Date: Wed, 02 May 2001 18:46:22 +0100
From: "horrod6" horrod6@netscapeonline.co.uk
Subject: What I did on my holidays (Oke2001)
Now Dave's broken the ice, I thought I'd add my impressions of the
Okefenokee trip, Swampfest or '2nd annual international festival of
electronic swamp music' - as we rather highfalutingly called it on the
flyer for the museum concert.
This is an incredibly long post (I got carried away), so for those of
you who are pressed for time, here are the high points in no particular
order:
- it was fun
- I had a great time
- the music was brilliant: special mention for the 'environmental' piece
featuring wildlife noises (you'll have to read the piece to get the
joke). I haven't written much about the music, you'll just have to wait
for the CD
- the fellow attendees were fantastic
- the locals were extraordinarily friendly and helpful
- the food was wonderful: special mentions for Roger's alligator chowder
and Morgan's Texas chili
- the swamp is beautiful
- the wildlife is plentiful: special mention for Marcel's fox-taming act
- the weather was just right (hot and sunny by day, cool by night)
- the cabins were comfortable and well-appointed, although to sleep the
specified number means some people sharing double beds or sleeping on
couches and foldaways
- I must remember to take insect repellant and drawing materials next
time
- America is just like the movies (well, the bits of America I saw,
anyway)
Thursday does not begin well for me - no day that starts at 3 a.m. can
be said to start well! Add to that a cancelled flight to Amsterdam
meaning that I would miss my connection to Atlanta and a two-hour queue
to get re-routed and you might have started to feel that this trip was
doomed. The queue is particularly nasty, as I have just been diagnosed
with CFS and standing for more than about ten minutes is difficult.
Luckily I planned ahead, knowing what airport queues are like, and
borrowed a walking stick to lean on. I start to wish I'd accepted my
friend's offer of a combined stick and folding chair!
Once I know my revised e.t.a., the next problem is how to let other
people know. I had planned to meet Dave and Steve at the airport and
drive with them to Vic's. Now I'll be arriving five hours later than
them. I have all the phone numbers, but it will only be 6 a.m. in
Atlanta by the time I get ready to board, and I really don't think a
phone call would be welcome. So I call my trusty sidekick (husband
Dave), and ask him to phone Dave B, Steve and Vic (as backstop) at a
reasonable time.
However, after this things start getting better. A couple of brandies in
the airport bar restore my perspective, and I sit and read my Georgia
guide-book until it's time to board. The connection at Charles de Gaulle
(Paris) is extremely tight, so there's a rather surreal scramble across
the airport involving a bus, the back stairs, and a very helpful (and,
thankfully, English-speaking) frenchman. Finally I make the Atlanta
plane, only to be pleasantly surprised to find that I've been upgraded
to business class (it would have cost me an extra £1,000 if I'd paid for
it). After champagne, a gourmet meal with wine, and coffee and brandy, I
compose myself to doze in the wonderfully roomy and comfortable seat.
I surface in time to watch the view as we fly down the line of the
Appalachians. There's Atlanta - what a lot of trees! How big the airport
is, and how confusing the procedures. Here's my luggage - now they want
it back again!? Now get the train across the airport. Here's my luggage
again - I get to keep it this time. Now find a working payphone and call
Vic - wish I'd upgraded the mobile so I could use it over here. Find one
at last. Vic is expecting my call (Dave managed to get hold of him), and
gives nice calm, clear instructions: I catch the MARTA (subway) across
the city to where he will pick me up for the drive to Roswell.
