Category Archives: festivals

May 12, 2013 · 5:48 PM

Art, consciousness and a whole lot of doof at Eclipse 2012 festival

Recycling the eclipse

In my sheltered world, hippies and trancers don’t live harmoniously side by side. In my stereotyped view, people who dance to trance are off their heads on party drugs that sustain them through hours and days of dancing to a repetitive beat. In my head hippies are natural and flowing and mix with creative crowds, preferring didgeridoos to synthesizers. In my world, hippies don’t attend trance parties, or doofs (if you’re an Australian partyer). At least, this is what I used to believe.

The Eclipse 2012 festival would show me otherwise.

The event will host a huge music lineup of the world’s leading musicians and DJ’s, outstanding artists and decor crews, a dedicated workshops and intentional healing space, extensive food and market stalls and a perfect viewing platform only a short distance away from the eclipse centre line of totality path. Link

My world started to expand and any preconceived ideas about 24/7 beats and dancing, about everyone being cocktailed to the highest high, about being disconnected from the world in order to appreciate the world started to shift. I knew it would happen. Why else was I here?

Apart from the total solar eclipse itself. Oh yeah. That was the real reason.

But if it was just about being present at the total solar eclipse then I could have instead nestled in amongst astronomers from around the world on purpose built viewing platforms somewhere else, somewhere close.

No, from the moment I’d heard about the festival I’d been determined to go. I wanted to fling out my arms and dance uninhibited at whatever time of the day I pleased, I wanted to be filled with thoughts and ideas about the future direction of the world, I wanted to immerse myself in a new experience and surround myself with beauty in all its forms. What an indulgence.

DJ set backdrop on the Sun Stage

The Eclipse 2012 festival ticket and website were the first giveaways to something beyond a primitive party, making reference to a ‘spiritual’ festival, to ‘healing spaces’, to consciousness raising, to an array of workshops and speakers and films designed to inspire change and open the mind.

And why else do we travel?

The music itself was not the catalyst for me to part with AU$350. Despite there being six stages, I barely recognised any names in the line-up, other than the likes of Fat Freddy’s Drop and Tijuana Cartel, both on the Earth Stage, the only truly live stage at the festival. If I’d ever been into the trance scene or had stood longer on Australian ground, I’d probably have been aware of the reputation of some of the other acts, but it was all new to me. No bad thing.

Inspiration

Flowertime

Food and relax stops

Getting involved in yoga and craft classes, lounging out listening to learned folk discuss current thinking in relation to the upcoming cosmic and spiritual shift (including the impending end of the Mayan calendar), dancing under the sweet kiss of sprinkling water, of being surrounded by sculptures and murals and living art, that is what convinced me to join thousands of people for a week of celebrations rather than huddle quietly with the odd cluster of scientists and astronomers for one night only.

And so the days went by and people stomped and bounced day in, day out, taking moments to refresh themselves with fruit juices and wholesome, fair priced curries, to solar shower away a thick caking of dust, to chat and catch-up with friends, new and familiar.

Daytime Sun Stage raving

Sprinkler dancing @ the Sky Stage

Doofer in training

Beach feel flake out

Polka dot dresses and exaggerated face paints, tutus and lederhosen, basking on the branches of living art, taking dips in crocodile cleared waters, window shopping the work of artisans more concerned with their craft than making a sale, catching a ride on a motorised sofa, relaxing in the women’s shelter, watching fire art, learning to hula-hoop, re-gathering at camp for water refills and sustaining snacks.

Daytime lazing

Sun, shade and crocodile warnings

Tutus and wobbles

Doctor dress-up

Parasols, fishnets and boat sails

Brace dancing

Sofa riding

Art branch moments

Face painting

Base camp catch-ups

And sleeping. It’s amazing how one learns to sleep through a constant beat.

Through life and travelling I have had the good luck to meet and share time with a real range of people – a spectrum so broad that my mind should find no space for stereotypes. Yet I still have my assumptions, my preconceived ideas based on everyone I’ve previously met and everything I know. And of course it’s limited.

Stereotypes have some basis and function, maybe to act as a compass to enable us to find ‘our type’ and fellow ‘types’, maybe to guide the un-established personality and set them off in a specific direction. Maybe they offer some tribal comfort? I guess the only real danger is not being able to see beyond them.

At Eclipse 2012, stereotypes loomed large, on an ocular level. If you wanted to see society’s versions of a dreadlocked, grungy hippy, a dancing nymph dressed in floaty tie-dyed skirt, a yogi in lotus meditation, they appeared. If you looked for the sweaty, gurning raver clutching a water bottle and repeating moves in their own little world or sporting Day-Glo, hot panted outfits, they too existed. The Japanese wedding in a fusion flurry of traditional-clubbing kitsch, the self-important eco-speaker, the meticulously costumed regular festival goer, the wise old earth mother. They were all at Eclipse 2012.

Temples (and makeshift church)

But sometimes hippies chewed their faces up. And sometimes pig-tailed raver chicks needed no more than the music to get high.

Stereotypes flipped, were stretched and distorted. Earth mother surprised me with her mushroom journeys. Famous drummer intrigued me with his gentle nature. Dreamy types brought considerate, well-behaved children to basket weaving classes. And the raver sat with a stranger during a bad trip, talking them through some crazy moments until a place of relative calm was reached.

