The last few days are the first since tour began that we've had more free time than we really know what to do with. Hotels mean finding your own breakfast and getting yourself about the city, and so on, but they also mean you don't have to be social to hosts or unpack and repack your suitcase every day. I've spread my stuff about the room like a child stamping petulant feet in the midst of the candy aisle.
It's 2pm and I'm still in my pajamas, perfect attire for bouncing between the couch and bed. I feel like I should feel guilty for my sloth, but mostly I just want to drift for awhile. It's not until the spinning top of activity loses momentum and slows to a lazy 'choose your own adventure' twirl, that you realise how much energy it takes to maintain equilibrium, to stay upright.
Then again, we've done a total of 14 performances (of varying length and purpose) in 11 days. Plus traveling and sightseeing and maintaining a certain level of sociability with hosts and other choristers, which sometimes takes a bit of deep breathing or Mbiri dancing in one's head.
So. This afternoon and most of the evening we record the CD, tomorrow there will be a workshop around lunchtime, and then we can pack away the music along with the blacks and red lipstick and enjoy our last few days away together. Some of us are continuing on to other places, but most of the group head home on Thursday evening. Negotiations are currently in progress to see who a) has room in their case and b) what they're willing to accept as a bribe for lugging our stuff back to Australia.
Either way, it's been an awesome trip and I'm sure everyone has learnt a lot about the slog of constant performing, not killing your fellow choristers and possibly a bit about Canada as well. I'd love to come back some day and see more of some of the places we visited than the church we sang in and the street our hosts lived on. And I hear they have plenty of schools here, as well as pretty easy working visa restrictions, so who knows? ;)
This post has been a work in progress over the last few days, so I should say that Calgary is a bit ghostly. One of the locals told us that they're all hibernating and nursing their Stampede hangovers, to which I say eat a spoonful of concrete and harden up, Calgarians. That, or come to Australia and we'll show you how to *really* drink. The streets are deserted in the evening, bars close very early, and I have a theory that there's some kind of secret tunnel underground for locals, because there aren't a lot of people around unless it's lunchtime. Adelaide looks like a people-filled mecca compared to this place. But it's nice not to have to fight your way through the crowd for a drink, and even nicer when you find other people willing to pay for them ;). Being a foreigner has its perks.
Farewell dinner tonight, as people are leaving at various times tomorrow and its probably the last time we'll be together as a group for awhile. We've been told to come up with our favorite or funniest moment to share at dinner. I've been trying to narrow it down and realized how much I'd forgotten, even in just a couple of weeks.
So to end, here are some of the other things I've learnt on the trip:
1. Thongs, hills, jelly, 'hook up' and the verb 'to get nailed' do not mean the same thing in Canada.
2. Portion sizes are inevitably bigger. Ordering five Chinese dishes for four people results in enough leftover food for about eight (and a trip to the local homeless shelter if you're a good person like Marianne).
3. Telling a Canadian that multiple days at 5 degrees is the coldest Adelaide winter in 60 years usually results in hilarity and then descriptions of eye-freezing cold. Mentioning 45 degree summer days sometimes puts a stop to this madness.
4. Never judge a choir by their pantaloons.
5. Don't mess with skunks. You might get nailed. (I wonder what 'getting hammered' means here. Must ask stranger on street)
6. There is such a thing as too much of the following: cherries, blueberries, fruitboxes, wearing black. However, you can never have too many raspberries, too much maple flavored anything, or too many cowboys in one place. Mmmmm. ;)
7. Even if there isn't a 'Don't Feed The Wildlife' sign, it's still not a good idea to go waving bitable parts near anything, especially anything small cute and furry.
8. It's a sign we've come a long way when 8 songs in a concert bracket is a bloody easy night. And on the subject of music and performing, a 'game face' is a wonderful thing and so is a bit of pre-bracket abandoning of inhibitions to dance like a cross between African princesses and Gumby on acid.
9. There will inevitably be some tool in the audience that will do one of the following: talk, kick the back of the pew in their own personal rhythm, fang it down the road in their hot rod while you're recording, sing badly under their breath, or fall asleep. Best not to a) look at Christie (for fear of snorting mid-song) or b) take it personally. There's a good chance that at least 2% of any audience are slightly inconsiderate, unaware, or just assholes.
(No, we love you all, really...)
10. It is actually possible for 17 women between the ages of 18 and 37 to spend almost three weeks together and still all be on relatively good terms at the end of it (without any parts having to be locked in a room and told in no uncertain terms to sort out their issues or stay in there all night, like on a previous tour). Actually, I'd call that a pretty awesome effort on behalf of most people. Go team!!
So, we're pretty much done, and I'm sure there are lots of other stories to be shared - I'm just the one with the greatest propensity to babble crap via iPhone Notes app when I've got a bit of spare time. Are we coming back to Kathaumixw in two years? Will Christie ever want to take us out of the country again? Will everyone manage to make it under the suitcase weight limit? Are Mounties *really* easy?