At last - Vic's house, a lovely warm welcome from Natasha and Patrick,
Vic's wife and son (who gave up his room for me - what a gentleman), and
Bill who has just arrived. Vic's 'section' looks like something from the
cinema - I'm particularly reminded of the opening shots of 'Edward
Scissorhands'. Inside, the house is spacious and homelike, full of
family photos and quirky individuality (and of course, an entire room
given over to Vic's TD collection). I'm just getting comfortable when
the rest of the guys (Marcel, Frank, Dave, Steve, and Tom) arrive back
from their meal. Tom, purveyor of all things beer-shaped, opens up his
coolbox, and we sit around drinking beer, watching videos of last year,
talking music and comparing journey times. Although I've been on the go
the longest (roughly 24 hours between getting up this morning and
arriving at Vic's) I reckon Bill's 16 hour drive wins in the
determination stakes - at least I got to rest in comfort. Finally I
slope off to bed at what my body is telling me is breakfast time.
I wake surprisingly early on Friday - jetlag does have some benefits
(because of the CFS I usually sleep 10-12 hours a night). I get my name
down for the shower queue and sit around drinking tea. Bill rustles up
some eggs and is instantly declared breakfast chef for the entire
expedition (that was before we'd tried Morgan's omelettes).
Considering the logistics we make a remarkably early start. I get to
ride in Vic's BMW (and pick the in-car entertainment). Trying to keep
his eye on a convoy of four vehicles in the Atlanta traffic is giving
Vic a headache, so I pick something soothing. The scene in the music
shop when eight of us troop in to collect the equipment Vic has arranged
to hire is fun. It takes quite a while to sort out the paperwork, so
people are noodling about on the various keyboards that are on display:
it starts to sound good. The guy from the drum department next door
keeps popping in and out - I don't know whether he is trying to work out
if we're anybody famous, checking that we aren't damaging anything,
enjoying the music, or hoping to sell us something.
Finally, after a brief stop at a liquor store, we're off. This is my
first trip to America, so I'm all eyes. Vic is an excellent tour guide,
despite continuing stress from trying to keep the convoy together. Next
year we need walkie talkies!
We stop for a burger, and then go to the supermarket. Vic and I try to
ensure that a healthy supply of fruit and vegetables are loaded, whilst
other people shoot off with missions to get breakfast stuff, meat etc.
Total chaos ensues, but we finally arrive at the checkout with three
trolleys full of grub. Vic's eyes nearly pop out of his head when he
sees the size of the bill! Stowing everything in cars already full of
personal luggage, equipment and beer proves something of a puzzle, but
we get there eventually. Now for the last leg of the journey.
We pass through Valdosta, where, due to a diversion, I'm treated to a
textbook view of life literally on the 'wrong side of the tracks' - a
street of tumbledown one-room shacks, with screened in porches, people
idly rocking and chatting in the afternoon sun, kids playing in the
earth-floored yards, all facing out onto the unfenced railway line. I
get a good look, as we're held up for about ten minutes waiting for a
several-miles long train to pass. I thought places like this only
existed in films!
Now we're onto country roads, and Vic requests Cyclone - it's already
become a tradition to play that on the final leg. We pass through
'two-pump towns' (have I got that right?), meet up with suicidal deer,
and finally arrive, somewhat later than planned (this becomes the theme
for the entire weekend). Roger, Lars and his two stunningly gorgeous
sons, Burnell and Kieron, are already here. (Before you get the wrong
idea I'd better point out that the boys are around four and five!)
The initial view of the swamp is impressive - tall, spindly cypress
trees, spanish moss, low palm-like plants (palmetto?). During the four
days I saw deer, alligators, turtles, squirrels, a fox, raccoons, a
barred owl, a huge hawk, an even huger heron (it's true, everything IS
bigger in America!), woodpeckers, several other spectacular birds I
don't know the names of... Many of the critters wander around near the
cabins at night or in the early morning - but not the alligators, DG.
One night, Marcel persuaded a very shy fox to approach to within inches
of him, simply by keeping very still and quiet down on one knee: this
despite the noise from 15 other people partying in the cottages on
either side of him. The raccoons just ignored us altogether and wandered
around in the evening hoping to pick up anything we'd dropped near the
barbecue, passing within a few feet of us with no sign of discomfiture.