Morning at the Moon Stage

More often than not, the festival was a whole lot more wholesome than one might expect. Good food. Good company. Good support. Good dancing. Beyond good.

Of course the craziness existed. As with many a party, a continuum of personalities coloured and enriched the event. But it’s what most those people did that made the event; they spoke, they performed, they danced, they painted, they played; they – an army of artisans and thought-leaders and revelers - created a beautiful visual and sensual feast of celebration.

If you believe this random mix of humanity, of intention, of consciousness, cannot exist side by side, then Eclipse 2012 was a great example that we can.

Let’s dance.

Chill out and kick back stage

Live creativity

Light, sound and DJs

Accessorising

Eclipse 2012 (festival site)
Cairns total solar eclipse 2012 (bom.gov.au)
SUN-EARTH DAY 2012: TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE, AUSTRALIA (nasa.gov)
TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE OF 2012 NOV 13: Google Maps and Solar Eclipse Paths (nasa.gov)

1 Comment

Filed under art, australia, culture, dancing, drugs, festivals, health, nature, oceania, roadtrip, travel, wow!

Tagged as art, Australia, dancing, drugs, Eclipse, festivals, music, spirituality, stereotypes, trance, travel

April 16, 2013 · 12:04 AM

Queensland Road Trip: And the heat and beat build

Day 5: Cairns – Palmer River Roadhouse (via Mareeba) (218km)

There was something about Kurunda that caught my attention that was less about the cute, independent coffee bars and tourist shops of the compact town centre and more about everything else. Like the gorge at Barron Falls, and the dense lushness of greenery, an environment of the richest greens.

We were barely half an hour out of Cairns, car weighed down with a week’s worth of drinking water for three people. We wound our way up into the mountains, missed the stop-off for wide angle views down over Cairns and the Coral Sea, and made a brief stop at the gorge.

Barron Falls, Kurunda, Far North Queensland

But now to face the matter in hand; the final inland stretch to Palmer River and the Eclipse 2012 festival.

We drove along straight roads towards more mountains and into a plateaued land of spindly trees, thirsty twigs and branches poking out of thin trunks, out into a vast, clear sky. Termite mounds rose up from the tarmac edge, dotted along into the far distance, some heading towards the two metre mark, traditional cone shapes alongside crazy distortions and face-like shapes, trip-like. No wonder the festival was being held out here. Mind enhancement seemed pretty unnecessary: let nature show you some magic instead.

A cow ambled along the roadside. Where was its nutrition?

Those far away mountains loomed close and once again we started to climb. With less than an hour to go, we pulled in at another scenic viewing spot and paused, looking out over a light brown landscape, a tinderbox of dryness.

One guy stops off to take in the scenery. A moment of peace before the party.

Dry, dusty environment… a taste of things to come

And then the last filling station, a few souls milling around grabbing smokes and snacks, what was left. Bottle shops and convenience stores from Cairns to Mareeba to Palmer River were running low. Fuel needed bulk replacing. It would be a good week for this little area of Far North Queensland.

We turned into the festival site, waved in by two guys and a girl, big smiles and a jiggle dance. A girl walked towards us, little shorts showing smooth, tanned legs covered in a thick layer of dust. She pulled down the cloth that was tied around her mouth.

‘You already got tickets?’ she asked.

‘Yep.’ I dug around in my bag. ‘Have you seen any crocs?’ I asked.

‘Not for a bit. Some guys pulled a couple out. It should be fine.’

Armbands on, we passed the quick car check and drove on down a few more kilometres of bumps and dust alongside water holes bearing signs that read ‘No swimming’ until we reached civilisation in the form of a rocky, hard-ground campsite. Many rocky, hard-ground campsites.

My mind flipped. This was a city of tents and abodes and set-ups, established within what felt to be the most inhospitable natural environment I had ever found myself within. It would be like no other camping experience. Of that, I was sure.

The final stretch into the festival site

And we arrive! Some 2,307km later. Celebrate.

2 Comments

Filed under activity & sport, australia, camping, culture, festivals, food & drink, nature, oceania, roadtrip

Tagged as Australia, Cairns, culture, festivals, nature, Queensland, travel

March 31, 2013 · 9:55 AM

What to pack for a festival in the outback

Mid day water spray

Outback or bush, call it what you like, this would be the remotest, driest, hottest festival that I’d ever been to and unlike some travels where spontaneity keeps the magic alive, this needed planning. At least a little.

Event organisers emailed out a survival guide a few weeks before the start date of 10^th November 2012, warning of bugs and beasties and dangerous drop access roads, of shrivel-inducing temperatures and complete communication cut-off.

This wasn’t a festival for pussycats.

Instead it would be a moment for thousands of wiry revellers, eclipse chasers, festival die-hards, musicians, DJs and artisans to unite. A seven day festival of music and workshops, of crafting and consciousness building, of stomping feet, raised hands and banging heads, a seven day festival created around the total solar eclipse visible within Far North Queensland, Australia.

Me and my crew were nearly ready. One final stock up and then we’d start the journey inland from Cairns, away from city structure into a landscape of termite mounds and tracks that led to houses a million miles from anywhere else.

