Paleo – It’s Not Just The Music

It’s paleo week see www.paleo.ch.  I live within listening range of this very popular music festival which I first starting going to when it was a small affair in a field down by the lake.  It is now gigantic, attracting many international stars and  it would not be an exaggeration to say this week is the highlight of my children’s year. 

Nephew Myles is out with Madre for the week experiencing his first “Paleo” which means another body to count at 4am.  The hallway is full of dusty boots and Elizabeth (our little treasure) informs me there are three bodies sleeping in the downstairs TV room.  I make copious amounts of scrambled eggs and feed them to hungover kids who emerge like animals from winter hibernation.  Lucy and Ollie are supposedly camping at the Paleo village campsite but appear sheepishly every morning for a shower and sleep.  Lizzy, Tanja, Zach, Seb,  and Lizzy’s cousin have each crashed with us and I like this part best; talking to these young people about their lives.

 I may get grouchy during this week, worried about whether or not they make that last train up, giving out Milk Thistle for their livers, providing copious plates of food at all times of the day but thankfully, I haven’t forgotten what it is to be 16.  It’s not all about the music.  They meet people they haven’t seen in ages, renewing friendships and making new ones, uniting with people over a combined love of life and music.  Adolescents are good people.  They are cool.     

By chance we had two VIP tickets Wednesday night and so I foolishly suggested taking Madre along so that she could see what all the fuss was about.

She oooo-ed and aahh-ed at all the arty bite sized amuse bouches as we sat drinking rosé perched on the VIP platform opposite the main stage.

“Is that Rap?”  She asked.

“No reggae.”

Passing an Indian stall a strong wiff of Patchouli met us.

“Ohhhh.”  She said excitedly. “Is that weed?”

 Then forlornly, “I’ve never smoked a joint not even a puff.”   

I had to drag her home at 10pm (I know it was mean but she had an early flight the next morning and quite frankly I was worn out by the responsibility).

“I could have stayed longer,”  she said several times in the car on the way home.

“You were the oldest one there.” 

I can’t wait to be 73, when all I have to do is feel the life and the music.