Feeding the animals is forbidden, and rightly so - if they get used to
coming to people for food they're not wild any more - so we resisted the
temptation, and also cleared up after ourselves thoroughly so there was
nothing to scavenge - sorry, raccoons!
The cottages are very well appointed. Bill and I grab the room with two
single beds - Bill on the grounds that this way he'll only keep one
person awake with his snoring, me on the grounds that, fond though I am
becoming of them, I'm not prepared to share one of the double beds with
any of the guys. The cottage with the dishwasher is designated the main
cooking area, so Bill, Dave and Marcel set up their equipment in the
other one. Beer appears. Roger produces pasta with a tasty venison sauce
and we sit around listening to the musicians getting to know one
another. I'm astonished by how quickly they start creating great sounds.
More beer appears. We're all reduced to quivering, giggling wrecks by
Bill's rendition of 'Dixie' (in the style of Jimi Hendrix's
'Star-spangled Banner'). More food appears. We chat and listen to the
music. More beer appears. We go for a stroll in the dark and listen to
the fogs. More beer appears. Finally I crash.
Next morning I wake up early feeling full of energy for the first time
in months. It's already pleasantly warm, so I go outside to do some T'ai
Chi and get eaten alive by insects. Huh? Scottish insects (and our
'clegs' are infamous) only bite in the evening. Blast, I forgot the
insect repellant. During breakfast (a lengthy feast) our numbers are
augmented by the arrival of Jim and Morgan. Now we have Marx (Morgan)
and Engels (Marcel). Perhaps we should name one of this year's tracks
'The critique of dialectical materialism'? There are now too many of us
to fit into the motor boats we have booked, so Steve and I, who are
raring to go, take a canoe. (I borrow someone else's insect repellant
first!) It's a long time since I've done this, and both our experience
is primarily in kayaks rather than Canadian-style canoes - I'm glad none
of the others are around to see our early efforts as we career all over
the waterways.
It's Saturday, so the water is busy and the wildlife is sensibly hiding
away - apart from the alligators, who have no reason to be nervous of
us! However, our slow, quiet progress (once I remember how not to keep
bashing the side of the canoe with my paddle) and frequent stops to look
around and listen to the swamp sounds, probably means that we see and
hear more than most. Drat - I left my camera in the cottage: luckily
Steve has his and promises to share his pics. There are water lilies
everywhere: we 'park' in a clump to rest and snack. Two deer appear -
also snacking (on the water lilies). We cruise back down the narrow
waterway, assisted by the current. It's narrow and fast flowing, but
we're really starting to paddle as a team now (Steve has been giving me
hints on technique) and we only brush against a couple of trees: this is
fun! Other water-users are unfailingly courteous: I can't get used to
the 'Sir's, 'Ma'am's and 'Hi, y'all's - I thought this way of talking
was a caricature that was only found in films. I'm beginning to learn
that America is just like the movies! On the water the insects aren't
bad, but I remember to stop off in the shop to buy some repellant.
We arrive back in the mid-afternoon to find Pete and John (two thirds of
Air Sculpture) have been sitting waiting for us on the porch for some
time - luckily someone thought to leave them a note. Vic, ever the
courteous host, takes them off for an introduction to the swamp in one
of the motor boats. With TD playing on somebody's boombox, Frank makes
burgers which Tom barbecues. Others chop pickles, wash lettuce etc. and
I'm treated to my first REAL home-style American burger (it's great). I
sit in a rocker on the porch, smoking a cigarette, listening to the
music and the chatter and feel extrordinarily relaxed.