Yeah, I realise these questions (and the entire blog, really) are not 'where did the world come from' or similarly philosophical musings, but I'm sure you're not too disappointed. And if you are, well, sucks to be you. I've had fun, and I hope you did too.
"In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night!"
J x
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Horse is a Horse...
The Calgary Stampede, we found, is like the Royal Show with better (read: weirder) food and a boatload of cowboy hats. And yes, I did give in and purchase one of my own, though I'm not sure how to get the damn thing home without wrecking it, and I overlooked the fact that once it was on, the hat hair meant it wasn't coming off anytime soon.
The fair was every medical professional's worst nightmare - deep fried everything, pizza on sticks, corn dogs, mini donuts, Dippin' Dots, and if you were willing to wait in the unbelievable lines for the beer gardens, beer. We passed on the rides after consuming our weight in seriously crap food, admired the merchandise (in the shops and just wandering around the fairground) and marvelled at the amount ofskanks optimistic females peacock-ing about with their tails on display.
So; we came, we saw, we ate ourselves stupid, and then it was chuck wagon time. I can't say that I understand anything more about it than I did before seeing it, partly because there was no handy guide and everything seemed a bit vague, and partly because we were a wee bit more interested in the talent of the audience than the riders... hey, cowboys are distracting, what can I say? The crowd were all decked out in cowboy boots and some crazy loud shirts. Extra points for hot cowboys who can pull off plaid, with points off for aberrations like cut-up sleeveless denim jackets and rats-tails. A bogan by any other name smells just as foul.
Anyway. Chuck wagon racing is kind of like what the Papas from Little House On the Prairie might have done while hopped up on moonshine and bored sh*tless. Each team has a wagon with barrels and things in the back steered by the main guy, and four random dudes on horses whose job is to guide the hitched horses around the figure 8 barrels and then jump on and go like stink for the finish line. Not paying attention to names and such resulted in betting on the team with the prettiest colours or hottest riders. Screaming out "Go Team Rainbow" in the middle of the crowd doesn't win any favors, surprise surprise. But it was fun to watch, and no horses were harmed in the making of our amusement, so a win all round I reckon.
Races were followed by (supposedly) the biggest show on earth. I sometimes immediately resent being told that something is that great, because it's usually a let-down, plus a bit 'toot your own horn'ish. I like to go in with low expectations so I'm bound to be surprised. But it was pretty good overall. The fireworks were in fact big, and the motorbike riders going full pelt around inside a metal ball cage thing were awesome, and there must be a Canadian Idol because the winner got her spangle on to belt out... something that I won't be searching iTunes for. It was slightly disturbing to see the Young Canadians slap their butts and do a little grind in the middle of their cute innocent dances, but I guess there are worse things to make 8 year olds do. One of them might be the next Britney some day, and isn't that a scary image.
Thanks to a group of well-connected locals, the party continued for some of us until the wee hours of the morning, which meant getting up at 6 to go to Banff was struggle-tastic. Definitely worth it though - it's a pretty amazing town and must be even better in ski season. Also probably the most blatantly touristy place we've been to, but in a kinda nice way. The next thing I purchase might have to be another suitcase, at this rate.
Sitting in a cafe looking up at the still-snow-capped mountains that put our hills to shame while having burgers and beer was a terrible way to spend lunch. Hated every minute of it. Especially after beer #2. ;)
Now, I've been to the States before. I know they're into weird food there, like deep fried macaroni, peanut butter cups and cherry flavored Coke. Sometimes it seems like the nation is just one big pregnant woman surreptitiously dipping pickles into ice-cream and then trying to sell it to Ben and Jerry's (FTR, we haven't seen pickle ice-cream... yet).
Some of the food in Canada is a little like that - they definitely put our snack foods to shame - but sometimes it's best to just go with it. Peanut butter on burgers turns out to (apparently) be a good thing, and I'm pretty sure I could eat bagels and cream cheese with or without *real* maple smoked salmon (as in the flaky kind, not the strips of Europe-style rubber they sell in Australia)) any time of the day. Even if the staff at a certain Canadian institution tend to be a few crayons short of a box. If you can successfully order a coffee and food AND get what you ordered without doing some kind of crazy semaphore dance in front of the order board, it's a good day. Also, the available condiments on an average restaurant table put our salt-pepper-'dead horse'-maybe one salad dressing to SHAME. And we found out that if the label isn't written in French as well as English, they can't sell it in Canada, which would suck for international manufacturers. I didn't realise the restrictions applied outside Quebec etc, but it's always handy to know how to say ketchup or fruit bar or 'lift flap to side and pull firmly' in French.
