Mountainfilm -- Telluride, CO

I'm starting this post off from the Steaming Bean coffee shop in Telluride, Colorado.

This is my fourth year volunteering at Mountainfilm, and I'm thrilled that I get to have this experience again before I embark on my next trip (in nine days!). The Steaming Bean is slower than I expected for a festival morning. Well-dressed, outdoorsy tourists and residents trickle in and out, clad in their Patagonia jackets and Prana pants. The baristas pound espresso and call out "Almond Chai Latte!" without the tension brought by yesterday afternoon's frantic crowds. The door squeaks and groans as patrons enter and exit. The worn wooden floors creak and moan in protest as the perfectly proportioned people of Telluride trudge across its scuffed, ancient surface with their organic, fair trade caffeinated beverages. Because it's Telluride, the coffee shop art is actually tasteful and the music is always good. Telluride is one of my favorite towns in Colorado, tucked into a box canyon in San Miguel county. It was founded as a silver mining town in 1875, but has long since been taken over and overrun by wealthy hippies. A ski lift was built in 1972, and the ski bums, kayakers,  mountain climbers, and hang gliders descended upon the unsuspecting miners. Finding themselves overwhelmed and unemployed, the miners fled to the uranium mines of Moab, and the hippies were free to transform the abandoned town into the outdoorsy, music and film paradise it is today. Telluride is a miniscule town of about 2500 people, partly because it's exorbitantly expensive to live there, partly because it's so isolated, and partly because the original Telluride hippies were unenthusiastic about growth and development. At one point, they tried to ban cars from the city so that all tourists would have to use horse-drawn carriages. While the drastic measure of separating Americans from their vehicles and forcing them to ride behind plodding horses might have deterred a few, the music and film festivals kept the committed coming back.

May -- Mountainfilm

June -- Bluegrass Festival

July -- Hardrock 100 Endurance Run

August -- Jazz Festival

August -- Telluride Film Festival (Argo premiered here)

September -- Blues and Brews Festival

October -- Telluride Horror Show

You'd think that if the locals had been so keen on keeping their town tourist-free, they wouldn't have organized so many magnificent festivals. Poor planning, Telluride. You deserve every ounce of your tourist infestation. Another nonsensical amusing element is that the mineral "Telluride" was never actually mined in this city. However, as the mineral is in the vicinity, the box canyon miners decided (as they chipped away at the San Juan Mountains in search of zinc, copper, silver, lead, and gold) that "Telluride" was a perfectly respectable name.

I stumbled into Janet's highlander with my meager camping equipment at 5:00 on Friday morning. The air is crisp and cool and just the right temperature in the morning hours this time of the year. I relished the feeling of the breeze before I shut the door behind me. The weather in Colorado feels strangely delicate and tender -- as if it's somehow apologizing for the frigid inversion experienced a couple of months ago. As I was operating on a grand total of 3 hours of sleep, I managed to nap through the majority of the drive to Telluride, missing the sunrise and the majestic mountains due to my extreme fatigue.

Upon arrival, I set up my tent and trotted off to the Steaming Bean. It was only 7:45. I had the entire morning to burn, as my shift didn't start until 13:45 and the films didn't start playing until nearly 19:00.

I decided to wander.

There aren't many places better to wander than Telluride, and wandering felt good. Although Janet and Dave had been good enough to let me nap my way to Mountainfilm in their backseat, they seemed to need a bit of together time (as every couple does), so I was primarily left to my own devices. My own devices generally end up immersing me in intimate conversations with strangers and a smattering of lonely introspection. Both are useful, but I need to find a way to lose the loneliness in my introspection and better appreciate the companionship of my thoughts.

My first volunteer shift was as a bouncer at an art gallery for Zio Ziegler. I stood at the door and with all the fierceness I could muster, professionally and firmly requested that the festival goers please finish their wine before leaving the gallery.

Which means I sheepishly/awkwardly asked about four people if they wouldn't mind emptying their glasses.

An example of Zig Ziegler's work. This particular painting wasn't a part of his Mountainfilm gallery, but similar spray paint pieces were. I was able to talk with Zig for a few minutes, and was just blown away by his process. He probably did the piece above in 8-10 hours. He started off his artistic career painting with oils and would spend months making each piece perfect. Then he found spray paint and let loose. I love what happened when Zig let loose.

The best part about being a bouncer was that I got to talk to all the people who made fun of me for being a bouncer. Just about everyone commented on my less than intimidating stature and made a sarcastic joke about how formidable my 125 pounds would prove, should someone escape onto the rogue streets of Telluride with 2 ounces of wine. Once these pleasantries were completed (I endured many), real conversation could commence. I always feel energized and encouraged when able to talk to people as active as the people who attend/produce Mountainfilm. Everyone has a passion in action. Athletes, filmmakers, writers, visual artists, travelers, and poets all meet for the weekend to happily share what they love.

Yes, please.

