AROUND THE WORLD II: GLASTONBURY DAY 1
Click on the pictures to enlarge.

I somehow woke up at 10:30 am on Saturday. Sure, my plan to get on the 9:00 train down to Glastonbury didn't quite pan out, but already - before even going to the festival - I'd had an incredible day.However, I was not about to miss another day of Glasto, so I rolled myself off the bed (I never managed to make it under the covers), showered, charged up the camera batteries, and fashioned my hair into water-and-weather-proof festy dreads. Bring it on!

With my backpack full of camping gear and necessary spirits, I hiked back to the Temple Meads station and hopped on the next train to Castle Cary. It was a chilly morning, but I was undeterred. Although I was in nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt, I weathered the cold and even downed a couple of ice cold pints of Stella Artois at the next station where I was awaiting my transfer. Have I mentioned yet that I could live here?

A couple of hours later, I was at the Glastonbury stop, where no one could even get off the train without a ticket. I produced my pass and moments later, was collected by a bus, off to the big cow farm of dreams. This alone was quite an adventure, zooming down a windy, narrow road in a huge bus, hurtling past shrubs and trees on the wrong side of the road. (I can't help being a bloody Yank, ok?) As we came over the crest of a hill, I could see it. An amazingly huge expanse of tents, tents, and more tents. Somehow I was supposed to pitch mine and find it later? I was gripped by what Hunter Thompson would call the Fear. Fortunately, it was unjustified. As soon as I checked in, I was given a nice pink wristband that gave me admittance to the backstage area, including a spot in the less-crowded, tent-slasher free camping area.Within minutes, I was pitching my tent, while immediately behind me, No Doubt was putting on a rocking set. Looking out the foyer of my tent afforded me aview of the Other Stage. This is what I call roughing it!

After meeting my neighbours (a Londoner named Dan, and his girlfriend who remained hidden in the tent), it was off to explore. Whomever told me I wouldn't see many bands at Glastonbury was right. I not only felt curious, but obligated to make the rounds of the entire place. There were so many sights, so many sounds.. and smells! It was sensory overload, at times, but all in a good way. One of my first stops was the famed "Stone Circle" (left), a pseudo-Stonehenge in the "Sacred Space," away from the noise. It was quite tranquil. By the smell in the air, though, I would have to redub it the "Stoned Circle." I scouted out the food stalls, something that was probably utterly useless, considering my diet for this festival was largely of the liquid variety. If you've ever used a porta-potty at a festival, you surely understand my aversion to solid food. I did feel compelled, however, to snap a picture of the Aussie Steak Sandwich Bar, the irony in it being that my Aussie pal/birthday-mate Andrew is a vegetarian. Ok, so it's only funny to me and maybe three other people on Earth. Bite me. I also checked out the merchandise stalls. Since this trip was all paid for, I had extra cash to do some shopping! I was a bit disappointed by the crafts at the artisan stalls - I had made it a point before this trip to pick up some sort of "native" art to adorn my place with, yet I couldn't find a single thing that called to me. Serious bummer! At least I was able to buy a very warm England football jacket.

Eventually, after my giant, multi-acre footcruise, it was time to settle in for a bit of music. Not having gotten enough American music while setting up camp to No Doubt, apparently, I found myself drawn to the Other Stage, where some punkers were getting rowdy and throwing horn riffs in and out of the tunes. That would have to be the neo-punk-ska sound of Less Than Jake, and they had attracted quite a crowd. During the years that I'd spent in Los Angeles, I tired of this sound quickly, but watching thousands of people go crazy to it under an overcast sky in an English cowfield, well, there was just something special about it. Perhaps it was the awe that I was over-freakin-seas for a music festival. Or perhaps it was because the lead singer had just told the crowd what a "circle pit" is, and said pit was starting to form near me. I bailed just in time. I may be a wild man at times, but I'm happy to say that my moshing days are far behind me. I was more than happy to go and check out the other stages on the grounds.