So what did we bring? What might work for you next time the eclipse festival fever grips Australia again in 2028? Or whatever hot and humid festival that might be coming up shortly?

Essentials

Drinking water. Lots. We each got through about 4 litres a day. Onsite water was not considered safe to drink so we brought what looked like a ridiculous amount and it only just lasted.
Water sprayers/misters. Handheld are fine but the full on backpack, gardening maintenance style were best. And fun. And in demand. Spray and dance and stay safe and hydated.
Sunscreen. Far North Queensland heat and full on rays need a little thought.
Sunglasses. Super bright light. Some hangovers. Sensitivity.
Longlasting snacks. Nuts and other nutritious, energy giving nibbles.
First aid kit with all the basics including antiseptic cream and plasters/bandaids. Obvious.
Ear plugs. The music never stops (apart from during the actual eclipse, so that’s maybe an hour of quiet in a whole week).
Eye mask. Days and nights get a little mixed up and who knows when you want or need some shut-eye?
Tent, sleeping mat and a sleeping bag liner/sheet. Make sure your tent has plenty of ventilation, or do as some people did and only set up the inner tent.

Desireable

Tarpaulin. A friend lent this to us and it provided an extra layer of amazing sun protection over both tents whilst also marking our tenting territory.
Cool box/Eski. Ice available on site meant cold drinks and a longer life for fresh food. And every Aussie seems to travel with an Eski. Maybe if I was Australian this would be up there as an essential item.
Face/dust mask/scarf of some sort. Dust got everywhere. You learnt to live with the constant dirty taste it in your mouth, of a layer coating your teeth (and everything else).
Alcohol/cigarettes. Both could be bought at the festival but prices were a little inflated and most people came suitably stocked. The same was true for all other poisons.
Baby/wet wipes. Crawling in to bed having wiped off some of the dust layers was more than a luxury.
Electrolytes. We brought a big tub of GatorAid and although I can’t stand the stuff, I needed it to replace all those salts lost through dancing and dehydration. We stuck it in water bottles and brought it along on daytime missions into the festival.

Luxury

Solar shower. Yep. Although they offered $5 showers on site (outdoor but with privacy), having our own rig meant that once a day I had about five minutes of feeling dust free and clean. It was wonderful.
Cooking gear. The festival didn’t actually allow open flames and the discovery of our cooking gear could have led to us being kicked off site, yet it saved us some money and meant mornings could still start with a percolated coffee. What we soon realised was that there were so many great eating spots serving great quality feeds at decent prices that cooking at camp wasn’t actually quite as desirable as we expected.
Parasol. I carried mine with me everywhere, a plain green thing. Other’s carried theirs everywhere and I realised my idea of a parasol was entirely unoriginal and everyone else’s were much more beautiful and decorative. But functionwise? They all did the job.
Light sabers, wigs and glow masks. And face paints. Even if we transported a broken light saber all the way from New South Wales to Far North Queensland, it still formed part of an essential festival fancy dress kit. Okay, maybe not essential. But adds to the fun.
Fairy lights and decorations to create home. I’m a Cancerian so maybe my want to nest wherever I base myself was realised through these little camp set-up pleasures. Others clearly have this down to an art.
Proper pillow. Some people would scoff but few people complain when they get to lay their head down on a comfy pillow rather than a squished together, hard pile of clothes. I slept beautifully, through doof and human traffic. I’m sure the pillow helped some.
Change of clothes and pillow cases. Clean, dust free stuff saved for near the end would have been amazing. Instead we slept in our own dirt and dust. Ah well.

Anything I’ve forgotten to mention? That I should know about for next time?

6 Comments

Filed under activity & sport, australia, culture, festivals, oceania, travel

Tagged as Australia, Far North Queensland, festival, music, Music festival, New South Wales, travel

February 3, 2013 · 9:32 AM

Backtracking to Splendour in the Mud 2012

Jack White doing his thing on the main stage

I would never have found myself in amidst soggy Jack White fans at the end of a wet first day at Splendour if it hadn’t been for a surprise reissue ticket tucked inside a couscous box and wrapped elaborately in Happy Birthday wrapping paper.

‘Have you felt how the town is coming to life?’ asked a woman I was introduced to on the streets of Byron Bay a few days later. ‘You’re not a fan of wintertime Byron then?’ I asked. ‘I don’t like it when it’s dead. I love this because… because I’m not dead!’ she said.

Whilst true locals might bemoan the anonymity of a busy Byron and welcome quieter winter moments where bumping into familiar faces on the streets is much more likely, the fact remains: Splendour in the Grass brings big bucks to the area. And a bit of a buzz.

So, the day arrived, full of sunshine and the promise of a good line-up.

Let’s get this festival started

Buses passed by fast walking ticket holders on the trek out of town, onwards to Belongil fields. Whilst I waited for a friend, a group of girls sashayed past in a calm confidence of orange hair, high belts and eyeliner. Policemen waited by the entrance, sniffer dogs pulling at their leads.

I’ve been to a fair few festivals back in the UK so had some idea of what to expect. But key differences? Wintertime, for a start (the thought of having a festival in winter in the UK seems… well… wrong). And no grassy verges to crash back on and view the music from afar. And considering Splendour is one of Australia’s biggest festivals? It felt tiny (and I loved it for it).