My evening was less than splendid. I'd sipped two glasses of wine over four hours and had quaffed one cup of coffee. Under normal circumstances, my body would have dealt with this moderate amount of alcohol and caffeine with only a minor amount of annoyance. However, the 3000+ feet elevation gain threw my body for a loop. I spent the evening struggling with nausea and a debilitating headache. The film I watched was called "Expedition to the End of the World," and was quite possibly the worst choice of film for someone struggling with a pounding head and a queasy stomach. The scenes with chaotic music and people vomiting over the side of the ship were definitely the best. Goodness.

The night camping was cold. Very long and very cold.

I had all of Saturday to watch film and wander. I wandered in and out of Steaming Bean,

and then down to the Palm Theatre to start the day off with "Life According to Sam." It's a documentary about a child suffering from progeria and how he and his family cope with the disease. It was uplifting and heartbreaking in all the best ways.

This is a picture of Sam when he was 13. He was remarkably intelligent, had a brilliant sense of humor, an incredibly deep love for his family, and a profound determination to not let his life be defined by his disease.

Progeria is a premature aging genetic disease that affects 1 in 8 million children. People born with this condition generally live to be about 13.  Sam is now 16.

The second block of films was about a man's infatuation with butterflies, the health benefits of including insects in diet (they are high in protein, iron, and calcium, apparently --  BUGS!), and a talk by Tim Laman. Laman is a photographer for National Geographic and had just finished an 8 year project photographing the Birds of Paradise in New Guinea.

One of Tim's favorite photos from the jungles of New Guinea

My third film was excruciatingly difficult for me to watch. A powerfully devastating film, "God Loves Uganda" is about how American Christian Evangelicals are behind the killing of homosexual people in Uganda. In 2009, evangelical David Bahati introduced his Anti-Homosexuality bill into parliament that demanded the death penalty for some homosexuals and imprisonment for those who promote same sex love. International House of Prayer continues to send missionaries throughout Uganda, spreading a message of hate and discrimination that would completely RUIN them in the States, but is accepted and propagated as truth in Uganda. Here's a link where you can read more about this unbelievable issue: Uganda
 

Telluride is similar to Copenhagen in that everyone has one child, two dogs, and bikes everywhere.

I very much enjoy Telluride's collective sense of humor

Gondola reflections

Mountain Village. One has to take a 13 minute gondola ride to get to this isolated mountain resort.

After one night freezing in my tent, David and Nancy were wonderfully generous and invited me to couchsurf in their living room. I was so incredibly thankful to have a couch. And warmth. I'm not nearly as hardcore as people make me out to be.

Can you imagine getting to ride these home every day?

I volunteered at the library venue Sunday afternoon. By volunteer, I mean that my boss provided me with chocolate, gushing gratitude, and asked me to hold the door open for five minutes and smile politely. Then I got to sneak into the Library theatre and enjoy the show with the audience.

I land the weirdest volunteer gigs, swear to god.

Walking home from a stimulating evening at the library, I was accosted by a drunken hooligan. He looked at me, bleary eyed, and stammered, "I know you..."

"Yes, you look familiar," I nodded tolerantly.

"The hair! I complimented you on your hair!" he blurted out, smacking his forehead.

"Which was very nice of you," I punched the consonants as he leaned close to my face and the smell of his excessive drinking wafted over me.

"Are you a lesbian?"

"No."

"Then why do you dress like one?

"I wasn't aware that I did."

"What are you doing?" He leaned in closer and I held his loopy gaze, amused and defiant.

"I'm walking home," I weaseled my way to his right.

"Can I read a poem for you?" he stumbled close behind.

"Sure."

And he proceeded to recite a peculiar poem that involved bleeding arms and ants and psychedelic rain.

"I didn't write that about you," he clarified as soon as he finished his recitation.

"It would be rather odd if you had, given we've just met."

"Have you ever met someone that you knew you were supposed to be with? That you knew right away was your soul mate? Have you ever... have you ever... Right away. You know. Connection. You're supposed to follow that person..."

"No."

"Have you ever wished that everyone in the world would suddenly disappear?"

"No."

"I hate it when people lie to me. Everyone lies to me."

"I don't think people lie," I countered the inebriated fellow. "I think everyone escapes differently. You want everyone to disappear to escape. I don't."

"Oh."

"This is it," I came to a stop a block and a half from my couch. "See you around."

"You're going in?"

"Yes."

*sigh* "See you."

The next day was another uneventful library shift filled with chocolate and interesting talks/films. The only mishap occurred when I accidentally sat myself down in the director's seat (I've always assumed that if you want to save your seat, you put something in the seat. Not in the adjacent cup holder). 

We wove a bit out of the way for a stop at Ouray on the return trip. Mouse's Chocolates and Coffee boasts some superb chocolate bacon chardonnay bark that cannot be passed over.

A bientot, Telluride. Thanks for the festivals, skiing, beautiful views, and bizarre drunken poetry recitations.