This was supposed to be about more than food. There was also hot-spring swimming (and the horrors of public change rooms with a bunch of very uninhibited people) and a pretty wicked gondola ride up Sulfur Mountain to about 2200 feet above sea level. And squirrels or chipmunks or whatever the heck the little friendly fluffy rat things were. Also, a great day out with good friends where we could just chill out and do what we wanted pretty much when we felt like it, aside from the set time we had to catch the bus home. All in all, a great day despite the air of seediness that took awhile to shake.
Righto. Guess it's time for lunch... Someone pass the chicken-fried-chicken. ;)
The fair was every medical professional's worst nightmare - deep fried everything, pizza on sticks, corn dogs, mini donuts, Dippin' Dots, and if you were willing to wait in the unbelievable lines for the beer gardens, beer. We passed on the rides after consuming our weight in seriously crap food, admired the merchandise (in the shops and just wandering around the fairground) and marvelled at the amount of
So; we came, we saw, we ate ourselves stupid, and then it was chuck wagon time. I can't say that I understand anything more about it than I did before seeing it, partly because there was no handy guide and everything seemed a bit vague, and partly because we were a wee bit more interested in the talent of the audience than the riders... hey, cowboys are distracting, what can I say? The crowd were all decked out in cowboy boots and some crazy loud shirts. Extra points for hot cowboys who can pull off plaid, with points off for aberrations like cut-up sleeveless denim jackets and rats-tails. A bogan by any other name smells just as foul.
Anyway. Chuck wagon racing is kind of like what the Papas from Little House On the Prairie might have done while hopped up on moonshine and bored sh*tless. Each team has a wagon with barrels and things in the back steered by the main guy, and four random dudes on horses whose job is to guide the hitched horses around the figure 8 barrels and then jump on and go like stink for the finish line. Not paying attention to names and such resulted in betting on the team with the prettiest colours or hottest riders. Screaming out "Go Team Rainbow" in the middle of the crowd doesn't win any favors, surprise surprise. But it was fun to watch, and no horses were harmed in the making of our amusement, so a win all round I reckon.
Races were followed by (supposedly) the biggest show on earth. I sometimes immediately resent being told that something is that great, because it's usually a let-down, plus a bit 'toot your own horn'ish. I like to go in with low expectations so I'm bound to be surprised. But it was pretty good overall. The fireworks were in fact big, and the motorbike riders going full pelt around inside a metal ball cage thing were awesome, and there must be a Canadian Idol because the winner got her spangle on to belt out... something that I won't be searching iTunes for. It was slightly disturbing to see the Young Canadians slap their butts and do a little grind in the middle of their cute innocent dances, but I guess there are worse things to make 8 year olds do. One of them might be the next Britney some day, and isn't that a scary image.
Thanks to a group of well-connected locals, the party continued for some of us until the wee hours of the morning, which meant getting up at 6 to go to Banff was struggle-tastic. Definitely worth it though - it's a pretty amazing town and must be even better in ski season. Also probably the most blatantly touristy place we've been to, but in a kinda nice way. The next thing I purchase might have to be another suitcase, at this rate.
Sitting in a cafe looking up at the still-snow-capped mountains that put our hills to shame while having burgers and beer was a terrible way to spend lunch. Hated every minute of it. Especially after beer #2. ;)
Now, I've been to the States before. I know they're into weird food there, like deep fried macaroni, peanut butter cups and cherry flavored Coke. Sometimes it seems like the nation is just one big pregnant woman surreptitiously dipping pickles into ice-cream and then trying to sell it to Ben and Jerry's (FTR, we haven't seen pickle ice-cream... yet).
Some of the food in Canada is a little like that - they definitely put our snack foods to shame - but sometimes it's best to just go with it. Peanut butter on burgers turns out to (apparently) be a good thing, and I'm pretty sure I could eat bagels and cream cheese with or without *real* maple smoked salmon (as in the flaky kind, not the strips of Europe-style rubber they sell in Australia)) any time of the day. Even if the staff at a certain Canadian institution tend to be a few crayons short of a box. If you can successfully order a coffee and food AND get what you ordered without doing some kind of crazy semaphore dance in front of the order board, it's a good day. Also, the available condiments on an average restaurant table put our salt-pepper-'dead horse'-maybe one salad dressing to SHAME. And we found out that if the label isn't written in French as well as English, they can't sell it in Canada, which would suck for international manufacturers. I didn't realise the restrictions applied outside Quebec etc, but it's always handy to know how to say ketchup or fruit bar or 'lift flap to side and pull firmly' in French.
This was supposed to be about more than food. There was also hot-spring swimming (and the horrors of public change rooms with a bunch of very uninhibited people) and a pretty wicked gondola ride up Sulfur Mountain to about 2200 feet above sea level. And squirrels or chipmunks or whatever the heck the little friendly fluffy rat things were. Also, a great day out with good friends where we could just chill out and do what we wanted pretty much when we felt like it, aside from the set time we had to catch the bus home. All in all, a great day despite the air of seediness that took awhile to shake.
