I must admit it is somewhat of a struggle to write this after I dived deep down the rabbit hole, and arrived at the Flamjangled Tea Party this past weekend. It was a magical circus of hippies, children, musicians and open minded folk, all attuned to the great spirit of Love that flows through our troubled universe. The moon was closer to the earth than it had been for twenty years, and the promise of madness was in the air as I arrived at the sun-baked Contermanskloof Wine Farm in Durbanville.
Friday night I worked with a skeleton crew – the hardcore that could not wait until Saturday to shed the shackles of every day life. We watched silent movies, made not so silent by the accompanying DJs. At some point in the evening a dark man with streaks of shocking pink hair offered me some Absinthe from a cup he had fashioned from an old beer can (I accepted). Fortunately I had the reserves of fortitude to resist joining the lone naked botanist dancing on the stage, and take the team back to camp relatively early, in preparation for Saturday.
From morning until dusk, Saturday was spent repeating a few simple behaviours. Repetition is key when attempting to maintain decorum and good social standing during extended periods of inebriation. Myself and my gradually growing team would fuel the furnaces with organic treats and elaborate cocktails, heat up watching some of the outlandish musical acts and then cool off in the dam. This process was repeated several times with rigorous discipline, the strolling between locations filled with wonderful sights and absurd interactions. At one point a fully-grown man attempted to chase a small child who had scaled a marquee pole six metres above the ground. Another time I watched a woman writhing in ecstasy as she toe wrestled with another woman dressed as a bumble bee.
By dusk my task team had reached full force. A retreat was made back to camp to don our evening attire, and engage in some traditional team building exercises. Once completed we headed back to the mayhem, stopping only to prepare our bodies with authentic wood-fire-oven pizza. Adequately fed, we joined the freaks at the main stage”¦and by “˜joined the freaks’ of course I mean “˜became the freakiest of all of the freaks’.
I can’t say that I remember specific bands, or that in my hazy memories I can even distinguish the bands from the crowd. There were top hats and angel wings, paper mâché heads and penis-revealing purple unitards, and all of them blended together in an unlikely but seamless whirlwind of enjoyment. When the main stage closed down I led the team to a further field where the operation continued at “˜Roapy Soap’: the more electronic of the main tents. It was here that things got serious, and of course by “˜serious’ I mean “˜the least serious in the history of seriousness’. No matter how intoxicated the crowd and my fellow team members became, only friendliness, love and joy flowed through us all. I believe my antique novelty timepiece noted that the time was approximately 4:30 when I finally lay myself caringly down on my inflatable mattress, and dissolved into sleep.
Not four hours later and we were back. I divided the team into tight, specialized units. Coffee, food and hydration were initial priorities – after this the higher levels of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs could be addressed, and we focused on self-medicating ourselves with natural herbs and tinctures. Sunday was a beautiful day, with interesting and psychedelic music and a generally relaxed family atmosphere, as all present felt part of something gently unique. Guy Buttery softly took a hold of our fragile minds, and kneaded them like putty with his “˜Martian folk’ music. After midday, as the energies started to circulate once more, the talented Jeremy Loops brought the crowd to a rhythmic bounce with his funky, folky, hip hoppy skills.
A quick whisky to settle the pre-pack-up nerves and the team was ready for extraction. It is never easy changing from an environment of positivity and acceptance back to so called “˜normal life’, and the team had to be handled with sensitivity and care. The Flamjangled Tea Party had affected all of us, and whilst it was a thing of rare beauty and warmth, things now seem a little too harsh and cold in comparison. Also, whilst I will certainly be seeking out some of the great musicians that I saw, trying to discover events with a similar atmosphere and spending more time with small children, I don’t think anything will truly compensate for waiting until next year and heading back for more good times and laid back vibes.
Photos by Sarah Duff.
