by Peter C. Bisuito
My stage has taken many forms—sometimes it’s a grand theater, sometimes a
cruise ship swaying gently in the Caribbean, and sometimes a quirky club tucked
away in a city I’m visiting for the very first time.
My European tour was a whirlwind of accents, late-night adventures, and laughter
that needed no translation. I’ve stood under the spotlights in Manchester, London,
Birmingham, Amsterdam, Belfast, and Dublin—each city offering its own flavor of
humor and hospitality.
(And yes, the Guinness really does taste better in Ireland.)
Traveling as a comedian means living out of a suitcase, collecting stories, and
embracing the unexpected. Every city has given me something new—whether it’s a
local delicacy, a new friend, or a story that makes its way into my set.
Of all my travels, Birmingham stands out—not for the roaring applause, but for the
lesson in humility. I booked a show at a popular night club which are the type of
venues I rarely perform in. But the chance to visit another English city was too
tempting to pass up. The plan was simple: a one-hour set at 11pm. What could go
wrong?
Enter my “Opening Act”…the drag queen who had no concept of time or respect
for the headliner…ME. She commanded the spotlight for a marathon two and a
half hours, stealing the crowds attention long past midnight.
When I finally got on stage, the audience had moved on mentally (and physically).
They wanted to drink, dance, and maybe forget any aspect for the reason they came
to the club in the first place…ie, my comedy show. People started drifting toward
the bar and the energy in the room flatlined. I made the executive decision to cut
my losses and wrapped up after just 15 minutes.
Was it my best show? Absolutely not. But it’s a reminder that in comedy—and in
travel—sometimes you just have to roll with it, laugh at yourself and move on to
the next adventure.
And an adventure indeed it was…
Dublin, Ireland. YIKES. I was invited by the Dublin Bears to perform a one-hour
show at their fundraiser. Sounds great, right? Well, let’s just say the reality was a
little less “luck of the Irish” and a lot more “comedy of errors.”
The theater was, to put it politely, a disaster zone. The place reeked of urine, and
the stage carpet was so sticky my sneakers practically glued themselves down.
Backstage? A freezing, junk-filled basement that looked like the set of a horror
movie. After the show, I tried to salvage the night by heading to a popular bar. I
shared a cab with a guy who was already halfway to passing out. He was nice
enough to pick up the cab fare…9 euros. The bar itself was pure chaos. Drunk guys
slurred in my face, groped me, spilled their drinks on my shoes and generally made
me question every decision that led me there. Guys propositioning me to have sex
and if I turned them down, their reaction was one step away from a drunken bar
fight. I lasted maybe 20 minutes before bailing and heading back to the promoters
house, where I was staying.
With a couple days to kill before my next show in Amsterdam, I figured I’d get to
see the city. Nope. The promoters left me alone in their house all day—no tour, no
company, just me and my thoughts, and let’s be honest, probably a lingering whiff
of that theater.
To top it off, the next morning, one of the organizers accused me of being rude
because I hadn’t paid his drunk friend back for the cab or at least bought him a
drink. Apparently, 9 euros and a round for someone who could barely stand was the
price of Irish hospitality.
Now trust me, I’m not judging the entire country based on this isolated experience.
I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about Ireland and I do hope to return
someday for a nicer experience.
London, thankfully, was a totally different experience. I performed at the legendary
Eagle Bar, and from the moment I arrived, they treated me like a bona fide
American celebrity. I was on the VIP list for a massive party called Brüt Bears, and
as soon as I walked in, it felt like the red carpet had been rolled out just for me.
Free drink pass in hand, I was ready for anything.
But nothing prepared me for what happened next. Suddenly, the music cut out, and
before I knew it, I was being dragged onstage in front of 2,000 half-naked, roaring gay men. The host grabbed the mic and shouted, “Hey everybody, we have an
American celebrity here tonight! Peter Bisuito will be performing comedy
tomorrow at the Eagle!” The crowd erupted—2,000 men cheering and chanting
my name like I was the main event at Madison Square Garden.
After the show a guy approached me raving about my act. He just so happened to
be the General Manager of the Royal Opera House in London. He offered to give
me my own personal tour. Not only did I get to walk up the private Royal stairway
designated ONLY for the Royal family, but I played the “crazy American” by
sliding down the banister. I even got to sit in Queen Elizabeths chair and use her
private bathroom. (Don’t worry, I didn’t piddle on the toilet seat)
London, you sure know how to make a comic feel like royalty. Thank you!
Then there was Amsterdam—a total dream. I spent four glorious days there, and
the promoters absolutely rolled out the red carpet. They didn’t just book me for a
show; they became my personal tour guides. For four days straight, they took me
to all the must-see tourist spots, introduced me to the best restaurants in the city,
and insisted on picking up every tab. It was the kind of hospitality you never
forget. Amsterdam quickly became one of my favorite places on earth, and
honestly, I can’t wait for an excuse to go back!
As I look back on my journey, I’m grateful for every flight, every standing ovation,
and every moment when a room full of strangers became a community—if only for
an hour.
Wherever the road leads next, I’ll be there—ready to make the world laugh, one
city at a time.