Righto. Guess it's time for lunch... Someone pass the chicken-fried-chicken. ;)
Saturday, July 17, 2010
We're all mad here...
There are two more days to go in the regional tour, and even though I'm having a great time, I can't say I'm not a little glad. Six days of traveling madness after the semi-madness of Kathaumixw proper is making me want to make like the Dormouse and curl up inside a very big teapot. That or cultivate an air of madness by teasing my hair, staring through people and investing in a rather tall hat.
...I guess tangentiality is contagious.
The schedule typically goes something like this: get dropped off by our hosts at some ungodly single-digit hour I'd forgotten even existed, faff about, board coach, drive somewhere (depending on the day, the roadworks/ferry and the farting of the Canadian geese) either towards the place we're going or in the complete opposite direction, get lost, see some mountains and plains and [insert scenery of the day here].
We generally arrive at our destination just late enough to get screwed over re: soundcheck, spend somewhere between fourteen minutes and a couple hours at the home of our hosts bolting down dinner and spreading our stuff around the room like someone put a cherry bomb inside our suitcases. Ironing of blacks optional; wrinkles add character.
Race back for concert, T&T our way through with varied success depending on the day and the song, and return to our hosts just long enough for a cup of tea, a chat (possibly some Gregorian chants and chicken, depending on the town) and bed. Lather, rinse, repeat until suitably exhausted or ready to lose it in a way that makes Krakatoa look like a fart in a bathtub (though thankfully things haven't gotten beyond a slow bubble yet, or at least not in public).
Last night we stayed in a place called Calieden. Don't quote me on that spelling. Our hosts did tell us what the name means, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't 'California is paradise' since we're in Canada and all, but I was too distracted by the fact that we were fanging it down the highway in his cherry red '57 Thunderbird at the time, top down like something out of Thelma and Louise. I'm expecting Brad Pitt to show up aaaaany minute now. ;)
Whatever the name means, sitting on the deck with a glass of sav blanc and a plate of aged cheeses, salamis and capsicum was... Yeah, definitely Fi and I's idea of heaven. And to top it off, there was a cherry tree right next to where we were sitting with easy access cherries ready for picking. Such a hard life. ;)
Karma dictates that we'll be sleeping on the side of the road in a cardboard box tonight, having hit the billet jackpot two nights in a row. Washing is done, we had our own rooms again, and they (like everyone we've met here) were lovely and very interested in our lives and what we do, as well as having a number of rip-snorting stories to tell themselves.
I'm surprised by the number of people in BC who have been to Australia or know people/rellies who live there, though completely unsurprised by the fact that nobody's been to Adelaide. Even if we have a little more than bogans, balls and beer.
Things got a wee bit fuzzy after the second glass, but I do believe names like Ronald Reagan and the Queen were dropped, and we found we had mutual loves of traveling and, apparently, a very civilized glass of wine or two.
We're traveling through the Okanagan region on our way back to North Vancouver and everyone's sleeping or having some much needed chill time. With running streams,trees as far as the eye can see and a whole lot of very big mountains (I wanna say the Cascade Range, please feel free not to correct my probable wrongness), it's a pretty drive. I've got my eyes peeled for animals on the 'to find' list, but I'm not hopeful. We might have to go on that bear hunt after all, though I hear there was a bear in North Vanc that was going fridge-diving in people's houses recently, so maybe I'll just leave a pic-a-nick basket on the back stoop and cross my fingers for some Yogi action.
Peace out,
J xx
There are two more days to go in the regional tour, and even though I'm having a great time, I can't say I'm not a little glad. Six days of traveling madness after the semi-madness of Kathaumixw proper is making me want to make like the Dormouse and curl up inside a very big teapot. That or cultivate an air of madness by teasing my hair, staring through people and investing in a rather tall hat.
...I guess tangentiality is contagious.
The schedule typically goes something like this: get dropped off by our hosts at some ungodly single-digit hour I'd forgotten even existed, faff about, board coach, drive somewhere (depending on the day, the roadworks/ferry and the farting of the Canadian geese) either towards the place we're going or in the complete opposite direction, get lost, see some mountains and plains and [insert scenery of the day here].
We generally arrive at our destination just late enough to get screwed over re: soundcheck, spend somewhere between fourteen minutes and a couple hours at the home of our hosts bolting down dinner and spreading our stuff around the room like someone put a cherry bomb inside our suitcases. Ironing of blacks optional; wrinkles add character.
Race back for concert, T&T our way through with varied success depending on the day and the song, and return to our hosts just long enough for a cup of tea, a chat (possibly some Gregorian chants and chicken, depending on the town) and bed. Lather, rinse, repeat until suitably exhausted or ready to lose it in a way that makes Krakatoa look like a fart in a bathtub (though thankfully things haven't gotten beyond a slow bubble yet, or at least not in public).