After a while, I hear a strange thumping noise. Going to investigate, I
find Steve beating seven skittles of you-know-what out of some meat with
a baseball bat. He's tenderising the alligator tail with which Roger is
going to make alligator chowder for tonight. Meanwhile, Tom is
recharging the other barbecue ready to cook steaks - or was it pork
chops? We ate so much, especially meat, that one meal blurs into
another. Mind you, one meal really DID blur into another: there seemed
to be a permanent buffet from mid-afternoon to midnight, with Roger
producing something tasty and exotic on the stove top, Tom barbecuing
away like a demon, Vic making salad, and the rest of us chipping in
wherever a hand was needed or producing our own specialities, of which
Morgan's Texas chili is definitely the most memorable! (Special note: I
did NO cooking, apart from the occasional stirring of a saucepan or
anointing of something on the barbecue - thanks guys!)
Vic says he's very impressed: I'm first up and have been paddling a
canoe for most of the day, but I'm still full of beans despite the CFS.
I tell him what friends with the condition have always told me - I can
do pretty much what I like today (although I did wilt a bit towards the
end of the canoe trip and poor Steve had to do most of the work on the
last leg), but I know I will have to pay for it later. If I can only
defer payment until Tuesday, or even better Thursday, I shall be very
happy.
John and Pete get back, and set up their equipment remarkably speedily.
Once again, I'm astonished at how quickly the musicians all 'mesh' and
start producing good improvised sounds - the only discussion I was
aware of was a rather despairing 'does somebody want to choose a tempo?'
when the first piece didn't seem to be getting off the ground. After
that, a modus vivendi was quickly reached.
Time for the goodie bag. I do NOT distinguish myself in the 'name that
tune' or 'name that film' competition despite Marcel muttering
assistance in my ear: I usually listen to the music without looking at
the titles. I long to see Dave and Jim go head-to-head in a champions
league match (if only because if they're excluded from the main
competition the rest of us might get a look-in)! I do manage to come
away with some treats from the draw, including the other CD of Marcel
and Heij playing at e-live (embarrassing Marcel by demanding he
autograph it). After that comes trading, both of our winnings from the
goodie bag and of a tiny sub-section of Lars's 'tradables' collection,
plus hilariously desperate salesmanship from Lars trying to dispose of
the 'Dino' CD he got in the draw. Kudos to Roger for making up the
competition CDs and to Vic for running the show (and, grudgingly, to
Dave and Jim for knowing their stuff). For some strange reason the end
of the evening is somewhat fuzzy in my memory, but I made it to bed
eventually.
Next morning, I'm one of the first up again. I spray very thouroughly
with insect repellant this time, then go out to enjoy the morning light
with a cup of tea and a cigarette. I'm joined by Bill: we are both in
stitches at Roger's incredible snoring. He's sleeping on the porch,
ostensibly so he can watch the early morning wildlife but really to get
his extraordinary vocal and nasal apparatus as far away from everybody
else as possible. So that's why John, who had originally intended to
sleep on the porch too, is now on the kitchen floor! Bill fetches his
minidisc to record this astonishing sound, then adds (in a pseudo David
Attenborough whisper) 'and that is a magnificent example of the wildlife
sounds to be heard here in the Okefenokee'. I say that they should use
it as the baseline for a piece of music.
The amazing breakfast show begins again, with people frantically
chopping ham, onions and mushrooms, grating cheese, pouring juice,
toasting bread, making coffee etc. and Morgan presiding over all as he
turns out one omelette after another, all to a soundtrack of beautiful
EM. Morgan and Frank head off into Florida for a shopping expedition.
The rest of us slap on hats, slop on the suntan lotion, spray on the
repellant (again) and go for a walk. The antics of the boys with
'uncles' Dave and Marcel have us in tucks. We explain to the 'uncles'
how attractive girls find men who are good with children. They don't
seem to believe us. We see a beautiful fawn, nestling in the grass right
by the side of the boardwalk, as well as numerous frogs and lizards, and
exotic (well they are to me) plants. On the way back we descend on the
shop for mementos and presents to take home. I buy seven hats for my
roleplay gaming buddies (it's a tradition - but what will they think in
customs?) and one for myself - tangerine coloured, of course! Marcel
kindly writes my postcard in Dutch for me (it's going to an avid
postcard collector friend in the Netherlands).
