Not a 'festival virgin' anymore

'So, you are not a festival virgin anymore', Andrea declared when I told her I had never before been to a festival. Come on, that couldn't possibly be! Concerts... erm... quite a few... I racked my brains, dug into archaeological layers... And it came back to me. Eons ago, I had hitch-hiked from Paris to Reading, to see Patty Smith. I was so keen to take a picture of her that I pretended feeling faint in the heaving throng of people pressing against the stage. Hands had propelled me forward above the crowd -a rather fantastic moment- I jumped and clicked. The flash didn't work. Still... And then other images uncoiled like a ball of yarn... Montreux festival (a better behaved occurence), B B King jamming on stage until 3 am and, the next year, John Lee Hooker, looking like an old mummy...












New Zealand Spirit festival's unique identity explains my momentary amnesia. It didn't connect to anything I had encountered before. For the first few minutes, I was a bit dubious. It looked like a hodgepodge of Om Shantis, dreadlocks, forest sprite garbs, mantra chanting and Reiki. For me, spirituality is something intensely private and not displayed. I heaved an inner sigh, looked at the colourful crowd strewn quietly on the grass under a perfect blue sky, the little tents selling therapies, flowing attires and spicy Chai lattes and decided to shelve my misgivings and go with it.
It was a day of ethereal peace, elation, genuine kindness, empathy... and great music.

In the Om tent (yes), Sika, looking the part with long grey hair and mandala T-shirt, took us on a sound journey, using native instruments and percussions. I lied down, eyes closed and floated very far away. In a small house looking like a gnome dwelling, I fell asleep listening to Tibetan bowls. A group of Indian classical music played ragas and Gandhi's favourite song from Gujarat.




The star of the day was Xavier Rudd, an Australian musician I had never heard of before. I did check him out beforehand on YouTube and there he was, displaying a tanned muscly chest, waterfalls and surf waves in the background. Those videos did not do him justice (though he does indeed have a tanned muscly chest). He is a great performer, skilled and generous and varies his style from pop to rock to world music or even techno. He was adopted by an Aborigine tribe in Arnhem land and is a voice for indigenous people. A few years ago, his first band consisted in musicians from native tribes all around the world. This is probably why he had a proper Maori welcome, a Powhiri. Now, that was, for me, the highlight!! Sorry, Xavier Rudd, kind soul that you are.

They were announced by the sound of conch shells: warriors, complete in traditional costume, feathers in the top-knot, jabbing stars, fierce shouts and tongues sticking out. Not until Xavier Rudd left his offering on the gourd was he welcome with open arms. What was, to me, even more moving, was the response of the audience, all Kiwis, who knew the 'Te Aroha' that has to be sung after a Powhiri: 'I share love with my brothers, sisters, family, with the land' (approximate translation).



There is more: alcohol was forbidden on the premises of the festival (though some interesting whiffs wafted on the air) and offensive attitudes were not tolerated. To avoid unnecessary waste, participants were told to bring their own plates, cutlery, glasses, mugs, water bottle to refill. Not a big ask, considering a majority was camping.
If only there could be in the world such openness and practical intelligence as I witnessed at the New Zealand Spirit festival.

Now, until that beautiful day of music and peace under the sun and stars, there had been times when I had thought (briefly) that I could maybe explore a bit more, instead of quietly going to the same beach and have coffee in the same little cafés. Come on, Lucille, you are in New Zealand for goodness sake! Well, f... to shoulds and musts. What if I am just happy taking it easy and ignore the 'Consumer's guide to the galaxy'.

Anyway, after these discussions between myself and myself, I just decided to remain open to what may.... and Andrea came up with free tickets for the festival....and Goodie called, offering to walk with me the Mangawhai cliff walk, with Lola the dog following us with determination under the afternoon sun, upon rocks and along coves, up steps and down paths and collapsing at the end of the day, without a peep or a stir, with just enough energy left to feebly wag her tail.


Christine is an Aquarian so she was not going to do anything like everybody else. An artist, art therapist and counsellor, she helps people find their life's myth. She's also studied astrology and it was such a delight to swap interpretations and share a 'Uranus in Taurus-master of the 4th house-cycle of Jupiter-zenith and nadir' shop talk. Together, we went to Te Arai and I discovered with relish a beach all to ourselves, with soft white sands and warm quiet waters so I could actually swim instead of fighting waves... I went back again... and again, this morning, not believing, when I saw the rain fall, that I would be so lucky to enjoy that paradise for a last time. But the clouds parted, light shone on the inside of the swell,  the water's edge translucent jade.

My last reading companions have been excellent fantasy books by Robyn Hobb and a series of DCI Ryan murder mysteries, sometimes too much on the grisly side. I have now finished 'I heard the owl call my name'. A classic. A young vicar, not  aware of his fatal illness, is sent to live with an Indian tribe north of Vancouver. He becomes a member of the community and an active part of its survival through the cycle of seasons. A most touching book, with simple description of nature and of the changes a traditional society has to deal with. There couldn't be a better book for me right now.