Main Street Bagels -- Grand Junction, CO

It's the delicate time of morning wherin the sky is colored with dapples of white, grey, and blue. I'm sure the sun has risen, but it's trapped behind these seemingly delicate clouds.

Chatter in the background about "Jonathan Saffron Foy... Foy... how do you say his last name?"

"See you later, Bruce. Keep politic-in."

The door creaks open and closed and I shiver and glower each time my back is brushed by the chilly outside air.

Coffee pots clank. Espresso machines clunk.  Steamers whirl, fizz, and bubble chaotically.

"Do you have a 12 oz?"

The outside tables are deserted, but the hodgepodge of colorful umbrellas makes them appear more animated. Three reds and one green umbrella --

"Patterson?"

--are awake and open, and the rest sleep over their single wooden leg, waiting for a barista or afflicted customer to unfurl its faded canvas.

*Creak*

Cold air

*Creak*

"Good morning!"

*Ring*

"Hello?"

*Ring*

"There you are! Have a good day!"

I'm starting this post from my favorite coffee shop.

A cool breeze dances through the branches of the manicured trees lining Main Street (a Ukrainian friend called this particular couple of blocks the "Europe of Grand Junction", and it's the only place in this conservative, sprawling city wherein I feel I don't have to work to fit). I can't remember a time spring has been so mild in Western Colorado. We generally have an easy winter, one week of cherished idyllic spring, and a blazing hot summer until late September, when we embrace a perfect autumn. All of Colorado was on fire last summer, this past winter was bitterly cold, and now spring is mild. I would love to just sit back in my chair and appreciate the coolness, but I'm feeling uneasy. Thunder sounds overhead. This weather is too extraordinary to be healthy. Too extraordinary to be simply considered, "weather variation."

It's early morning on a weekday, so it's quieter than usual. This would be a pleasant if the coffee shop music today weren't so terribly unpleasant. A European couple sits on the couches to my right, quietly sipping their coffee and chatting in what seems to be a Scandinavian language.  It's odd to think that in 3 months, foreign languages will dominate the background chatter. The music will still be bad American music, but I will once again lose my ability to eavesdrop.

I packed up my room today. I love packing up my room. I love clearing out underneath my bed and delving into the deep recesses of my drawers (that's what she said). I love knowing exactly what I own and that I own nothing I do not need or use. I hoard books and I hoard art. These are the only material goods to which I am attached that no longer serve a very active purpose in my life. I am very thankful to be so unattached to material items, because it would certainly make leaving "indefinitely" more of a struggle. I suppose I have my parents to thank for this mindset. My childhood was constant movement, as we didn't have good enough credit to purchase a house. We moved from rental to rental, and I enjoyed packing up my room more and more each time. I relished the new starts. Finding different posters to decorate my walls and discovering how best to arrange my furniture in the strange space. Making a space my own became an exhilarating challenge.

My birthday is tomorrow. I celebrated with my family in Moab yesterday, and I'm celebrating with my friends at my house tomorrow evening. My father and I had hoped to set off at 5:30 in the morning, which means that we were lucky to have my mother and sisters in the car and ready to leave by 6:15. I enjoyed sitting in the backseat of the car with my two rambunctious sisters; I haven't experienced such intense horseplay in ages.

Moab is one of the primary tourist destinations in Utah. It is an absolute paradise for lovers of the outdoors, as it offers mountain biking, jeep tours, slack-lining, base jumping, rock climbing, zip-line adventures, and glorious hiking. The Colorado River runs through the town of 6000 residents, so whitewater rafting and kayaking are also popular pastimes. As Rifle, CO (where I spent the majority of my childhood) is everything I despise about small towns, Moab is everything I love. It's clean, friendly, outdoorsy, and dominated by delicious breakfast places with quirky names such as, "The Love Muffin."

Moab is certainly adventure-crazed.

Some interesting street art

The Love Muffin -- most of their dishes are made with organic, local ingredients.

Even if Moab offered nothing else, it would still be awesome. Bacon, maple, blueberry muffins. Yes, please.

After-breakfast hike

Locating landmarks can be problematic for Jaime.

The wildflowers in spring can be stunning. I like the contrast they provide to the slick-rock.

Jaime continues to struggle to spot things in the distance

 

High five!

Seeing jeeps attempting to traverse the trail was mildly amusing

Bikers struggled up the technical slick rock just in front of the jeeps. I enjoy this type of terrain. Hikers are the fastest, then the bikers, then the jeeps. I feel very accomplished keeping ahead of all the wheels.

We headed back to town after our hike, enjoyed some smoothies and browsed a few of the local shops. It was a splendid way to celebrate my birthday with my family and say goodbye to Moab. Although Ireland, France, England, Turkey, India, Nepal, and multiple other countries are inflicting me with nearly unbearable wanderlust, I will miss this part of the world. I used to loathe this arid climate with its sparse vegetation and rocky terrain, but I have finally grown to appreciate the beauty of my home.

Perhaps that's because I'm leaving.