Shortly thereafter, it was back to the tent to relax for a bit, then off to the backstage bar. I was fortunate enough to run into Ian Brown, who had just come off his solo gig (sans Stone Roses) on the main stage. Despite his reputation as a royal wanker, he was quite cordial and didn't seem bothered by all the fans approaching him. In fact, I didn't even know it was him until some girl started gushing about the Stone Roses.There I was washing my hands in a communal sink next to greatness only moments before - that's part of the Glastonbury magic, I guess! I settled back down by quaffing a few pints of Guinness next to the boys from Coldplay, then making the acquaintance of Simon and Roo, fellow radio contest winners, only they were from London. When we were taking pictures and they insisted we each had to model a chip on a fork, I knew these guys had been marinating themselves all day. My kind of crowd! After suffering through a bit of the White Stripes on the Pyramid Stage (we all agreed that they're overrated beneficiaries of media hype) we set off to the New Bands Tent to groove out to some Cornershop. (I'm still looking for an explanation as to how they were New, maybe the Grammy committee had something to do with it.) Afterward, it was to the Other Stage to check out some of the Beta Band, who were putting on a superb set. At that point we split up, each of us going on a beer, piss, and whatever else run, planning on reuniting at the Other Stage for Orbital. I never saw either of those guys again. If you're out there, cheers!

Solo once again, I made my way to the Pyramid Stage to check out the Charlatans. For years, I've wanted to see them. I missed them at Coachella in Spring - a band I'd been into since high school! Finally, I was able to catch them, and there couldn't have been a better time. The crowd must have numbered nearly six figures.

The enormous crowd in front of the Pyramid Stage at night - the mother of all stages for festival headliners.

Some random revelers in the crowd, more than happy to share their cheer.

The Charlatans, as seen on a giant video screen to the right of the stage. This is about the only way to see in a field of 90,000+.

For perspective, you can see here that the video screen is as large as the stage itself.

I made my way through the vast sea of people, sidestepping many beer cartons and many tiki torches. At the top of the hill, occupying a bench and warming themselves over a campfire (these are legal here, unheard of at a festival in the States!) was a group with a gentleman in an "America" shirt. Naturally, I had to introduce myself to these people, only to find that the American in question was Frank from Virginia. Ok, he's British, he just happens to live in the US. All good by me. Frank and company were more than willing to share their bench with me, and I busted out my American treat, a flask of Jack. The spirit of sharing was unleashed. We went through some Carling, some rum, some cider, and some Stella. Not to mention our fair share of Jack Daniels.

A few poppers later, and I couldn't quite remember where I was or how many brain cells I'd lost or how I was hearing a bunch of old Manchester tunes, but I didn't care. (It's amazing what's legal in the UK.) I was just overjoyed to be experiencing something completely new, yet I was also thankful that the stuff isn't easy to obtain at home. I'm a lager lout as it is! It didn't take long for me to float back down to earth, when I turned and realized that all the campfires and tiki torches behind me looked like a giant brushfire. A photo was definitely in order. The only question was "who's got a steady hand?" As this portion of the evening continued, some stories were told, some e-mail addresses exchanged, and even some shop talk about Flash websites went on. Overall, it was a very me experience - a little geeky, rather intoxicated, and very musical. The Charlatans were winding down their set, meaning it was time for Saturday's headliners - British flavor of the week, Stereophonics (or "Stereobollocks," as I became fond of calling them). It was time for me to say my goodbyes and head to the Other Stage once again for...

Orbital! I'm already an Orbital fan, so this was a must-see. On top of that, just about everybody on the Glasto web message board had said that if there was one act to see at the festival, this was it. Well, I didn't need to be told twice. I made it to the area on time to see the Brothers Hartnoll take the stage, ready to make musical mayhem behind their racks of gear, flashlight-glasses waving around like mad. I looked around and noticed the crowd here was worthy of an entire stadium, something unheard of for a virtually anonymous electronic act back home. Yeah, I could live here.

Sperm rushing toward an egg? Or a slow shutter on Orbital's simple stage lighting?

The whacky headgear in action. I need a pair of flashlight glasses!

Portrait of a happy camper.

More pretty lights, courtesy of the Hartnoll brothers. If only you could hear what you see.

Unheard of in the US: Security handing out free cups of water to dehydrated revelers.

Even in the English countryside, George Lucas' influence could be felt in the form of a plastic lightsaber.

Bundling up for warmth in the midst of a field of thousands. That's how damn cold England is.

The ubiquitous Cross of St. George. Never mind that England was knocked out of the Cup a week before.

