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SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 21:
Thus far, the food in Australia has been not only abominable, it costs three times what it should. Fish for lunch -- just one piece of slimy fish -- $27. “Food in America is better, including the fish.” Tara says, “Don’t you think the rest of the world knows something about food that you don’t?” “NO.” Cheyenne agrees with her mother, “Everything in Oz and Europe is better.” “I have never ever found one thing outside our own country that is better, with the possible exception of Irish butter.” “You just don’t like ethnic food,” Tara says. “I love Mexican and Native American food.” Now I’m on a roll. “Ft. Worth and Austin, Texas are the food capitals of the world,” I say. Tara groans. But to humor me, she cooks breakfast from food I gathered last night at a 7-11 store. For our final festival workshop, Tara and I are conducting “Answers From Spirit” sessions from 1:15 to 3:45 PM. This is one of my favorite workshops because the participants always receive so many valuable answers. The workshop is sold out. I recognize most of those attending from our previous presentations. I will set up the concepts and present the first two sessions, Tara will do the final meditation. I launch into a talk on spirit guides. The altered-state session that follows is part conditioning, part meeting your spirit guide. I am just beginning the induction, having the participants relax their bodies ... when the room EXPLODES in sound. I don’t realize what is happening at first. It sounds as if frantic people are trying to break in the room. Our meeting room is on the second floor, two stories of wall-to-wall glass looking down on the festival floor, and at the far end of the huge exhibition hall is a stage where people perform and offer demonstrations. On stage are three African men, in full costume, going crazy on huge drums, beating sticks, and leaping about as if possessed by crazed spirits. I cannot believe the noise level. Tara is standing at the back of room looking aghast. Only last night she said, “These are the worst noise conditions we’ve every worked under.” Well, the only thing close to this was conducting a seminar in a hotel meeting room with only a sliding canvas divider separating me from a Mexican wedding celebration, brass band and all. How the festival producers could have allowed this while workshops are in session is beyond me. But there is nothing I can do but crank my “Mind Converter” CD as high as it will go and push the microphone volume to a level that hurts my ears. I have no idea what the participants are experiencing, but they are deeply hypnotized and no one is reacting to the chaos but me. The drummers have left the stage by the time the meditation is over. My awakened audience appears to be perfectly happy. They have all met and talked with their spirit guides. At the break, Tara and I go to the festival cafe for coffees while Cheyenne sells CDs. “Don’t be negative,” Tara cautions. I’m seething and she knows it. The drummers were what is. Okay. So don’t put yourself in a position like this again, I tell myself. But I know I will. They will invite me again and I will have forgotten about this and I will say, “Sure, go ahead and do it to me again.” Following our workshop, we have dinner with Steve Hoarsely, the producer of this festival for DMA World Media -- the largest exhibition company in the world. I enjoy our talk and I like Steve. He is upbeat and loves the challenge of producing a successful festival. We share insider stories and laugh a lot. He also apologizes for the timing of the African drummers. “There are usually nine of them, but only three could participate in this festival,” he says. Good Lord. Nine would have shattered glass. Steve will produce several Mind Body Spirit festivals in Australia in 2005. Knowing the New Age is stable, but a no-growth market, he is going to run a Vitality Show side by side with MBS. A ticket to one will allow access to both, thus hopefully generating new interest. With an aging baby boomer market, “vitality” is a growth area.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22: This morning we ask if we can stay in our apartment one more day. The answer is “No” and check out time is 10 AM. We begin to pack fast and are just about finished when I receive a call saying, “Stay.”
We have been looking at travel brochures since our arrival in Oz, but have found nothing we want to do that does not cost a fortune. A plane to Cairns and back would cost $1500. We can rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road, steering wheel on the wrong side of the car, but this is a bit stressful in crowded cities, so I would prefer to avoid it. We’ve been told that traveling by train in Oz is a bad idea. All the most interesting tours seem to start from places like Alice Springs, 1000 miles away. Cheyenne and I begin to talk to Tara about the exciting things to do right here in Sydney. Tara is not interested. I think she fears I will drag her to the top of Sydney Harbor Bridge. We take to the streets and talk to travel agents. Our best option, we decide, is to join the “OZ Experience.” In retrospect, I question this decision, but at the time it seemed reasonable. The OZ Experience is a bus journey primarily for backpackers. We decide this will give Cheyenne access to kids closer to her own age. The vehicle will stop at places offering exploration or activity potential. If you decide to stay and play, the vehicle goes on, and another will come by and pick you up in a day or two (Hopefully). We will go up the coast, cut inland into the outback and maybe stay over in the beach town of Byron Bay. The further North we go, the warmer the weather. (In Oz, the southern part of the country is closer to the South Pole.) |
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To continue the Australia |
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I awaken this morning deciding I am an ugly American food
bigot. I shall not go into who else agrees with this conclusion. But I’m tired of trying to be “foodly correct.” I have no problem with being
politically correct or most other things correct, because I naturally think that way. 