WOMAD

In my youth....I had a vision of what a 'festival' experience should be. I have experienced a few in my time....some good, some ok....some not worth time or money (which is rare). Depending on the state of mind, expectations and personality...it usually is at the very least...an 'experience'.

Recently, I had noticed on Peter Gabriel's website, an ad for WOMAD (World of Music, Art and Dance) festival. I have known about this for quite sometime, but never thought I would get to one or have the opportunity. I sent the note to Matt via email just to 'put a bug in his ear'. Due to recent expenses, an unexpected trip stateside and a planned trip to India....I never gave it much thought. I should have known better. Matt was on it. We ended up with an all day ticket on Saturday...after a bit of research on his part. There are packages to camp....a bit pricey of course, but well worth the money, I'm sure. We opted for the day out.

This all took place south of here roughly 2 hours or less away in Malmsbury, Wiltshire at Chelton Park. The festival dubbed WOMUD because of the routine occurance of rain. I'm sure we would see our share of 'wellies'. Rainboots to the knee of all colors and designs. Pink swirls, yellow stars and yes... even green clovers.

We (or Matt, I should say...)packed up our napsack with goodies and sandwiches, cameras in tow....and set out at the crack of about 10am. (Intentions good...but sleep is better...) The day started out questionably....ok, with a bit of cloud cover. A nice ride down with a stop for a bit in Cirencester http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cirencester An old Roman town lying near the Cotswold Hills. Nice, albeit a bit of a touristy market village. A pleasant stopover to rest our legs for a bit.

A bit later we are on the road to the festival....off on a country road...out in the sticks....big field....I love it already! To be expected....field after field of cars, vans, trucks. After leaving the car and tromping out towards the festivites on foot....we come into a huge field of tents, nearly resting on top of one another...(maybe we didn't want to camp next time....)After that...a huge field of large white teepees...nearly on top of one another. One thing I have discovered time and time again....there is little concept of privacy or 'personal space' over here. People just accept it...not much choice I suppose.

The music that we heard briefly from the car...was now becoming clearer each step. Reggae perhaps....African....Asian...? Hmm...not quite sure yet. The vendors are scattered through the woods. Iron sculpture, yard and patio hangings of all sorts, wooden sculpture....many wares to peddle. Art of all shapes and designs.
Then, we came across a large double-decker bus....converted to a Tea Room. Cool. Next...a small tent-like underground Japanese restaurant...(please remover your shoes at the door :)

Beyond the few vendors we came out of the clearing and into the midway. It was quite impressive. 3-4 stages on opposite ends, vendors selling everything from hats to recycled clothing to Mexican hammocks. That didn't include the hundreds of food vendors as well. Food of every culture you can imagine. Fantastic. It was a beautiful sunny day and the smells hovered in the air.Actually, one of the first things one couldn't help but notice were the MANY flags. Tall and colorful. Mostly rose and grey, all different shapes and sizes. All impressive. After that...it was the bubbles. Small, medium and huge. One small booth was selling items that created bubbles exclusively. Needless to say, that was where all the children were hanging out. Myself included. That until I was drawn to the smell of the most exquisite incense I had ever smelled. The young man with the golden-haired dreads was all too happy to help us. In my infinite wisdom, I only purchased the charcoal which burns the incense...and not the incense itself. Silly me.
Matt was drawn to a circle of men, woman and children of all ages and sizes, drumming. It was quite an attraction. There were many such circles around the entire grounds. I tried to persuade Matt to join in and get his chance, but it seemed to be quite a wait. Another time.
There was not a shortage of people either for certain. Thousands. Many waiting in line for the porta-loo. I was not impressed due to the lack of toilet paper...so I bided my time and we cam upon an 'eco loo' complete with cups for wood chips to aid covering that familiar stench. Only a pound....they had paper...worth a pound to me!

Yet, it was a calm and peaceful atmosphere. I couldn't help but think that the type of crowd there would not have tolerated any less. Nice, mellow and just there to enjoy the day. My kind of people. Enjoying music from all corners of the world....Portugal, Brazil, India, Ireland, and so many others. Regarding myself as quite a hippy by nature...I felt quite at home.

The weather turned rainy for only about an hour and cleared for the highlight of our trip. Peter Gabriel. I have been a fan since my high school days and this was a real thrill. I admired him not only for his music and art, but for his humanitarianism.