Last night we stayed in a place called Calieden. Don't quote me on that spelling. Our hosts did tell us what the name means, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't 'California is paradise' since we're in Canada and all, but I was too distracted by the fact that we were fanging it down the highway in his cherry red '57 Thunderbird at the time, top down like something out of Thelma and Louise. I'm expecting Brad Pitt to show up aaaaany minute now. ;)
Whatever the name means, sitting on the deck with a glass of sav blanc and a plate of aged cheeses, salamis and capsicum was... Yeah, definitely Fi and I's idea of heaven. And to top it off, there was a cherry tree right next to where we were sitting with easy access cherries ready for picking. Such a hard life. ;)
Karma dictates that we'll be sleeping on the side of the road in a cardboard box tonight, having hit the billet jackpot two nights in a row. Washing is done, we had our own rooms again, and they (like everyone we've met here) were lovely and very interested in our lives and what we do, as well as having a number of rip-snorting stories to tell themselves.
I'm surprised by the number of people in BC who have been to Australia or know people/rellies who live there, though completely unsurprised by the fact that nobody's been to Adelaide. Even if we have a little more than bogans, balls and beer.
Things got a wee bit fuzzy after the second glass, but I do believe names like Ronald Reagan and the Queen were dropped, and we found we had mutual loves of traveling and, apparently, a very civilized glass of wine or two.
We're traveling through the Okanagan region on our way back to North Vancouver and everyone's sleeping or having some much needed chill time. With running streams,trees as far as the eye can see and a whole lot of very big mountains (I wanna say the Cascade Range, please feel free not to correct my probable wrongness), it's a pretty drive. I've got my eyes peeled for animals on the 'to find' list, but I'm not hopeful. We might have to go on that bear hunt after all, though I hear there was a bear in North Vanc that was going fridge-diving in people's houses recently, so maybe I'll just leave a pic-a-nick basket on the back stoop and cross my fingers for some Yogi action.
Peace out,
J xx
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
The kindness of strangers
I like to think of myself as being pretty well travelled. Still, there's only so much you can learn about a place by visiting the top ten spots in your Lonely Planet, and this is where being billeted can give you a new perspective on things, or as those stupid furniture ads used to say, to think outside the box. I don't see how suspending a living room off a cliff is thinking outside any box except the one marked 'logic and feasibility', but... whatever.
Back to the advantages of billeting. You get to see inside the pretty weatherboard - sorry, cedar siding - houses, hear things about the town that don't quite meet the political correctness standards of the guidebook, and meet interesting new people along the way. Also, after a few days of takeout, fresh veggies and fruit are very much appreciated. As is the occasional wine cooler. (Shhh!)
There's also that awkward silence at the start when you're sort of sizing one another up and trying to figure out how to play it. Do you play the straight card or grit your teeth and try for a joke? Do you wait for them to ask questions or ask them yourself? How long do you have to know someone before you're comfortable enough to drop your kids off in their pool?
We've been here a few days now, and I haven't had time to sit and write, so pardon the sudden overload.
Powell River is the kind of place that you pass through and think how pretty and peaceful it is, only it's not really on the way to anything so my logic fails. There are about 25,000 people here, an from what I can gather it's sort of like Queensland as far as average age goes, only with snowy mountains in the background and continence aids in prominent view in the local Wal-Mart., The joys of an aging population. Still, they have two Starbucks, which is two more than Rad has.
After Monday's marathon bus-ferry-bus-ferry-bus trek and the effort of being on one's best behavior (Mum, you'd be totally proud) for the initial afternoon, it's safe to say everyone was ready for some chill time.
This is where hosts can be awesome, because I guess they figured what better way to welcome a bunch of Aussies than with a barbie?
I'll say one thing about Powell River people, it may be a smallish town, but they definitely know how to throw a good party. We got burgers and awesome salad, people who weren't on Sudafed got beer (dammit!), and Christie got her cherries. Win all round, I'd say, as well as the most beautiful unorthodox rehearsal venue ever: a grassy hill overlooking the mountains, ocean and clear blue sky. Definitely beats 'random corridor' and 'men's bathroom' as experienced on previous tours.
Since it's so late in the week and by the time I post this our Kathaumixw experience will be pretty much over, I won't go on about the competitions and stuff, only to say that it was a pretty tiring week for everyone. Most days we had a comp in the morning, then a combined rehearsal in the afternoon - words can't express the amusement at hearing 400-odd singers try to follow the direction of the indomitable Fred, who was horribly enthusiastic and also kind of hilarious, even while he was encouraging us to do things to the music that would make Christie cry.
This was generally followed by an evening performance in one sweatbox theatre or another, culminating in the gala closing concert which was... kind of like the last two songs at the YAV annual concert only with many more warbling singers and seriously shameful choralography. Hundreds of voices, a predominantly grey-haired audience, and conductors who were unable to do just one run through of their songs. I'll freely admit I had my pants rolled up to the knee began-style, thankfully hidden behind the other rows.