Similarities? Queues for the bar, twinkly lighting when dusk set in, the somewhat tragic casualty of the curled up person who got too messed up to even make it into the festival. And artistic décor that reflected time and energy and the eye of the artisan.

Crowds coming and going

Planning the next stage move (and my favourite random festival photo girl)

The Tipi Forest stage

Night arrives

And the rain. That was similar. Because within ten minutes of getting in amongst it, the dark cloud that had followed us into the grounds enveloped the sky and gave birth, raining and hailing down with such ferocity it drove even the mud dancers into hiding. Momentarily.

A bit of rain and hail and the crowds retreat

$80 wellies/gum boots

The only one in our group to come prepared

Friends helping each other out

Glastonbury, eat your heart out.

Or welly sellers (aka gum boot pimps) eat your heart out (because the crowds flocked to their stalls, parting with silly cash to stylishly protect their tootsies from inevitable sogginess of that wet July day).

Review: Hail the little hidden gems (smh.com.au)

2 Comments

Filed under australia, culture, festivals, oceania

Tagged as Byron Bay New South Wales, festivals, Jack White, music, New South Wales, travel

January 27, 2013 · 8:12 AM

Can’t I just get drunk and dance (or should I really find out what Australia Day is actually about)?

Flag of Australia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So it’s my second Australia Day in… erm… Australia. And guess what? It’s raining and blowing the start of a storm. Again. Mid-summer? Pah! ‘So what exactly are you celebrating on Australia Day?’ I asked a friend. ‘Er… something to do with our independence’. ‘You don’t even know what you’re celebrating?!’ ‘Yeah, yeah I do…’

And so I became determined to find out what Australia Day was really about. If I’m going to pause my travels for a little while to be here, to explore this place, I definitely want to have some idea of what’s going on (and why).

Dubbed by some as Invasion Day, Wikipedia gives a bit more insight into the event: Celebrated annually on 26 January, the date commemorates the arrival of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove, New South Wales in 1788 and the proclamation at that time of British sovereignty over the eastern seaboard of Australia.

But what about the impact of the British arrival on indigenous communities? Surely Australia Day is far from a day of celebration for communities who were robbed of their land and rights? As one website states, ‘To many Aboriginal people there is little to celebrate and it is a commemoration of a deep loss. Loss of their sovereign rights to their land, loss of family, loss of the right to practice their culture.’

There are efforts being made to be more inclusive and redress the situation (as much as is possible), for example The Australia Day National Network states that ‘On Australia Day we recognise the unique status of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. The National Australia Day Council (NADC) is committed to playing a part in the journey of Reconciliation by helping all Australians to move forward with a better understanding of our shared past, and importantly how this affects the lives of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples today and how we might build a better future together’.

I later read a little more into modern views of Australia Day and came across a good few grumbles about the Australian flag that with prominent inclusion of the Union Jack is not deemed to be sufficiently Australian. It made me think: is the wish to have a separated, unique identity so unreasonable?

Further discussions on news sites focused on nationalistic behaviour and accusations of ‘the “boganisation” of Australia Day”. Is Australia Day really ‘all out bogan day, get drunk, wear a flag cape, cause some violence, be racist, get arrested and vomit’? It makes me think of football finals in the UK, cars covered in scarves and banners, houses draped in giant St. George flags, bloody faces on sore losers. Just a matter of patriotism? Hmmm…

On the alcohol side of things, there definitely is some truth. ‘It’s about barbecuing with friends, and drinking until you can’t stand up’, said Sam, a Melbourne based guy in his mid-thirties. ‘We usually go for a surf, then head back for a barbie and beers’, said another friend up in North New South Wales.

It would seem that for many Australians, the way to celebrate this day is by spending time with friends and family, barbecuing, beaching and drinking. It is, after all, suggested as being the ‘largest annual public event in the nation’, so why not get together?

It also seems that for many, many people, Australia Day is about Hottest 100 parties, The Sydney Morning Herald claiming that the countdown event ran by Triple J (a popular ad-free and government-owned station) ‘brings us together’ whilst Triple J themselves talked up the day weeks in advance, generating hype and giving shout outs to registered parties around the country.

On my way back from a trip out into Byron Bay I stopped at the off-license (or bottle-O, if we want to keep things Australian), expecting to find myself in amongst a last-minute booze scramble. But the only hint at Australia Day was the seller’s insistence that I buy the organic Australian vodka over an imported brand, and maybe the guy who was slurring and paying up wearing only a pair of tightie boxer shorts was my second sign? My first bogan sighting? Quite possibly.

And then I drove on through oncoming storms, home to a veranda of bodies huddled out of the reach of driving rains, to a barbecue sheltered by parasols, to music blasting from the radio, to eskies crammed with ice and beers, to over 30cm of rain in one hour (noted when we were still level-headed enough to check).

The beach party, I guessed, wouldn’t be happening. Maybe next year.

So what are we celebrating again? Oh yeah. Independence. No, invasion. No, the British landings. Ah, it’s getting a bit fuzzy. Now, where is my drink?