It was a gorgeous evening and the show was fantastic...even if hampered at times by the taller crowd in front of me. He played a nice variety of old and new and a nice remix "Boy in the Bubble" by Paul Simon. Ending the show with what was no surprise.... "Biko". The true reason why he created WOMAD with his small group of mates. I left that night better for a great day out and thrilled AGAIN to see another idol of mine. *sigh* It's all good.

Jon Anderson

My wonderful husband feels like I do about music and especially about the band Yes. I am thankful. I have been known to listen to them exclusively on long trips, hours on end. He never complains, he welcomes it. This year, I have just recently had the tremendous pleasure of seeing Jon Anderson live solo. All true Yes fans know that he IS Yes. The voice, the lyricist...so much of the essense.
A few miles from our home, he performed at a small club we enjoy, called the Robin2. The same club Steve Howe of Yes performed at awhile back to my joy and thrill.
It was a gorgeous Friday evening, warm and lovely. We caught a quick Balti at a nearby Pakistani place that was delicious and we were set.
Jon came onstage at around 8:30. He was accompanied by his wife Jane who sat happily off to the side not so far from him. The bond is apparent. He dedicated a song or 2 to her and glanced at her, blowing a kiss nearly after each one. A bit much some might say, but considering that she cared for him in the past year with complete devotion when he was near death, not so much, I think.
The entire show was accoustic. Matt nor I realized that he played guitar so well. He did much of his own work, and of course did softer versions of some of the more popular Yes tunes, as well as, the not so popular, for us 'real' fans.
It was an intimate affair. A few hundered of us packed in to the heavily warm room. Camera phones blazing. It eventually became a sing a-long involving what seemed to be the entire place. Old songs, Jon's or Yes', no matter..most knew all of the words. He came out for 2 ancores and if we would have had our way, it would have been more.
What a wonderful way for a fan to see an idol. A close, small pub, only a few that really appreciate his art. It brought me back to childhood. The endless hours of listening to music that sounded like what would be in dreams. Peaceful escapism. He looks frail now. Tired. Age has crept up on him and his health is not so good. Sad. Yet, it is obvious that his life is and has been so rich and complete. I am grateful for the music. It has played in the background of my life for as long as I can recall and will as long as I am able to listen.

Newquay, Cornwall

After returning from the USA on what was, as usual, a quick and exhausting trip, I went to North Cornwall with friends. This trip had been planned for several months and I actually was really looking forward to it.

The drive is never great: Lightening speeds on the motorway (without me driving), traffic and just general jetlag was to play a part this time. Not a bad run...some rain, some shine...a 20 minute stop at a 'rest area' inundated with people from all over the country. I had forgotten that the Glastonbury Festival was the same weekend and surely most of the youngsters were heading there. Trust me, if you ever plan a weekend outing in the U.K., pack your own provisions. Sure beats waiting in line 1/2 hour for what ends up being a $8 sandwich.
We were going to a caravan. Here, a caravan is another name for a camper basically. I never questioned someone on how to pack....summer duds, toiletries, socks. Camping stuff really. Wrong. We were in a trailer park near the sea. A trailer/mobile home for the not-so-outdoorsy types...unlike me. I must say, it was nice....even if the shower went from scalding hot to ice frigid every 10 seconds or less the entire time...(for me as little time as I could muster). Can't have it all I supppose. We otherwise could have been down the road in the "camping" section. Hundreds of tents already lined up in rows ready to roll. Looked like a boot camp to me. No thanks.I travelled and roomed with 5 other ladies that packed for a 2 week stay in the best motel in the country. Hairdryers, straightening irons, clothing iron, phone chargers...most any electrical beauty necessity needed. Thank goodness...for I packed set for the outback. All those years of tents, pop-ups and pull-alongs. No good here.

The place was a haven for children. I love kids, but do I want to spend the weekend with them in all their napless, overtired glory? Uh, NO. No mind, at least the evenings they went in to mommy and daddy leaving us with much needed silence. Even the middle of the main service area was a huge play area for children complete with closed-down water slide....(figures, I would have fought the little blessings for that...) Of course, the chippy and pub were around the corner...either for parents or childless adults, like us...so few as they were.