And speaking of pants... I've learned to never judge a choir by their pantaloons. We've been lamenting our lack of a national costume while watching all the choirs sparkle and use props that look like rabbit tails and the infamous ugg/legging combo (still don't know if they left their costume somewhere or if someone thought they looked GOOD like that. But then there's a sense of relief that we don't have some epically embarrassing costume.
That being said, if anyone can pull off shiny gold satin pantaloons (think Aladdin), it would be the girls from Denmark, who incidentally -and most deservingly - won Kathaumixw's Choir of the World award. One of the ladies suggested we do a nude photo shoot (well, with just our necklaces on) to raise money like friends in her church group did (oh the wrongness of that sentence), but... yeah hell no.
There are skirts and ruffles and such galore, and it almost makes me nostalgic for the days of the opal blouse or orange scarf.
Hey, I said almost.
We did come second in one of the categories, which inspired perhaps a little more public whooping than is considered decent, but we are Aussies and I personally think we were pretty restrained. And at least we weren't stone cold bitches like some of the other groups. Actually, we're getting along pretty well for the most part, considering how different everyone is.
It's a delicate balance sometimes between being yourself and not stepping on peoples toes. Especially when everyone is tired and nervous and out of their comfort zone. At least we're all pretty much in the same position. iPods are an excellent thing sometimes, if only as a signal to people to stay away. But nobody's lost their cool in public yet. Fingers crossed it stays that way.
So... Highlights of the Kathaumixw experience? Definitely hearing some of the other choirs, and getting a sense of where we fit and what we have to improve. Being invited to a San Fran festival in 2012 by the Piedmont youth choir. Hell yes! Host family hijinks, picnics and outings and our epic lake swim (photos to come). Exploring Wal-Mart and the mall which I hold responsible for my suitcase spontaneously expanding like those little foam men you put in water. Grow Your Own Hernia. Oh, and did I mention I swam across a BIG BLOODY LAKE??
Yeah, I don't know how that happened either.
Anyhoo. We're busy soaking up the sun when we're not working our butts off, and I'm hoping to inspire a bit of tan envy when we get home. Behave yourselves and don't expect presents, my suitcase already weighs more than it should.
Peace out,
J xx
P.S. If you're still puzzling out what kids and swimming have to do with anything, Frankie says relax. It's one of those jokes we were warned not to make during the 'best behavior' speech. Like I could be anything but well spoken and well behaved. ;) Pshaw!! So I'm not going to explain, but if you don't get it, it's really okay.
Back to the advantages of billeting. You get to see inside the pretty weatherboard - sorry, cedar siding - houses, hear things about the town that don't quite meet the political correctness standards of the guidebook, and meet interesting new people along the way. Also, after a few days of takeout, fresh veggies and fruit are very much appreciated. As is the occasional wine cooler. (Shhh!)
There's also that awkward silence at the start when you're sort of sizing one another up and trying to figure out how to play it. Do you play the straight card or grit your teeth and try for a joke? Do you wait for them to ask questions or ask them yourself? How long do you have to know someone before you're comfortable enough to drop your kids off in their pool?
We've been here a few days now, and I haven't had time to sit and write, so pardon the sudden overload.
Powell River is the kind of place that you pass through and think how pretty and peaceful it is, only it's not really on the way to anything so my logic fails. There are about 25,000 people here, an from what I can gather it's sort of like Queensland as far as average age goes, only with snowy mountains in the background and continence aids in prominent view in the local Wal-Mart., The joys of an aging population. Still, they have two Starbucks, which is two more than Rad has.
After Monday's marathon bus-ferry-bus-ferry-bus trek and the effort of being on one's best behavior (Mum, you'd be totally proud) for the initial afternoon, it's safe to say everyone was ready for some chill time.
This is where hosts can be awesome, because I guess they figured what better way to welcome a bunch of Aussies than with a barbie?
I'll say one thing about Powell River people, it may be a smallish town, but they definitely know how to throw a good party. We got burgers and awesome salad, people who weren't on Sudafed got beer (dammit!), and Christie got her cherries. Win all round, I'd say, as well as the most beautiful unorthodox rehearsal venue ever: a grassy hill overlooking the mountains, ocean and clear blue sky. Definitely beats 'random corridor' and 'men's bathroom' as experienced on previous tours.
Since it's so late in the week and by the time I post this our Kathaumixw experience will be pretty much over, I won't go on about the competitions and stuff, only to say that it was a pretty tiring week for everyone. Most days we had a comp in the morning, then a combined rehearsal in the afternoon - words can't express the amusement at hearing 400-odd singers try to follow the direction of the indomitable Fred, who was horribly enthusiastic and also kind of hilarious, even while he was encouraging us to do things to the music that would make Christie cry.