Our flag should not be girt by British history (smh.com.au)
Australian, Aboriginal flags to fly in Sydney (stuff.co.nz)
Academic wants new flag for Australia (bigpondnews.com)
More than mere hits, Hottest 100 brings us together (smh.com.au)
Triple J: Hottest 100 (abc.net.au)
I am bogan, hear me roar (smh.com.au)
Australia Day 2013 Honours List (smh.com.au)
Australia Day National Network
Happy Australia Day!! (glennfolkes.wordpress.com)
Australia celebrates Australia Day (upi.com)
Snags, Triple J and Coconut Oil (progressionofme.wordpress.com)
How Sydney celebrated Australia Day 2013 (aworldchaos.wordpress.com)
Small steps to reconciliation on Oz Day (news.theage.com.au)
History of Australia (wikipedia.org)
Bogan definition (wikipedia.org)

3 Comments

Filed under activity & sport, australia, beaches, culture, festivals, food & drink, history, nature, oceania, surf

Tagged as Australia, Australia Day, celebrations, culture, events, Sydney Morning Herald, travel, Triple J

July 1, 2012 · 10:34 PM

I should be at a trance party, so what am I doing here?

Some day time revellers keep going at the rave (photo: Carl Maybry©)

IT’S FRIDAY AND I SHOULD be in Uyuni with new friends partying at a windpowered goa-trance festival on the Salt Flats outside of Uyuni in Bolivia, but I’m ill. Another bout of food poisoning has crippled me.

I let my friends know that I can’t come. A day on the bus followed by a weekend of all-nighter hedonism when I’m spinning out and have only just stopped puking? Not a great idea. But I’m gutted.

My day comprises of sleeping and Skype chats. It’s taking me ages to do anything. My eyes are heavy so after my lunchtime snack of cough medicine and probiotics, I end up snoozing some more.

One of my friends drops me a message to say that a local told him ‘the raves out on the Salar de Uyuni aren’t all that great anyway’. Momentarily I feel better but then I look at pictures of the salt flats, imagine 180° of starry sky and I’m back to frustrated envy.

I venture out of the hostel for the first time in a couple of days. Destination: pharmacy. I need to stock up on potent cough syrup. Two more bottles, the doctor reckons, that’s at least another week of codeine stupor. I walk slowly with consideration; I am spinning out and not totally sure that I won’t faint.

The doctor has banned me from eating out, despite it often being cheaper, so I make myself a package soup and tart it up with some vegetables. Hopefully this time the food will stay down. It doesn’t.

I don’t have the energy to be my social self and initiate conversation with all the new people in the hostel, but I chat a little with the owner’s son. Spanish practise. He’s not feeling well either, although it’s definitely something different. His Bolivian belly is resistant to the food and water bugs. Tourists, he says, always get sick at some point.

I watch a movie but I can’t focus. I keep imagining a mass of bodies bouncing to a beat. I’ve never been to a trance party. Travelling for me is about trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone. This would have been perfect. I’ve never liked trance music. I don’t think.

Another whack of medication. Doped out.

I wake up on Saturday feeling pretty good considering that if you shook me, I’d rattle. I take a shower. I’m so spaced out from all the medication that I get stuck into a stare. I wonder if the way I’m feeling is anything similar to how it feels to be on ketamine. Why ketamine, I’m not sure. It must have cropped up in conversation recently. I’m tingly and dizzy and a bit numb. I’m trying to flip this on its head, trying to enjoy the feeling. I’m listening to Salmonella Dub and I wonder what genre Salmonella Dub is. I’ve never been good at classifying music. Whatever, it’s my own zone out party. I’m sure I’m in the shower for far too long. Zombiefied.

The rain arrives. ‘I’ve never seen rain in Bolivia’, says a guy I meet in the kitchen over a cup of tea. Talking about the weather. I could do this in England. I do do this in England. Actually, I do this everywhere. My one bit of Englishness comes with me.

And the day continues pretty uneventfully. I manage to get out to buy a bus ticket to Uyuni for the following day. The rain makes me a bit soggy, which isn’t clever when I’m still sick. Bare feet weren’t the smartest move. I buy some shoes. Retail therapy, not my thing at all, but it works. If I’d gone to the rave I wouldn’t have been able to buy these lovely shoes. I’m momentarily consoled.

For the first time in a while I can focus on a screen so I watch a movie but fall asleep half way through. It’s isn’t a bad film at all, just sometimes something happens when I’m in bed watching a film, particularly when I’m drugged up to my eyeballs. I try to fight it but my body wins out.

Early Sunday morning I pay my bill and get a goodbye cuddle from my hostel hostess. She’s been worrying about me. Thinks I should stay longer. I think I need to get out of Sucre before I become yet another one of the travellers stuck here longer term. I don’t think the place is healthy for me.

Maybe Uyuni will be better? Somehow I doubt it. Sitting at an altitude of 3,669m, I know my pain isn’t over. But I’m on the bus and heading to my friends who will surely be buzzing with incredible stories of all-nighters and special connections and amazing skies and scenery.

And, probably because I’ve been so damn unwell, actually I’m not really jealous. Yet.

5 Comments

Filed under bolivia, culture, festivals, south america

Tagged as bolivia, drugs, energy, festival, health, illness, South America, Sucre, sustainability, trance, travel, writing

June 8, 2012 · 4:08 AM

Shall I stay? Finding love in Pucara

‘HOW CAN I GET TO Pucara?’ I asked a guy sitting outside his shop after I’d hidden my room payment under the candlestick in the alojamiento. I didn’t know what else to do. ‘Ten minutes’, he said, along with some other stuff that I just didn’t understand. I sat down with my backpack and waited.