First night, fish and chips....no vinegar thanks. After I peel off the inch of breading..not bad. A quiet evening in...the ladies are tired. Well...who was the last one up? The one that had just spent 2 rushed weeks in the states...me. Hmmm. Once a nightowl, always a night owl...especially when I am still on midwest USA time.

Next morning the early to slumber arose with much bang at roughly 6-7am. Oh joy. I was still on holiday...so I wasn't fussed. I was the resident latte maker since I was the one who brought the coffee and espresso pot. I wouldn't have left without that! Saturday started gray and quickly became bright and WARM. The breakfast at the site's "cafe" was one of the worst yet...(the ladies would agree on this one). We hopped a bus into Newquay and suffered winding English roads for nearly 45 minutes. My seat partner and I a bit green upon arrival into town. Into the shops we go. Tourist heaven. Keychains, fudge and t-shirts of every size, shape and color. I'm not an avid shopper...but, if it's small shops on the street, I can occupy myself.

After an ice cream break, we headed to Fistral Beach...supposedly an international surfing capitol. Maybe the waves appear at some point. Not a bad beach though. The sun was out, I was pleased. People here swarm beaches in the warm sun, due to it's lack of showing. I think some hide in their homes because they are allergic to heat or sunshine. Anyway....I got a bit too much sun...most of us did. We went back so that 1/4 of us might shower and get ready (again..) for the evening. My vote was for Mexican food. Mistake it was. I keep forgetting where I am and the how bad that cuisine is here. I have tried MANY with no luck. All dressed up and poor food, tired women and me jetlagged, sure to be up to watch the sunrise. Not quite. We headed back, I sat with a magazine catching glimses of Glastonbury on television....the ladies all fast asleep. Tom Jones...hmm...haven't seen him for awhile...wait...at Glastionbury.....? Surreal...

Sunday we returned to Newquay for the day. Hazy, Rain....town clustered with people. I splurged and had a true Cornish pasty. Yummy... close to how mom used to make.

I fancied time alone and walked the town looking for tshirts for my best friend's kids....the girls leaving me behind to return to Fistral. I needed a walk anyway. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy rambling into the little novelty shops all alone. Browsing on my own time...something I used to enjoy at times over the years.

Again, back to the 'camper' for showers and beautifying. Tonight's choice was a local pub, a carvery. The girls rejoiced. I just shrugged, knowing quite well that a cavery is not my first choice. Buffet type food, usually 2 or 3 meat choices, tons of vegetables, a type of potato, perhaps a yorkshire pudding all swimming in a bath of gravy. Usually canned or fake gravy...ugh. The carvery was sold out...no more meat! The girls sighed in disappointed. I rejoiced....privately. We drove to the next pub and ventured in. They had meals, but no carvery. Hunger won and we stayed. Best choice of the weekend. We all had roasted chicken that was to die for. I would even say perhaps the best I have ever had. It WAS that good.

Another relaxing evening in our haven and we would be off to an early start in the morning. The long drive back to Birmingham in nearly 90 degree heat. Roadside cafes LOADED with Glastonbury recoverers. Good on ya kids....bet you stayed up past 11!

All-in-all, a nice trip. Good company and good times. I returned not so much rested, but happy. My bag full of magnets and Newquay rock. :)

Black Country Museum

The Black Country is located in the West Midlands of England and is considered the area that birthed the industrial revolution. The name, it is said, comes from the mass amounts of coal that actually made the soil black. Others believe it arose from the industrial filth and pollution that filled the area at the Victorian period. JRR Tolkien being one of those, supposedly basing Mordor on the desecration of the area at that time. Not a great claim to fame. We owe much that we have today on this revolution, good, bad or otherwise.
One gorgeous Sunday morning we met with friends Lynda and Nigel at the museum that tells the Black Country story. Us, and about 100 boy and girl scouts aged 4-10 roughly. Plus the occasional family and elderly couple. A mixed bag, really.

We started with a cable bus ride into industrial heart of the area. Smokestacks and canals complete with canal boat remnants. Within a short time, after a morning cuppa, we watched a blacksmith make chain link, one link at a time. Ugh. I thought I had a mundane job. Everyone in the time took part, women and even children made the smalled links. Payments was by length of links or chain. Metal working I could watch for hours, but it was time to move on.