We spend the rest of the day lazing around chatting, listening to
various EM artists on the boombox, preparing food, and eating. The
rangers have kindly allowed us to take over the museum and interpretive
center tonight for a concert. We plan, and I letter, a flyer for the
concert, which Vic gets the rangers' permission to put on the notice
board. It's not exactly high art - one black pen and a sheet of A4 is
kinda limited: memo to self - next time take at least a pencil and
ruler.
Now its time to set up for the concert. Several of the guys are very
interested in the equipment, and keen to act as 'roadies', so I leave
them to it (out of the goodness of my heart, you understand). I wander
down to the museum to find Pete using his tiny PC to record the kids
screaming. Kieron screams so loud that he frightens himself! The gear is
all on stage and techy/muso stuff is going on, so I start rearranging
the furniture in the audience area. Somewhat later than anticipated, we
are ready to start: but first we have to go outside and try to spot the
space station, which is supposed to be visible tonight. No joy -
probably too many trees to see it at a low angle. The flyer seems to
have worked - although the park is quiet on a Sunday night, we have five
people turn up. One of them even stays until the second piece. We have a
great time, then break down the gear, move it back to the cottages and
start eating again! We're listening to a recording of the music from the
first night: I'm really sleepy, but I don't want to miss this. Then Bill
comes up with a brilliant idea - put his minidisc (on which he has been
recording _everything_) on the table between our beds, plug in two sets
of headphones, and we can listen as we drift off to sleep. This has to
be one of my best memories: lying in the dark, literally connected to
Bill by the headphone cables, and feeling connected to everybody else by
the music. Thanks Bill!
Next morning we have the breakfast show again, then head out in the
motor boats. We can travel further than we did by canoe, and the water
is less busy, so we see more. Frank is enviably good at spotting
alligators. I get lots of photographs of places where a turtle was a
minute ago. I discover that I am 'way down upon the Suwannee river' (or
rather, way UP - in the headwaters). We visit Billy's Island (named for
a Seminole chief called Billy Bowlegs - honest) where the incident with
the owlet occurs (see Dave's post). With Dave being so skinny, I had
visions of the protective mama owl flying off with him dangling from her
talons.
After eating, it's time to set up for the final concert, outdoors in the
picnic area. I'm finally starting to feel the effects of doing too much,
so I go for a snooze while the guys set up. Now we come to the only
organisational failure of the whole Swampfest - Vic forgot to come and
wake me when they were ready to start playing (somewhat later than
anticipated, naturally) so I missed the comic highlight of the trip,
although I heard a recording later, natch - several times. John and Pete
wanted to do an ambient environmental track, so the artists cooked up a
piece involving the bullfrogs and cicadas Bill had recorded late at
night and early in the morning, Pete's recording of Burnell and Kieron
screaming, Roger's snores and Bill's commentary. Roger laughed till it
hurt, and everybody else was in hysterics too. Somewhere in the middle
of this Pete's wife Debbie appeared - I don't know what she thought of
all these crazies rolling around laughing their socks off.
Meantime, Vic has inveigled the Ranger (a very nice lady called Barbara)
into arranging for us to go out on the tour boat after dark. Despite a
very fast break down of the kit, we are of course somewhat later than
anticipated in being ready for this. A rather bemused intern navigates
us out into the main waterway, then switches off the engine. As we drift
back towards the ranger station, we all stay very quiet and watch the
beautiful starry sky while Bill records the night sounds over the water,
then we use flashlights for a bit of alligator spotting: their eyes
reflect red - very spooky! Then it was back to the cottages for more
food, and a noble attempt to finish off the beer. Finally there is only
Hamms left - Tom has warned me off it, but I see that he's drinking it
so I risk it. Frank seems to find this incredibly funny and keeps saying
something about 'beerhammer' which doesn't translate into Brit.