I looked around. The village of La Higuera was deserted and I wasn’t sure whether I’d get a ride, whether there were buses from Pucara to Villa Serrano, whether I’d be stuck in these tiny villages for weeks and weeks. It certainly wasn’t the worst prospect. I’d had such a pleasant, peaceful and welcoming stay in La Higuera that a few days longer actually seemed quite appealing.

Morning in La Higuera, Bolivia, and barely a soul in sight

But the car did turn up and an hour and a half later I arrived into the little mud hut maze of Pucara having done an hour detour through Villa Victoria and by the taxi driver’s house. Things to pick up there, stuff to do. You don’t mind, do you? he asked.

Of course not: the beauty of not being in a rush for once in my life. And the bonus? A sightseeing tour that took me really high into the mountains on the most precarious roads I’d seen yet in Bolivia.

High up in the mountains near La Higuera

In Pucara, the village drunk took a shine to me. Okay, that’s probably unfair, but he was definitely on the wrong side of tipsy and it was barely gone 10:30am. He gripped my arm and started pressuring me to drink some beer that he’d just poured whilst his team of merry men laughed on.

‘It’s not too early’, he protested when I tried to make my excuses, ‘and it’s not too much’. I realised what I had to do. After a polite sip I removed myself from the party, bought some snacks and started the long wait for the mid-afternoon bus.

The plaza in Pucara is an odd little place, a mix of stone pillars, mini metal railings, a water fountain that doesn’t work and some yellow concrete archways.

Men in wide brimmed hats sat around in doorways surrounding the plaza, and the chatter and laughter of children playing lassoo chase filled the air.

Kids playing in the plaza in Pucara

It was a couple of hours before what appeared to be the only restaurant in town opened but finally I heard some singing, a grace I guessed, and I made my way over to join a family for al muerzo. I’d already met Dolly outside, a girl in her late teens with a somewhat stern nature.

Whilst Dolly stared and ate silently, her family chatted away to me, and it really was mostly to me, although I did manage to tell them a little about my travels. They were curious about me travelling alone, about what I did back home. We talked about the Channel tunnel, about the economy in the UK and Europe compared to Bolivia. A random mix of conversation, part of an educated and better-to-do Bolivian family reunion.

Before I left and paid for my 15Bs. soup and chicken, potato and rice main, I made a quick visit to the loo, into the back of the house, dodging a huge hunk of meat hanging from the ceiling outside the bathroom door. The chewy contents of my soup, I assumed. My stomach had already threatened to go all South American on me and I hoped all would be well for my bus journey.

I passed the rest of the afternoon in Pucara sitting in the plaza, taking some photos of the town, writing and chatting to locals.

Two small boys noticed my camera and started to pose, falling over themselves with laughter when they saw their faces on the screen. ‘Again’, they said, giggling, ‘again’.

A serious pose before the silly ones

People dressed in Sunday best were gathering at the church with plaited palm leaves and flowers. I asked an old woman what was being celebrated. ‘La Misa del Señora’, she told me, ‘a religious festival’. The church bells chimed. Two men stood waiting with a donkey on which was mounted what looked like a male doll dressed up as a woman. I was a little confused, but then I hadn’t really managed to grasp the concept of the festival.

Donkeys and dressed up dolls

Gradually, the crowds gathered in the shade of the plaza. Three girls in flowing white gowns joined the group. There was a sense that something was about to happen.

‘You want to come along?’ asked the old woman, before muttering something about Santana when a guy drove past on a motorbike. I declined. I didn’t want to go off on a procession and miss the bus.

The procession in Pucara sets off

And the last hour wait was maybe the most significant in that it could have changed my entire life, had I been a little more open minded and more attracted to older guys.

Germán, a relaxed, somewhat rounded man in his late 70s came and sat next to me. We chatted a bit. In previous lives we’d both been teachers. He loved that we had some similarities.

It wasn’t long before he told me that he wanted to come and travel with me to Villa Serrano and on to Sucre. He took my hand and held it for a while. He playfully nicked my pen lid, then my pen. He gave my leg a cheeky stroke.

I looked out for the bus. Surely it must be on its way? And if the bus didn’t show? The alternative was for me to stay here and marry Germán and inherit a donkey and his three houses. He’d made a point of telling me about the houses, sure that they would seal the deal. If only I didn’t believe in true love.

A little girl with whom I’d been engaged in a face pulling contest for a few minutes left to find her mum who ran the village shop, leaving me fully alone with my would-be suitor. I started to write.

My new friend in Pucara before the face pulling and hand hiding started

Germán was fascinated by my pen. ‘How much did it cost?’ he asked. I told him 8Bs, embarrassingly expensive, I realised, for most Bolivians. I told him that a good pen for me was more important than a good meal. He laughed and asked if he could write something. He moved in closer. He wrote me a note in my book, a love letter of sorts.

A love letter of sorts

And then he tried to stroke my bum. ‘Pare, por favour’, I said. Enough was enough. I stood up. ‘We could get a room together in Villa Serrano’, he said quickly. ‘No. It wouldn’t be nice to mi novio’, I said, trying to think of excuses and a gentle let-down. Germán put his fingers to his mouth. ‘Sssshhhh.’