The remade classic village was coming to life and the tourists were invading. The corner hardware store, the 'supermarket' (a shop the size of your kitchen that sells everything from groceries to hats), bakery, and candy store. Musn't forget the pub and cinema. The cast of characters are volunteers from the older population. I was chastized by the woman in the general store for not wearing my bonnet, and amused by the jovial policeman walking the beat. I could have watched him for hours. This area has a destinct accent like all of England. It never ceases to amaze me how such small areas can have so many different dialects and accents. I have gotten much better now decifering what is being said...although still a challenge, especially with some of the older folks. Babby is Baby, bostin is good, gob is mouth...more of this fun can be found on the site I have listed at the end or countless other online sites.

Nigel talked us into a canal boat tour (I am not a fan of damp, dark old places...especially those dripping with age old limestone) and a walk in the mines. I quibble at the darkness, lack of light and air. Imagine those of years ago, working in these places for hours on end. Many of them children. Small crawlspaces by candlelight, if lucky. Minimal air circulation, dangerous conditions, the stuff nightmares are made of... in my book.
The canals all man-made....propelled in tunnels by children or men lying on thier backs 'walking' the wall or ceiling. Creepy. All in the name of progress. Interesting to most...disturbing to myself. Looking around the place, thankful for the time and age that I live in. What we take for granted.

Considering the size of this country, the events and inventions that have occured here are quite staggering really. The creation of the steam engine included. Ingenious lot these Brits.
After stopping at the pub for a pint of ale and chippy for a bit of chips (no vinegar or crackling for me thanks...crackling being deep fried pork fat or breading bits....cholesterol be damned....) we venture to the garage to see the vehicles of an earlier time. Firetrucks, motorcycles, cars. I like that bit best I think. Being a bit of a motormonger as I am.
We end the day ambling through the museum. All of the Black Country history on walls and behind glass cases. The who's who and where's where. I fancied the blurb about Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin and Judas Priest....no surprise there.

The day and the company was very enjoyable and fascinating. Good weather, good company and good history can only make for a perfect day.

http://www.sedgleymanor.com/dictionaries/dialect.html

Stokeday Castle/Manor House and Long Mynd

Another balloon trip cancelled....windy. Doesn't seem windy to me....sunny day, gorgeous. Drat! We are now in Shropshire county near Ludlow....about 1 1/2 to 2 hours from where we live. Mind you..this might annoy some people...but I LOVE Shropshire county. I feel it is the most stunning county in all of England. Rolling hills...lovely little villages....peaceful. My husband is a clever man...he always finds a little quiet area where we can enjoy the English countryside without the MASS amounts of people. I love him for that.

We stopped in the sleepy little village of Cleobury Mortimer for sandwiches and killer bakery. Down to the pub for a pint in the sunny beer garden. Clean, peaceful, quaint shops...I could live there. Yet, I say that about most villages that are not Birmingham.

This day it would be a drive to Stokesay Castle and Manor House. By the time we arrived, the castle (tourist trap) was closing. No bother to us....the grounds were fun and interesting. Church and cemetary nearby...what more would I want? How about a flowery country road with a pond full of swans and a cat to accompany us that just wandered by....perfect. Plus, anywhere that's located in a place called Craven Arms has to be impressive...at least I think so.Stokesay Castle dates back to the 13th century....full history and some great shots can be found here: http://www.castlewales.com/stokesay.html Near the site is a nice little country road complete with ponds, flowers and livestock. Difficult to go to the countryside and not encounter sheep. We even had the pleasure of seeing a small kid (goat)frolicking in the field...too cute. The road led to a nice trial uphill overlooking the area. We even spied several small bunnies crossing the trail to avoid us. I had more than a healthy dose of small cute fuzzies that day...I couldn't complain.
The day didn't end there. We drove over near Shrewsbury to Long Mynd. More than I could detail is elaborated upon on WIKI: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long_Mynd It was nearing sunset as we arrived and it was gorgeous! Matt is not one who favors heights in any fashion. I, am not troubled by them, and felt at ease and relaxed. He relaxed after a bit. It is almost an alien landscape compared to most of England that I have seen. It could resemble areas of eastern Montana...desolate and open. Impressive indeed.

On the way home, in the village of Rushbury were the largest display of scarecrows I have ever seen. In front of every home, on every street corner. Apparently a Flower Festival that weekend. A bit surreal...like going from Montana to the cornfields of Iowa. Never a dull moment.