The sheer multitude and variety of people grooving out, united by the same music, was simply amazing. I've seen a roomful of people, and sometimes a large club or small venue's worth of bodies brought together by the pulsating beats of electronic music, but this experience was simply non-pareil. Here were tens of thousands of us communing. When it was over, I couldn't help but be a bit bummed that it was over, but at the same time, overwhelmed with some sort of joy. After the set, I sought out the giant yellow Orbital flag in the middle of the crowd - At last, I would run into a familiar face - or name, rather. Sure enough, at the bottom of the flagpole was Lucy from the Glasto message board, along with all her friends. At last, I had put a name with a face and felt even more at ease with the whole concept of solo festival-going. I briefly chatted with the group and then ran off toward the VIP area, hoping I could perhaps rub elbows with Orbital. Either way, I could've gone home at this moment and been one very satisifed customer. But at this point, my festival experience wasn't even halfway over!

Backstage, with the headliners having finished, it was quite a scene. A crowded scene. There was a 16 year-old kid named Sam, introducing himself and glad-handing everyone near the bar in hopes of scoring free beers. (To his credit, he went after the attractive women first.) He kept harassing me about not telling him who I really was. I insisted I was nobody, but he apparently knew better than me that I was some rock star and had put on a great set earlier. Apparently, teenage boozehounds weren't the only ones to think so. The most prevalent question of the night was, "So when are you on?" "What stage are you on?" "Where's the rest of your band?" Quite flattering, really. If only it were true! Several people, going by my t-shirt, figured I'd be playing the Dance Tent. I have to say, being mistaken for a rockstar can be fun. I really could live here, you know.

A few Guinnesses later, I realized I hadn't eaten all day. I was sitting on the grass and noticed that the girl next to me had a large basket of chips. At this point, I unashamedly asked if I may have one. Not much later, I was getting acquainted with Leigh and her man Nicky, of Liverpool. Several beers and Jack and Cokes later, we were ready to continue the party. We figured at this late hour, the Dance Tent or the Experience Tent would be the places to go, but they'd gone dark by the time we got there. After an obligatory stop at the wine bar where we picked up expensive plastic bottles of cheap wine, we followed the sound of music to a small tent among the food stalls called the Rizla Cafe. A crowd had gathered around the place, and a very solid set of drum 'n bass was emanating from within. We went in and started dancing, only to find that it was Roni Size himself manning the decks. While I was in Bristol, I had bemoaned not being able to see one of the legendary local DJs, and here I was in a cafe tent in the middle of a pasture, shaking my ass to Bristol's best the very next day. If having just seen Orbital rock thousands wasn't a triumphant moment, then being in a tent of 100 with a living legend just topped it. (I must've still been inspired by the Orbital set, however, considering I now had a flashlight strapped to my head.)

Eventually, as my plastic vessel of table wine took effect, I lost Nicky and Leigh (good thing we swapped contact info beforehand) and was off on my own again. i decided to mellow out in front of the Rizla tent, where I met Bongo Dude, as well as a young mother with her toddler. It's amazing how many children you see at Glastonbury. Despite all the wildness, it's actually a very family-friendly place. Whereas I would never take a young child to a festival Stateside, I'd have no trouble doing so at Glasto. Alas, I wasn't there to play Mr. Rogers, so I continued making acquaintances with people all over. The last people I remember that evening would be a couple from Ireland. When I told them I was from San Francisco, the male half made a big deal about California herb. Not being an aficionado, I merely nodded, acknowledging my home region's penchant for the whacky tabacky. "You haven't tried the Irish skunk!" he exclaimed, producing a baggie and rolling papers. Better judgement escaped me, and I accepted this token of goodwill from the Emerald Isle. Within moments, I was spun out, holding on to a wall, wondering what happened to gravity. Have I mentioned that it's absolutely amazing what's actually legal in the UK?? Eventually, though I'm not sure how it was even possible, I made my way back to the backstage compound, found my tent, changed from jeans to sweats, took out my contacts, and fell asleep in my sleeping bag. Some mysteries are bound to remain unsolved.

Cowa-Bongo, dude! And here I thought people only did this in clubs in San Francisco.

It's 2 am. Do you know where your toddler is partying?

Your average, mild-mannered, reserved Irish couple...

...who are a bit more than the "average horti-fucking-cutluralists."

Can Omid handle any more?? See Glastonbury Day 2