‘No’, I told him, ‘I’m going to Villa Serrano alone’.

A strong handshake, a strange little finger stroke on my palm and he left. Love affair over.

16 Comments

Filed under bolivia, culture, festivals, solo travel, south america

Tagged as biography, bolivia, Che Guevara, history, revolution, South America, travel

May 17, 2012 · 5:22 AM

What a day to arrive! Vallegrande celebrates

Vallegrande is a town with about 6,000 inhabitants situated 118km from where I’d been staying in Samaipata. I’d taken a two and a half hour bus journey cramped in the aisle amongst sleeping babies and bulky bags. As the only gringa on board, I had stuck out like a sore thumb and had been the centre of attention and the butt of teenage jokes that I couldn’t understand. But I’d arrived, sorted out some lovely accommodation and life was sweet.

I was only spending one day in the town and coincidentally, it was a party weekend. Once I’d dropped my bags in Hotel Plaza Pueblo and eaten some cake with the family who ran the place, I decided to get out there and explore a little.

I wandered down a cobbled street to Plaza Rubén Terrezas where, on the taxi driver’s recommendation, I bought some bread which I nibbled as I ventured over to the main plaza.

Plaza 26 de Enero was heaving with people and stalls, the weekend fiesta to celebrate ‘400 years of the foundation of the city of Montes Claros Jesus and the Knights of Vallegrande’ (now there’s a mouthful) kicking off with toffee apples and drinking and dancing to a live band.

Early evening at the fiesta in the plaza, Vallegrande

A guy started to talk to me as I went looking for a warm drink. ‘You were in the collectivo from Santa Cruz?’ he asked. He looked familiar but not. I wasn’t sure. He bought me a drink, a base shot of Singani topped with hot, frothy milk. Warming and tasty. Perfect for the chilly night air.

‘You want another?’ he asked having downed his pretty quickly. I decided not. Tipsy, alone and disoriented wouldn’t be the smartest move.

Singani liquor used for cocktails, and alcoholic milk drinks, apparently

One local guy get a refill of the alcoholic milk

Whilst I supped my milky drink, an old woman with twinkling eyes started to talk to me, curious about where I was from. And then she told me how she’d known Che Guavara, how he was a good man, agradable, and that she was glad I was following his journey, his route.

I went to watch the dancing. A young guy started to bounce around in front of me, animated, a little drunk. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was one of the lads from the back of the bus, bottle of liqueur in hand. He insisted he was 26.

‘You must try some’ said Daniel pouring red viscous liquid into a plastic tumbler. I had a small shot. A little sickly, sweet and fruity, it’s what I’d seen a lot of people sipping on around the square.

Arocco, Daniel’s friend, turned up. More shots were dealt and soon the two of them were swigging from the bottle. They rattled away in fast Spanish. I nodded, said yes, said no, told them I didn’t understand. I picked up the odd word but more often than not lost the context of what was being said.

Later, Arocco insisted that he was the great-great-nephew of Che, but unfortunately that was all the information I could glean from his extended, passionate soliloquy. Evidently, he rated the guy (a stark contrast to both boys’ response to the Bolivian president Evo Morales).

I didn’t know what to believe. There seemed to be plenty of people with a connection to Che, real or imagined. I guess it didn’t really matter. The sentiment was loud and clear.

In the plaza the musicians packed up, hefty speakers were bussed away and the crowds started to dissipate. I found my way back through poorly lit streets to Hotel Plaza Pueblo, said goodnight to the family and crashed out in my massive twin room, wondering what other unplanned adventures lay ahead.
———————————————————————————————————–

In Vallegrande I stayed in Hotel Restaurante “Plaza Pueblo” on Calle Virrey Mendoza no. 132, Vallegrande and paid 70Bs. (£6.35/US$10.20) for solo occupation in a twin room with shared bathroom. Breakfast was included but was basic. The hotel is a short walk from the market, and the main plaza, Plaza 26 de Enero, is only a little further along.

Guest Session: Traveller Friendly Destination: Austin, Texas

Map of Austin, Texas (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Featured writer: Logan from Blog Content Guild

If you’re a backpacker, caravanner, or even luxury travel enthusiast, Austin, Texas is a great place to visit for both short and long-term stays. You can get to the central Texas hill country by just about every transportation offered from jet charter to hitchhiking, except by boat. There are hostels, bare-bones to 5-star hotels, RV parks, camping lots, cozy inns and CouchSurfing options in and around Austin. There are many things that make Austin a traveler’s haven including great outdoor activities and live music shows and festivals.

Austin City Limits (ACL) is a fantastic music festival that ranks in the big 4, among Coachella, Lollapalooza and Bonnaroo. Even if you don’t spring for a wristband there are tons of off-site shows to catch. ACL usually happens around the end of September every year.

South By Southwest (SXSW) or as locals shorten it to, South-by, is a weeklong music, film and interactive event that takes over the city like a swarm. Rather than having one park-sized venue that has stages erected within parameters like ACL, SXSW brings music to every bar, coffee shop, restaurant, and street corner in town. Just land here with the other 100,000 visitors and see where the wind takes you.