Happiness is a warm gun...

Last year for a birthday gift, I decided to give Matt a Clay Pigeon shoot outing for his birthday. Matt had never shot a gun before that time. Now remember, this IS England. Guns are quite a rare site. This has it's benefits. Although the police force may beg to differ.
The day, after all this time, was finally a do. (Not like the balloon ride that I have had cancelled 5 times in the last year....oh well....) This was to take place near Essex, a bit East of London. Hours of driving and trying to find it's whereabouts...(only 15 minutes late....not bad for us...) We arrived. A small wooded area that appeared to be out in the back 40. A bit of a clearing in the woods.

No time for the instruction, briefing or any details. Get your bullets, wait your turn. I guess for me, it worked out to my advantage.....sick puppy that I am. No warning of the 'nice' little kick that a shotgun can provide. I'm sure the wide-eyed look I couldn't see was well worth it. *snicker* (I know....) Been there...

There were 2 instructors, one middle aged man and an older chap. Both excellent cheerleader in their own right. "Well done!" "Cracking shot!" "Brilliant!" Each shooter gets one or two boxes of bullets and a turn when someone else has had theirs. Roughly about 6 people in all waiting. Bright red-orange earphones all around. I forget how loud those things are. Maybe I'm just getting old...

I wondered about the set up....in between the trees...like being in a tree tunnel. Perhaps it was more intentional....shoot before it falls beneath the treetops, avoid the little creature or passerbys out for the daily stroll.

Matt really seemed to enjoy himself. The initial apprehension surpassed by that lovely adrenelin rush. Great stuff. He reported how it almost seems automatic after time. Just point up that way and when the object flies into view, just shoot it into clay crumbs. I noticed the instructors occasionally just give the shooter's gun just a little nudge and a perfect shot every time. Any of you that are avid shootists may know the secret of this. I know I would likely not be too thrilled that someone was interfering with my shots...but I'm stubborn that way.

As most good things, time went by far too quickly, and soon all 60 shots had been taken. At least Matt enjoyed himself...not the bruising that was to follow in the days to come...but sometimes the adventuresome must pay a little....

Sorry honey....I shouldn't have snickered....

St. Kenelm

As many of you know, I am not a city girl. I need a place to go that is close to home and a source of comfort and peace. That place has become St. Kenelm church. The church is in a minimally populated area called Romsley. I love all of it. The small paved entryway off of the road,the arch and wooden carving on it as you enter the grounds are just the beginning. The small church is in a sideways view from the entryway. The grass high above the cement on both sides as you enter.

St. Kenelm is a saint by legend, murdered at the site of this church by a jealous sister that wanted to succeed him as as monarch... legend states that he was only a boy of 7 or 8. Pilgrims used to visit the site when it was a spring only in the hopes of miracles and cures for all sorts of ills. The church was financed by one of the pilgrims of higher standard that claimed was cured of illness. St Kenelm is mentioned in the Canterbury Tales....we've all read that haven't we? I did...so many years ago.

The grounds are medeival and evocative. Behind the church are trails that have been managed and renovated, but still hold a kind of magic that I can't explain. Alongside the trail near the church are wooden carved plaques of sorts with the names of Kenelm and his father KIng Kenulph carved in them. They are rather haunting, as are the swashes of clothing tied to a small area of trees nearby. Matt finds them troubling, I find them fascinating and somehow comforting. Apparently, JRR Tolkien found it comforting here as well as he recovered from a war injury in the Black Country. I only discovered that today...I'm not surprised.
The St. Kenelm trail is some 60 to 80 odd miles in total starting from this church and including the Clent Hills...another stunning place...also medieval and magical. We have yet to do even a good portion of the trial...but I hope to soon. The area is peaceful and solitary....that which is a pleasure to come by here. I feel overwhelmed by the noise and amounts of people here and find it unsettling. Perhaps that has brought into light my being drawn to church and of all things, graveyards. Peace, silence. That which I am used to. That which I miss. Inside of the church is an Anglo carving above the doorway. It is over 800 years old.

The interior simple, understated, calming. We had the pleasure of getting the grand tour by 2 elderly gents that knew all there was to know about the church. Whether we wanted to know or not....bless them. We were all too happy to listen and learn.

Some of the greatest escapes are so close to home. Perhaps a home so close to home. At least, where i feel at home.