Next morning, I manage to wake up enough to say goodbye to the early
departers, then go back to sleep. Next thing I know someone's hammering
on the door - we have an hour to get up and leave. The breakfast show is
underway in the 'cooking' cottage, so we clear up the other one. The
dishwasher is going non-stop as we try and sort out the crockery,
cutlery and cookware which has all migrated into one cottage, and the
glasses which have all migrated into the other one - how strange.
Finally (somewhat later than anticipated) the diehards - Vic, Tom,
Frank, Marcel and myself - are ready to leave. Everybody wants to ride
in the BMW, but I bag the first stretch. We drive the country roads with
the top down and Cyclone playing - so cool. It proves impossible to keep
to the speed limit with Madrigal Meridian blasting out. Then I move to
the back seat of Tom's Buick with its wonderful sound system, and crash
out. We're all pretty bushed by the time we get to Vic's, but we
investigate his CD collection and talk music for a while before
crashing.
Next day, poor Vic has to go to work. Tom heads off fairly early - he
still has a three-hour drive ahead of him and he's worried about the
dog-sitter. (He was meant to be home last night, but was just too
shattered to drive any further.) Marcel, Frank and I continue to
investigate the CD collection and talk music while Natasha studies for
her french test tomorrow. Then we drive to the MARTA station to drop the
guys off to catch their flights (good job Natasha has an estate car).
Natasha and I go shopping, and drive around some of the interesting
areas of Roswell: it looks like countryside to me, but this is the
'burbs. I'm very envious. We pick up Patrick from school then I help
Natasha a bit with her french.
In the evening, Vic, Natasha and I go out for sushi - another first for
me. They have lots of interesting things on the menu, including a
'viagra roll' - a semicircle of sushi rolls topped with various fish
eggs, plus two strategically placed quail's eggs and an asparagus spear.
Having watched the chef prepare one, we are very amused to see who
ordered it - a tough-looking guy who's dining with _two_ very sexy young
ladies.
Next morning Vic has to work again, so we say goodbye before he heads
off. I'm now really feeling the effect of Bill's cold, which he so
kindly shared with us, so I don't feel like doing much. Natasha and I do
some more work on her french, have something to eat, and then shop some
more. She drops me off at the station and I begin the journey home. This
time everything goes smoothly, although less comfortably (no upgrade -
boo hoo). I have plenty of time at Schiphol to relive happy memories
with a couple of old genevers and an uitschmitter (probably spelt that
wrong). I arrive in Edinburgh mid-morning to be met by Dave (my hero!)
who I proceed to bore to death by trying to tell him absolutely
everything about the trip over a cup of coffee before heading for home.
I leave a message for Vic and Natasha to tell them I've made it OK, then
head for bed for the afternoon. I spend all day on Saturday and Sunday
sleeping, and laze around all day on Monday, finally rejoining the human
race on Tuesday.
Thanks to the artists for sharing their music. Thanks to the drivers for
getting us there. Thanks to the chefs for the wonderful food. Thanks to
everybody for being such nice people. Thanks to Kieron and Burnell just
for being themselves, and Lars for bringing them - and for enduring the
rigours of camping: sweet though the boys are I'm not sure I coud have
coped with them in the cottage first thing in the morning! Thanks to
Steve for putting up with my rusty canoeing skills with kindness and
patience. Thanks to Patrick for giving up his bed. Thanks to Natasha for
coping with a houseful (and I mean _full_) of weirdo nerds - you should
have seen her face when she found out that I too work with computers -
playing music she doesn't like at all hours of the day and night. But
most of all, thanks to Vic and Roger for having the idea and Vic for
bringing it to fruition.
If there is a way on God's earth I can manage it I'll be there next
year, probably with spouse in tow. I urge you all to join us -
especially any other females on the list. Don't be nervous, these are
the good guys!
LnH
Marion
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