This was generally followed by an evening performance in one sweatbox theatre or another, culminating in the gala closing concert which was... kind of like the last two songs at the YAV annual concert only with many more warbling singers and seriously shameful choralography. Hundreds of voices, a predominantly grey-haired audience, and conductors who were unable to do just one run through of their songs. I'll freely admit I had my pants rolled up to the knee began-style, thankfully hidden behind the other rows.
And speaking of pants... I've learned to never judge a choir by their pantaloons. We've been lamenting our lack of a national costume while watching all the choirs sparkle and use props that look like rabbit tails and the infamous ugg/legging combo (still don't know if they left their costume somewhere or if someone thought they looked GOOD like that. But then there's a sense of relief that we don't have some epically embarrassing costume.
That being said, if anyone can pull off shiny gold satin pantaloons (think Aladdin), it would be the girls from Denmark, who incidentally -and most deservingly - won Kathaumixw's Choir of the World award. One of the ladies suggested we do a nude photo shoot (well, with just our necklaces on) to raise money like friends in her church group did (oh the wrongness of that sentence), but... yeah hell no.
There are skirts and ruffles and such galore, and it almost makes me nostalgic for the days of the opal blouse or orange scarf.
Hey, I said almost.
We did come second in one of the categories, which inspired perhaps a little more public whooping than is considered decent, but we are Aussies and I personally think we were pretty restrained. And at least we weren't stone cold bitches like some of the other groups. Actually, we're getting along pretty well for the most part, considering how different everyone is.
It's a delicate balance sometimes between being yourself and not stepping on peoples toes. Especially when everyone is tired and nervous and out of their comfort zone. At least we're all pretty much in the same position. iPods are an excellent thing sometimes, if only as a signal to people to stay away. But nobody's lost their cool in public yet. Fingers crossed it stays that way.
So... Highlights of the Kathaumixw experience? Definitely hearing some of the other choirs, and getting a sense of where we fit and what we have to improve. Being invited to a San Fran festival in 2012 by the Piedmont youth choir. Hell yes! Host family hijinks, picnics and outings and our epic lake swim (photos to come). Exploring Wal-Mart and the mall which I hold responsible for my suitcase spontaneously expanding like those little foam men you put in water. Grow Your Own Hernia. Oh, and did I mention I swam across a BIG BLOODY LAKE??
Yeah, I don't know how that happened either.
Anyhoo. We're busy soaking up the sun when we're not working our butts off, and I'm hoping to inspire a bit of tan envy when we get home. Behave yourselves and don't expect presents, my suitcase already weighs more than it should.
Peace out,
J xx
P.S. If you're still puzzling out what kids and swimming have to do with anything, Frankie says relax. It's one of those jokes we were warned not to make during the 'best behavior' speech. Like I could be anything but well spoken and well behaved. ;) Pshaw!! So I'm not going to explain, but if you don't get it, it's really okay.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Umbrellas and sushi and buses, oh my!
Me again, at least until I persuade someone else to write something. Possiblywith maple candy, which is proving to be a hit among the group.
Today inclass rehearsal we learnt the following:
A) When the hotel double book your rehearsal room, sometimes you have to suck it up and head for wherever is available. I'm sure Christie appreciated having us right on top of her in the 4x4 lounge on the 10th floor. Definitely hard to hide at any rate.
B) Public transport is not the enemy. Unless a bum takes a shine to a random group of girls and sits right in the middle. Hobotastic!
C) They drive on the opposite side of the road here. (Did I say that one already? Seems important). Look LEFT first.
D) Everything tends to be bigger in Vancouver. Drinks. Sushi boats. The world's most gross-but-tasty-looking chocolate coated apples. Drugstores. Etc etc. I feel a joke about something else is necessary here, but so I don't get blamed for it later I'll just let you insert your own.
----
On the more serious side of things, we had a workshop today with the leader of Elektra Women's Chorus. It's always good to pick up new techniques, and now the altos have no excuse for whinging when they have to sing high notes. Top C, ladies. We all heard it. ;)
Off to Powell River at the a*** crack of dawn for the *real* business end of things. Wish us luck! J x
Today in
A) When the hotel double book your rehearsal room, sometimes you have to suck it up and head for wherever is available. I'm sure Christie appreciated having us right on top of her in the 4x4 lounge on the 10th floor. Definitely hard to hide at any rate.
B) Public transport is not the enemy. Unless a bum takes a shine to a random group of girls and sits right in the middle. Hobotastic!
C) They drive on the opposite side of the road here. (Did I say that one already? Seems important). Look LEFT first.
D) Everything tends to be bigger in Vancouver. Drinks. Sushi boats. The world's most gross-but-tasty-looking chocolate coated apples. Drugstores. Etc etc. I feel a joke about something else is necessary here, but so I don't get blamed for it later I'll just let you insert your own.
