Rock, But Not to Sleep
Old is a state of mind. However, it is very much a fact physically, as I am discovering to my dismay. That doesn't mean, though, that I am about to retire to a rocking chair and knit. To begin, I don't have a rocker, and to continue, I don't know how to knit. So, I'll ignore the physical as much as possible.
When we heard last November that Scorpions was going to come to the Galician rock festival, Resurrection Fest, I convinced my husband we should go see them. We like their music, they aren't getting younger (My daughter saw AC/DC just in time; she saw them on their last tour together.), and it promised to be an adventure. The festival lasts three or four days, and it is customary to camp. While camping out was not on our minds, and we weren't about to spend the three entire days there, it seemed a good idea just for that night, because the concert would surely end late, and it's over a two hour drive to Viveiro, where it's held.
So, Friday evening, my husband came home a bit early from work, we got everything together, and set off on the roads north, to Viveiro. It was a fine evening, which was good, because rain had wandered into the forecast, but it stayed in the interior. Viveiro sits on the estuary of the Landro river, on the north coast of Lugo, province. That coast is usually covered in mist or clouds in summer when the rest of Galicia is sweltering in the heat. But not yesterday. It was more of a tropical night than I had expected.
When we arrived, we went to the section cordoned off for camping. There were two other sites, but those were pending reservation and payment. So, the free section was practically standing room, only. First, parking the car was an odyssey, but creative parking ruled the day, and we positioned the car in a new spot, leaving just enough room for others to get by. Then, we took the tent and the sleeping bags to the spot we discovered. It was right by a low wall, which we straddled and crossed over, just across the street from the sand dunes that led down to the beach. It was far from the stages, but there was a regular bus service supplied, for one euro each way. We later discovered just why that spot wasn't the idyl we had thought it.
We set up the tent, a popular style from a French-label sporting goods store that promised to be set up in 2 seconds, and be perfect for camping dummies. It was more like five minutes, but the problem wasn't the setting up, it was folding the hoops and putting it away when we took it down later. Ever have a tent jump at your face like a dog thinking you're eating his treat? It ends up involving something like that.
Once it was set up, we dumped our stuff in it, closed the zippers, and went off to the bus. We got our bracelets, crossed the security barrier, and followed everyone to the main stage, where we arrived minutes before Scorpions began. It started off slowly, for me. They played a couple of songs from long before I got to know them, but then it started getting hotter. Soon, I was jumping with the other spectators while my husband looked at me in awe. Let's say, he enjoyed the concert, but is much more reserved in showing his likes. Apart from their energetic music, they played some of their great ballads, like Send Me an Angel, Wind of Change, and Still Loving You, while ending with a bang, with Rock You Like a Hurricane.
When they finished, other, smaller bands played on the other stages. But, for me, this was a one-band festival. Over the three days (with one more to warm up), hundreds of metal and hard rock bands play. (As well as other types of music that to me sound the same, but have their proper label with which I am not acquainted.) Last night, there was another big name, KISS. But I'm not really into that kind of music except for a few bands, such as Scorpions, or a scattered song or two.
There were food trucks for all tastes and diets, and long lines of people buying their supper at close to two in the morning. But drinks were more difficult to get. First, you had to change some euros into tuents. The change was .50 tuents to one euro. Then, you could go buy both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks at the bars set up. No glass bottles were allowed, and plastic bottles were served without the tops. Instead, drinkers were sold durable plastic cups emblazoned with the Fest's logo they could later take home as souvenirs. If they wanted to drink more, they had to take those cups to the bars to get their refill without having to pay for another one. I suppose it was a way to try to get people to stop from drinking too much within the site, and to keep glass out to avoid someone ribboning someone else. Wise, but roundabout for responsible people.
At close to three in the morning, we caught the bus back to the camping site and went to our tent to try to rest till morning and drive back refreshed. As we were approaching, we discovered why it had not been a good spot. On the other side of the low wall, a van was set up with a sound system (thankfully facing the sea, but that only pulled the sound down a notch), and people were chattering and drinking and shouting in the street. Those youngsters, both mentally and physically, were continuing the festival during the rest of the night. As we hunkered in the tent, we tried to ignore the noise. We were able to do so for possibly a little over an hour at the longest stretch. At various points, we heard a car stopping, and people chanting for the police to leave. They did. At other points, people called out in unison for someone called Antonio. "Antonio! Antooniiooo!" The music was varied, from latina to American and British pop, to metal and rock. Unfortunately, no classical to lull one to sleep. It just doesn't fit in with an all-nighter.
At seven o'clock we both woke up and discovered we had slept for a little over an hour. More than likely that had happened because the music had been silenced. People still hadn't gone to their sleeping bags, though. Bunches were still sitting on the curbstone and wandering around, glass, bottle, or can in hand. Garbage men were advancing slowly along the street, one garbage bag at a time. The sun was introducing itself to the world behind a headland, and the clouds were rosied in the sky. Our eyes were rosy enough as we blearily stared out at the new day. We had a two-hour drive back home and it was going to be a hellish one.
