

Oddly enough, my scheduled show never happened. I’m still not sure how or why, other than that something got lost in translation. So I decided to put on a house concert at the hostel for those who would listen. There was a girl there from New York City, so I sang “Manhattan Bridge”, and immediately sold a CD to everyone in the room.

I don’t want to judge the success of this tour by CD sales, but I sold more CDs to my smallest crowd after one song than I did at my last three shows combined (two in London and one in Paris). So for sheer percentages, Lisbon takes the trophy.

(I of course must apologize for those who bought my CD based on hearing “Manhattan Bridge”, as that song is not on the Brace Yourself EP. It will be released this summer on the full-length album entitled Lowlife.)

So I spent my two warm, sunny days in Lisbon making several new friends and perusing the beautiful city by the bay. I know God is the one who determines my steps, but if He lets me have my way, this will not be my only trip to Lisbon.

Obrigado, Lisboa.

Ciao.

I played my first show south of the Thames tonight at an off-the-beaten-path pub/music venue/ballroom. I shared the stage with four other bands, all of whom were very uniquely talented, and I mean that in a good way.

It was a very eclectic showcase across five different genres. And, to be quite honest, the first act terrified me, because I had to follow them. You should check them out: http://myspace.com/peterlucasmusic.

Thankfully my nerves subsided, and I feel like I delivered a decent performance. But you don’t have to take my word for it… (cue Reading Rainbow “badum bum!”)

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Cheers.

I won’t be able to sum up my time in Dublin in one post. But I can sum up today pretty quickly:

1. A cold, long walk to the radio station
2. A fun, albeit brief interview and live radio performance
3. A cold, long walk back to the city centre

If my week in Dublin is any indicator of how the rest of my tour will go, then I’ve got an awesome month ahead of me. I’ve met so many amazing people this week – musicians, poets, artists, fellow travelers. I came into town not knowing a single soul, and I will leave tomorrow with dozens of new friends.

I must apologize for not uploading any photos, or even adding the third webisode of The Troubadour. The wifi here at the hostel is excruciatingly slow, so the visual aids will have to wait. I’ll be back in Rugby on Monday, so that’s when I’ll probably do the bulk of my photo and video uploads. Until then, words will have to suffice.

If you’re reading this on Facebook, then you’ve probably seen the few pics I’ve uploaded from my phone. Additionally, if you’d like to keep up with me in a more “live” setting, you can follow me on Twitter. (note: you don’t have to join Twitter to read my updates)

Headed up to Belfast tomorrow for a couple of days. I’m excited to get out into the Irish countryside. Dublin is nice, but few places on earth are more beautiful than the green hillsides of the Emerald Isle — even if they are covered in snow.

Cheers.