----
On the more serious side of things, we had a workshop today with the leader of Elektra Women's Chorus. It's always good to pick up new techniques, and now the altos have no excuse for whinging when they have to sing high notes. Top C, ladies. We all heard it. ;)
Off to Powell River at the a*** crack of dawn for the *real* business end of things. Wish us luck! J x
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Summertime (and the livin' is easy)...
Airports are funny places. Full of people trapped in one spot, most waiting for their turn to go somewhere. Full of hello and goodbye, though at the rather uncivilized time of 5am (I have heard some people *choose* to get up this early, but I'm still resolutely on Eastern Student Time), any energy people might have for long Hollywood goodbye scenes is buried under the lingering fog of sleep deprivation.
We list our stolen hours like a roll call on an honor roll of the battle weary. Three hours. Two hours. Half.
There's a point when you look at the clock and realise that there's no use going to bed. My own bedtime of late generally happens around about the time I had to wake up Friday morning, which is not at all an indication of my ability to waste time on the Internet when i should be writing essays.
A lot of people have wanted to know whether I was excited about tour this week, and honest answer was generally "not yet". The thrill of packing and plane food wore off years ago. Now that we've been here for a couple of days and have had a chance to get out into the city and look around a bit, it's still not entirely real. Nevertheless. I'm sure it will sink in eventually. I've always been a slow learner. ;)
Some things about Vancouver and the tour in general, without naming any names.
1. Never trust anyone who says they just want to go for a casual walk around Stanley Park. This leads to cliffs and blisters and is nothing like one of those sports montages where the lagging team catches up and overtakes the leaders through sheer determination. Mainly because we were too busy contemplating a spot of rock-climbing and cursing our sheep-like tendencies to bother staging a coup.
2. 16oz of coffee is not equivalent to a grande latte at Cibo. 16oz is a SOUP BOWL. Excellent for perking up post flight, not so great later with no toilets in the vicinity. Also, the ensuing chattiness freaks people out.
3. They really do say 'eh' a lot here. Also 'bud', 'buddy', and other variants. They even have it on t-shirts. (It's not the same in an Australian accent. Really)
4. Be careful about talking to strange men, even if they have candy. This may lead to conversations about stand-up comedy and how a certain film industry has created unrealistic ideals about a certain act (I'm trying to keep this clean for those of you who might be parents). It will at least make for an interesting story later, and - double bonus - there's maple candy. Which is possibly the best thing ever.
Anyway. I did actually have a direction in mind for this post, but I seem to have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Turn left at Ramble St and head down to Nonsense Avenue. Those of you who don't know me can blame the Tylenol Forte. Those of you who do... you should know better than to expect succinctness.
The long and, well, long of it is; we are safe, relatively intact and hopefully all having a great time. Or at least I know I am, and haven't heard anything to the contrary. Nobody's been arrested yet, at any rate.
Over and out,
J x
We list our stolen hours like a roll call on an honor roll of the battle weary. Three hours. Two hours. Half.
There's a point when you look at the clock and realise that there's no use going to bed. My own bedtime of late generally happens around about the time I had to wake up Friday morning, which is not at all an indication of my ability to waste time on the Internet when i should be writing essays.
A lot of people have wanted to know whether I was excited about tour this week, and honest answer was generally "not yet". The thrill of packing and plane food wore off years ago. Now that we've been here for a couple of days and have had a chance to get out into the city and look around a bit, it's still not entirely real. Nevertheless. I'm sure it will sink in eventually. I've always been a slow learner. ;)
Some things about Vancouver and the tour in general, without naming any names.
1. Never trust anyone who says they just want to go for a casual walk around Stanley Park. This leads to cliffs and blisters and is nothing like one of those sports montages where the lagging team catches up and overtakes the leaders through sheer determination. Mainly because we were too busy contemplating a spot of rock-climbing and cursing our sheep-like tendencies to bother staging a coup.
2. 16oz of coffee is not equivalent to a grande latte at Cibo. 16oz is a SOUP BOWL. Excellent for perking up post flight, not so great later with no toilets in the vicinity. Also, the ensuing chattiness freaks people out.
3. They really do say 'eh' a lot here. Also 'bud', 'buddy', and other variants. They even have it on t-shirts. (It's not the same in an Australian accent. Really)
4. Be careful about talking to strange men, even if they have candy. This may lead to conversations about stand-up comedy and how a certain film industry has created unrealistic ideals about a certain act (I'm trying to keep this clean for those of you who might be parents). It will at least make for an interesting story later, and - double bonus - there's maple candy. Which is possibly the best thing ever.
Anyway. I did actually have a direction in mind for this post, but I seem to have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Turn left at Ramble St and head down to Nonsense Avenue. Those of you who don't know me can blame the Tylenol Forte. Those of you who do... you should know better than to expect succinctness.
The long and, well, long of it is; we are safe, relatively intact and hopefully all having a great time. Or at least I know I am, and haven't heard anything to the contrary. Nobody's been arrested yet, at any rate.
Over and out,
J x
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