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Wednesday, 26 October 2005 |
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Yesterday I drove from Wellington to Kohukohu in one long haul. I was shocked about how beautiful New Zealand can be, mortified that once I would have underappreciated that. Travelling along the Desert Road was stunning. The first time we drove past was on Thursday, when the rain never stopped falling. The behemoth power poles lurked in the haze and it was like armageddon or something alarmingly similar, at least. On the way back the sun shone brilliantly, so the plains looked almost singed with the heat, and the mountains startlingly white against it.
A certain emptiness followed behind though, as I left my two Swedish compadres in Wellington after the folk fesival. It feels like I'm losing my grip on Sweden and that soon I won't have the magic tricks to conjure it anymore.
Though had an amazing stroke of luck in that department at the folk festival, when we were up sessioning at a ridiculous hour...and I roped the girls into singing one of our songs for the assembled be-instrumented masses. After a boisterous tune about randy girls (just another day in a Swedish folk song), a guy from one of the bands performing there broke out with a whole bunch of tunes that he'd learned there and everywhere. The first tune of course was one of my favourites, the first Swedish tune I remember hearing back when I was fourteen.
Much to the Irish sessionaries horror, we took over the cafe and started dancing polskas and galumphing in a generally Nordic fashion. It is truly amazing how one is transported by just a wee refrain.
Wellington Folk Festival was grand, on a small scale. Felt normal to be homeless again, and to have dire sleeping conditions - a serious frost one night, and the other bloody cold. Johanna nicked a whole collection of empty homebrew flagons to use as hot water bottles. I'm sure anyone watching her returning to the tent at midnight became convinced that she was off moonshining in the woods.
I escaped to the car one night and fumbled around for the heat. The realisation that the engine has to be running to create anything warm hit me quite literally like an Antartic gale, and I became a Louise-shaped icicle.
'Twas good to socialise again, though I did seek solitude for the most part, just to listen for me and myself.
Played a cracking set with McNeill at the blackboard concert, making me long for the luxury of a good accompanist.
But anyway, cruised slowly back into Kohukohu late last night as the mist curled and cradled the town, and street lights cut strobes through it all. A soft and silent homecoming.
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