The lake that cuts through the center of town runs 22 miles long and provides for fun activities like paddle boarding, canoeing, kayaking and, in designated areas, water skiing and wakeboarding.

The weather is extremely hot for the 6 months of summer, but creeks and rivers that flow through the hills, plus the lake provide a cool respite from the heat. Mild winters are a great draw for people who don’t like the cold.

Next time you’re wondering where to head for your travels in the United States, think about the traveler-friendly Capitol of Texas. The locals will welcome you with open arms and feed you lots of yummy tex-mex!

Logan works for the Blog Content Guild that helps ’brands educate and connect with new audiences’.

Guest Session: The Spirit Festival liberates more than just the yogi

Featured writer: Chad Kolcze

Whatever your perception of the Spirit Festival, whatever your inhibitions or expectations were, the weekend long multi-venue event in Mullumbimby left spirits high for all involved.

As your common Byron Shire surfer, teacher and beer drinker, I wouldn’t class myself as a devoted spiritual guru or devoted yogi by any means. And as a regular guy, that includes the odd yoga class every now and then. I was pleasantly surprised and grateful for experiences I was offered and the diversity of classes that made me look inward rather than out for a change.

There were 22 different sessions offered on the half day Friday (not including the high-spirited good times had during the evening concerts). Plus, 43 sessions on the programme for Saturday and equal number on the Sunday. A third in attendance were beautiful men and the rest were radiating females exploring their divine feminine.

Filled with caring compassionate everyday people, I was amazed at the lack of hippy-trippy patchouli oil smelling folk I thought I would see there. Instead it was genuine, bright-eyed, smiling faces dressed in modern colourful sport wear and talking excitedly about the experience they just had at one of the many sessions on offer. Mix in the colour of the peace flags, the Tee-Pee’s, the colour of the graceful skies and the opposing healthy green grass or the many rugs and cushions that were on offer for all and I found a truly well decorated and catered for event.

Of course the expectations of great tasting, super nutritious food was met. There were also stall holders selling their products, others offering various therapies or spiritual readings etc. However they weren’t the focus. The focus was very much on the programmed sessions, the entertainment and the gurus who made them a reality. The level of professionalism and knowledge shown by these teachers/spiritual practitioners was very deep, very much like a university professor or TED speaker. They offered very informative and well lead journeys for the punter to embrace through mind, body and consciousness.

I was one for one, after experiencing Darpan’s ‘Shamanic Sound Journey’ class. This was the very first class I under took and I had my first positive journey for the weekend. He was able to tap into this body that I carry around day-to-day and predominately use only for external use, looking, seeing, touching and so forth. And open me up to expose the beauty of looking inside my exo-skeleton and the senses/ power/ energy within. And since doing so, it may have helped me find the love in my heart that’s been missing for many years.

Another highlight for many who packed the venue, beyond its capacity, was ‘The Future Sound of Yoga’. A modern yoga delivery that combines a DJ like character offering wicked symphonic and electro sounds, combined with the gorgeous passionate smiling Angel as facilitator. They offered yoga poses and dance steps to be conducted with free expression yet offering a basis of directed movement. And so the list of amazing classes went on; the renowned yoga guru’s educated in ancient languages such as Sanskrit doing their bit, Tigress yoga aimed at empowering the feminine, Women’s only Tantra or mixed Tantra sessions, yoga in the public pool, belly dancing in the Drill Hall, Kirtan in the open, Goyto Monks humming their mantras and chai tea everywhere.

However, it was the Mullum High School Hall that was the focal point once the sun went down. Saturday’s headlining act, Deva Premal, exposed me to Kirtan and the empowerment of vocalizing mantras. All good stuff, but the more familiar all out dance sessions on Friday and Sunday nights was more my cup of tea. Thanks to OKA, Deya Dova and Future Sound of Yoga, the transformed school hall was alive with a packed house moving like perfect swell hitting a reef break. Perhaps high on chai tea, or whatever, undisputedly the dance floor was absolutely pumping yet no one was inebriated.

The Spirit Festival, as participated by a regular Byron local like myself, was one of the best festivals I have experienced in my life. I met so many genuinely gorgeous people, experienced new things, expanded my perceptions and explored my conscious being.

I also spoke with the festival organizers and they indicated it was a successful first year, on many levels. They were exceptionally pleased that they could offer several volunteer performers, part of proceeds that were raised from high ticket sales after all.

The Spirit Festival was a positive result for more than just the yoga community it perceived to target. It offered an abundance of joy and experience to the broader community for all walks of life who bought a ticket, the teachers and performers, the organizers and the town of Mullumbimby itself…

Namaste!

—————————————————————————————————-

Chad is a keen surfer and skater and a good guy all the way. And open minded enough to open up to the Spirit Festival. Chad is also an Australian writer and the founder of Active Kids Books. He draws inspiration from his interesting and varied life as a sponsored snowboarder, footballer, fitness instructor, business owner, PDHPE teacher and father. His books aim to challenge the lack of sports related picture books for children. Currently available: Skate Session and Surf Safari. Check out the website and video on the front page for more info.

Category Archives: festivals

Art, consciousness and a whole lot of doof at Eclipse 2012 festival

Queensland Road Trip: And the heat and beat build