The camping idea was one of the things someone put on my Forty By Forty list, but I weaseled my way out of it because I had a picture in my mind of what camping was like. And it wasn't a pretty picture. An army type tent and you struggle to pitch it...it takes hours and everyone is tired, cold and hungry. The kids cry, Dad swears and Mom pleads to go stay in a motel. The tent is tiny and it's freezing and raw outside and you have to sleep in your clothes, with double socks in a sleeping bag and under blankets, or you'll freeze to death. And you can't shower for days.
I realized that my view of camping is based on camping in Sweden, which is interesting because I've never camped there either. My parents weren't/aren't exactly outdoorsy, and I'm not sure if that's because we were Jewish and the word camp had a different meaning, or if they just preferred sunnier vacations where other people made the sleeping arrangements. Not surprising, camping was nothing like my picture, Swedish or otherwise. In a good way.
So, Coachella was coming up, and although I wasn't really sure what Coachella was either, someone had sent me a link of Radiohead playing there during the first Coachella weekend, and I had been mesmerized and transfixed to my computer for hours. Having recently discovered Radiohead, I decided I had to go see them.
When I say recently discovered, I'm not kidding. I've only known about them for about a year and a half, since my friend Andrew had "From the Basement" on his TV while I was visiting him in New York. I couldn't look away, or leave the apartment for that matter. Before then, I even went to parties with Thom Yorke and I know I've asked friends more than once, "who's the guy with the weird eye everyone is fawning over?" Of course, the new me, the Radiohead me, wants to shoot the old me in the face for ever having asked that question. Ugh.
So, without really making too big a deal about it, I decided to go to Coachella for the second weekend, and upon finding out my dear friend Vincent was going, attached myself to him and his plans, which "lucky" for me, included camping. Vincent had already made camping arrangements, brought a tent, sleeping bags and even pillows, so all I had to do was show up, and walk in. Which proved to be quite difficult actually.
I arrived Saturday morning and when I got to the front of the line to get into the big Coachella area, I was asked to open my bag. I asked what they were searching for, and when the woman said "anything illegal... drugs...weapons," I froze. Now, I'm always concerned bringing up weed in these blogs, because not only does my Uncle Ulf read them, but the whole weed thing will so clearly come back to haunt me when I'm running for office. However, it's part of the weekend so I can't really skip it. And, as ridiculously naive as it might sound, I assumed a place like Coachella would be ok with people having weed, so I was now freaking out. Especially because there were two police officers up front.
I took a deep breath and helped the woman get everything out of the bag, so my clothes and whatever else I had brought was now on a table. I had two small identical makeup cases in my bag, one with weed and one with sunscreen. So I felt around among the clothes and found the one with the sunscreen and handed it to her. She unzipped it and looked inside. All good. Then I somehow did the old switcheroo, and managed to put the other one back in my bag, so when she opened the sunscreen one again, she said "oh, I saw this."
With my heart racing, I saw Vincent coming towards me in his Burning Man gear, and quickly calmed down. We walked through some of the craziness and then he took me to the camp site, which was far away from where everyone else had set up their tents. Somehow, someone knew someone, and so Vincent had gotten a special spot for his tent, next to a man made lake, that was not for swimming, I was told sternly, several times.
Not only was it beautiful, but as luck would have it, just outside our tent, there was a pole with an outlet on it, so we could charge our iPhones. Score. And there was a public bathroom that had a sink about a hundred feet up, so I knew I'd be able to brush my teeth in running water.
It's hard to explain Coachella. Or, it's hard to explain Coachella and make it seem sophisticated. And I'm not sure why I'm feeling the need to class it up. Basically, there's a giant field. A bunch of stages. Food stands and beer tents. A charging station for your electronics. A weird "club" tent. And a strange mix of people of all ages who are drunk or stoned for the entire weekend, many of whom are just passed out on the ground.
We headed into the concert area, in about 106 degree weather, and there was no shade to be found other than in the beer tent, but for someone of my size and with my alcohol tolerance level (close to zero) drinking beer wasn't really an option for staying cool. I knew if I drank or smoked anything at this point, I'd be passed out before any of the good bands started playing. So we walked around and found some cool bands to watch, had something to eat, and danced while being sprayed by giant water guns at the outdoor techno area.
The Saturday night lineup was amazing. The Shins, Bon Iver and then Radiohead. I was nervous I wouldn't be awake and alert for Radiohead after a whole day in the desert sun, so I paced myself with the illegals, mixing it up with a lot of snacks and water and rest. The Shins were great as expected and for Bon Iver, Vincent and I just sat in the grass with our eyes closed and listened. It was sweet and soulful and I would probably say that my evening would have been quite complete even without what came next.
The glorious Thom Yorke...
Because nothing could have prepared me for what came next. Radiohead was all I had hoped for and more. Thom Yorke was in rare form, shaking, twitching and spasming his heart out and I was deliriously happy for what seemed an eternity but was probably more like two hours. I was close to the stage for the first few songs but that's always tricky for someone of my height, so after the initial enthusistic jumping up and down, I found a little grassy spot off to the side where I just sat down and listened.
...twitching
I had lost Vincent and whoever else we knew there and my phone had died so I couldn't meet up with the cute guy I had met earlier, but that was alright. It was all about Radiohead now, and it was glorious and heavenly, possibly because I was quite high at this point, but also because of how mesmerizing Thom Yorke is. It had been a while since I had been to a concert or show, so I had forgotten how moved I get by live music and how it stirs and opens my heart, and just makes me feel good. I wasn't anywhere but there and I could have stayed forever.
How I found my way back to the tent I have no idea. My phone was dead, and I was not exactly clear headed and sober, far from it actually, but after a long while of aimless walking, I saw the dirty little lake, unzipped the door to the tent and laid down. I remember thinking that perhaps this wasn't our tent at all, but I really needed to close my eyes and so it didn't seem that important. The confirmation came a few minutes or possibly a few hours later. I had no idea how long I had been lying there when I heard Vincent come in and exclaim to a friend, "Oh my God, NO WAY, she made it! She's here!!!" As impressed as I was with my internal GPS system, I guess Vincent was even more so.
Waking up the next morning, I was exhausted, hot, hungover, but happy. Pleased with myself for having survived a night in a tent without dying, although I hadn't been clear headed and conscious for the actual sleeping part. I do know that it never got cold and raw, in fact, it had gotten quite sweaty in there, so there were no need for the sleeping bags. It took everything I had, and more stellar warnings, not to jump into the lake when we got up. So instead I took a sink shower in the bathroom up the road.
Soon it was time to pack up and this time I helped. Sort of. I zipped up the tent case. Thank you, Vincent, for making my first camping trip so awesome!
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