But we made it back, and we enjoyed the adventure, sleeplessness and all. If another band we like comes next year, we might repeat. But we will know enough then to set up the tent somewhere else. Either that, or join in the continuing celebration. As the Spanish say, de perdidos al río. Or, might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Besides, it's an adventure to remember.
When we heard last November that Scorpions was going to come to the Galician rock festival, Resurrection Fest, I convinced my husband we should go see them. We like their music, they aren't getting younger (My daughter saw AC/DC just in time; she saw them on their last tour together.), and it promised to be an adventure. The festival lasts three or four days, and it is customary to camp. While camping out was not on our minds, and we weren't about to spend the three entire days there, it seemed a good idea just for that night, because the concert would surely end late, and it's over a two hour drive to Viveiro, where it's held.
So, Friday evening, my husband came home a bit early from work, we got everything together, and set off on the roads north, to Viveiro. It was a fine evening, which was good, because rain had wandered into the forecast, but it stayed in the interior. Viveiro sits on the estuary of the Landro river, on the north coast of Lugo, province. That coast is usually covered in mist or clouds in summer when the rest of Galicia is sweltering in the heat. But not yesterday. It was more of a tropical night than I had expected.
When we arrived, we went to the section cordoned off for camping. There were two other sites, but those were pending reservation and payment. So, the free section was practically standing room, only. First, parking the car was an odyssey, but creative parking ruled the day, and we positioned the car in a new spot, leaving just enough room for others to get by. Then, we took the tent and the sleeping bags to the spot we discovered. It was right by a low wall, which we straddled and crossed over, just across the street from the sand dunes that led down to the beach. It was far from the stages, but there was a regular bus service supplied, for one euro each way. We later discovered just why that spot wasn't the idyl we had thought it.
We set up the tent, a popular style from a French-label sporting goods store that promised to be set up in 2 seconds, and be perfect for camping dummies. It was more like five minutes, but the problem wasn't the setting up, it was folding the hoops and putting it away when we took it down later. Ever have a tent jump at your face like a dog thinking you're eating his treat? It ends up involving something like that.
Once it was set up, we dumped our stuff in it, closed the zippers, and went off to the bus. We got our bracelets, crossed the security barrier, and followed everyone to the main stage, where we arrived minutes before Scorpions began. It started off slowly, for me. They played a couple of songs from long before I got to know them, but then it started getting hotter. Soon, I was jumping with the other spectators while my husband looked at me in awe. Let's say, he enjoyed the concert, but is much more reserved in showing his likes. Apart from their energetic music, they played some of their great ballads, like Send Me an Angel, Wind of Change, and Still Loving You, while ending with a bang, with Rock You Like a Hurricane.
When they finished, other, smaller bands played on the other stages. But, for me, this was a one-band festival. Over the three days (with one more to warm up), hundreds of metal and hard rock bands play. (As well as other types of music that to me sound the same, but have their proper label with which I am not acquainted.) Last night, there was another big name, KISS. But I'm not really into that kind of music except for a few bands, such as Scorpions, or a scattered song or two.
There were food trucks for all tastes and diets, and long lines of people buying their supper at close to two in the morning. But drinks were more difficult to get. First, you had to change some euros into tuents. The change was .50 tuents to one euro. Then, you could go buy both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks at the bars set up. No glass bottles were allowed, and plastic bottles were served without the tops. Instead, drinkers were sold durable plastic cups emblazoned with the Fest's logo they could later take home as souvenirs. If they wanted to drink more, they had to take those cups to the bars to get their refill without having to pay for another one. I suppose it was a way to try to get people to stop from drinking too much within the site, and to keep glass out to avoid someone ribboning someone else. Wise, but roundabout for responsible people.
At close to three in the morning, we caught the bus back to the camping site and went to our tent to try to rest till morning and drive back refreshed. As we were approaching, we discovered why it had not been a good spot. On the other side of the low wall, a van was set up with a sound system (thankfully facing the sea, but that only pulled the sound down a notch), and people were chattering and drinking and shouting in the street. Those youngsters, both mentally and physically, were continuing the festival during the rest of the night. As we hunkered in the tent, we tried to ignore the noise. We were able to do so for possibly a little over an hour at the longest stretch. At various points, we heard a car stopping, and people chanting for the police to leave. They did. At other points, people called out in unison for someone called Antonio. "Antonio! Antooniiooo!" The music was varied, from latina to American and British pop, to metal and rock. Unfortunately, no classical to lull one to sleep. It just doesn't fit in with an all-nighter.
At seven o'clock we both woke up and discovered we had slept for a little over an hour. More than likely that had happened because the music had been silenced. People still hadn't gone to their sleeping bags, though. Bunches were still sitting on the curbstone and wandering around, glass, bottle, or can in hand. Garbage men were advancing slowly along the street, one garbage bag at a time. The sun was introducing itself to the world behind a headland, and the clouds were rosied in the sky. Our eyes were rosy enough as we blearily stared out at the new day. We had a two-hour drive back home and it was going to be a hellish one.
But we made it back, and we enjoyed the adventure, sleeplessness and all. If another band we like comes next year, we might repeat. But we will know enough then to set up the tent somewhere else. Either that, or join in the continuing celebration. As the Spanish say, de perdidos al río. Or, might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Besides, it's an adventure to remember.
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