RWMF day two

The hangover was DEFINITELY present in the morning. But what a morning it was. I spent the earlier part of it in the media centre getting organised for the day ahead. While there I chatted with some interesting people; performers and media alike, who were still buzzing about the last night's incredible performances. The mood was infectiously positive, and the conversation and smiles were aplenty. A quick dip in the pool just before I headed off to the cultural village helped bring down my internal thermometer a bit, but it certainly didn't keep the heat away for long.



I piled into the media shuttle van and was on my way to see the music workshops on offer during the day. The village was much more alive than it was on Friday. People were getting spray-on tattoos, buying souvenirs, and sampling the local cuisine. I had to chuckle to myself while passing the temporary tattoo stand, though. Why not just get the real thing? Much more satisfying. I was having camera problems as a result of being in the moshpit the night before. My flash wasn't closing properly, so I asked two KL guys standing next to me if they knew how to fix it. They looked like the right people to ask; they were packing some pretty serious equipment. Best decision I made. They couldn't fix it, but we ended up chatting and having some good laughs.

I went to see the Russian group Reelroad'b who were doing a workshop on traditional folk dance. People were spinning and twirling and smashing into each other, and having a great time. Bumped into the KL guys again, and we ducked into the Penan hut to avoid the oppressive heat, and we talked smack about everything from history, politics, sex, the ridiculous cost of camera gear, and food for about two hours. More of them came. Then came the food and beers. I could tell this was going to be a good night.

It was amusing to see that there were so many KL people in the mix. For those non-Malaysian readers out there, KL is short for Kuala Lumpur, which is the capital of Malaysia. I think it's a pity that so many local Sarawakians don't attend the festival, because it'd certainly expose them to a bit more internationalism, and a whole lot of fun. Admittedly, the ticket prices this year were quite steep. Tickets cost $110 RM per day at the door, but thankfully with my media pass, I managed to get in for free. I'm starting to really like this job. Still, I think that by charging $110 RM, the Tourism Board should at least put some money back into the cultural village; possibly erecting a pergola over the main stage area so that punters more averse to the mud and rain would join in, and that the performers wouldn't feel like their set is suffering because the crowd isn't going as wild as they should, due to torrential rain like we experienced the night before.

The sun was shining, the beer was flowing, and there were no threatening clouds looming overhead. A good sign for the night to come. We set up camp to the left of the stage, on a small hill, and talked more fun loving nonsense until the performances began. The festivities kicked off with A group called Shanbehzadeh from Iran, who, interestingly enough, had a bagpipe as their main solo instrument which was accompanied by traditional percussion. The bagpiper twirled around like a dust devil across the stage, stopping occasionally to sing in an impressively haunting and mysterious voice. Closing my eyes and listening to the music, I was transported to an exotic land far, far away, not only in distance, but in time. Even the bagpipe had a very middle eastern sound to it, and even its appearance was certainly vastly different to its Scottish origins.


Next came the Kimura Ono duo from Japan, who plucked away with Shamisen. I felt that their performance was more suited to a closed auditorium because of the acoustics involved, but nevertheless they did a fantastic job. The night blazed on with Minuit Guibolles from France, Braagas - an all female quartet from the Czech Republic, Leila Negrau from the Reunion Islands, the Monster Ceilidh band from the UK, and ended with a crescendo with Farafina, from Burkina Faso. It was surprising to see how many bands were using bagpipes. None, except from the UK group were of traditional Scottish design. I suppose it has good characteristics that can be modified to suit the type of music being played, hence its popularity. All bands were great on stage, and I felt that Farafina had a fantastic stage presence due to their army of energetic black men that banged away on traditional drums that hung around their necks. Both Leila Negrau and Farafina had lead female vocalists that were colourful in their presentation and entertaining with their dance. One of my newfound friends said that the woman from Leila Negrau looked like Diana Ross, and I chuckled in agreement.




We drank Tuak (traditional local rice wine), danced, talked, drank some more, forged friendships under the starry skies, and had one hell of a time. One of my newfound friends, KK, was enjoying stealing my media pass so that he could have an excuse to run up to hot girls in the crowd and take photos. Good on ya, mate. The ever present mud managed to creep its pervasive way all over my body and equipment yet again, but given the fun I was having I really didn't give a damn.




The show ended, and I was making my way back to the hotel when I spotted my friends who had come from a superhero themed costume party nearby. Joanna was dressed as poison ivy, and Jacqueline was dressed as Jessica Alba's character from the fantastic four (the name eludes me). They were on a mission to save catwoman, who was drunk and lost, so we all teamed up to search for her. We couldn't move two metres without people asking for photos, and there was only one group of people that wanted a photo of just me. Lord knows why; a muddy mohawked man with tattoos and a beard doesn't seem half as interesting as the masked marauders I was with.



I eventually got back to the hotel. I sneakily avoided the security guards and stripped off to my boxers before jumping in the pool to rinse my muddy self off. The cold water was gooood. Dragged my sorry butt back to my room, got cleaned up, and headed to the bar for some more smack talk with the locals and the performers. Did a good job of not drinking myself silly like the night before. Had to be fresh for the finale the following day.

End.