tree and the gang.

in hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to send the one person who has never ever pitched a tent before to go to reforestfest early to pitch all the tents for our group. yes, that person was me. but since someone pitched my tent for me last year and i was the only one who could leave work early, i didn’t want to argue too much. good thing i had convinced my friend warwick to come down for the weekend and managed to bribe him with a lift from the airport in order to be my slave knight in shining armour. so off we went in my little car which was so stuffed i was glad i hadn’t offered anyone else a lift; when carpooling with a 9-people tent there is little wiggle room.

despite our best efforts we got there when the sun was already gone and were faced with the scenario we had tried to avoid: pitching tents in the dark. luckily i am a magical unicorn (warwick calls me that, i would never call myself something that cutsie) and unlike last year i have my own magical pink unicorn headlamp these days. magical properties, headlamps and some amounts of drink were indeed needed. have you ever tried to pitch a 9-people tent? if you don’t really, really have to, i recommend, you don’t. tell the two people who will share the 9-people tent to get a tent appropriate to the number of people who will actually share the tent. since i was supposed to be by myself sleeping in a 4-people tent i couldn’t do that.

in the end we managed somehow and thus i give you highlight no 1:  my first pitched tent ever.

i do apologize for the crappy picture, but in my defence my hand was still shaking with excitement that i just pitched a tent.

many more highlights followed, one of them being that we ended up building homes for 3000 little treelings instead of the originally planned 2000. yes, we were the kind of annoyingly happy tree huggers who preferred to plant another 1000 trees after reaching the planting goal earlier than anticipated instead of kicking it back with a g&t in the shade. i’m usually that much of an overachiever or one to pass up a g&t, but in this case something was different and also i didn’t bring any gin. but in this case i didn’t want to be left out. remember in high school when the cool kids would hang around the corner where no teacher could see them smoke? and you longingly stared at them from afar, wishing for one of them to invite you over so you could be cool too and do silly things. well, at platbos all the cool kids were planting trees. and the more they plant, the cooler they are and since the more people there are, the more trees can be planted unlike high school they will want to invite you over to get down and dirty.

nobody said cool can’t be dirty and we took our dirty faces back into the fairy lights lit forest camp after genie and francois, the forest owner (awesome title!) had planted the 3000^th tree. of course the only appropriate thing to do after planting 3000 trees is having pasta dinner and red wine by the camp fire as well as a tiny crush on the musician. and how could i not if he is singing lana del ray with a very raspy voice that made me wonder how he will sound like after a night of women, whiskey and cigarettes? since i look let’s call it, eh, unfortunate after a night in a tent and i had to share my mattress already (thanks, mate, for keeping me warm!) i didn’t explore that option further. instead we instigated a little zambian reunion and hopped around like crazy people danced the night away. i did so on a tree stump which i managed not to fall off of somehow and at this point in the evening i considered that a highlight in itself.

i remember last year i kept on going on and on about yoga in the morning under the old milkwood tree afterwards so i am a bit sheepish to admit that i didn’t manage to get out of the tent in time this year. on sunday however we did manage to be up and about for a forest walk led by francois. francois is a proper tree man and leader of the gang. he is witty and only a bit stern looking, knowledgeable and you know he shares your believe in magic when you hear him talk about trees.  if you are in the area, just do yourself a favour and go to platbos; ask him to give you a tour and explain to you how trees speak to each other and how a golf course makes for an excellent fire repellent. do say hello to our 3000 baby trees and please report back to me if they are happily growing after a first rainy shower today.

if you ever want to play with the cool kids too, check out greenpop’s website for weekly planting activities or join the übercool ones in zambia this july.  

Me and Mr Defoe.

I guess I can confidently and just a little smugly say that I am not one to get star struck. The only time I did feel star struck, it was a mistake as the person in question turned out not to be a star, so it didn’t count.
Part of it is that I usually recognize famous people. If I do, I’m just not one to faint or squeal and I definitely don’t think Orlando Bloom & Co. are good enough reason to go to Caprice.
I have worked with a few stars and it just never felt appropriate to start stammering at the sight of some famous naked breasts whether they were Beth Dito’s or Natalie Portman’s. The latter especially seemed just like any other normal girl with a bad post-breakup haircut (it was just after she had finished V for Vendetta). It may have also simply been too early in the morning when we shook hands and I hadn't had coffee and a cigarette yet to be properly awake and thus star struck despite the haircut. Now that I think of it, before the guys get envious, I also never saw her boobs as she was very shy and always changed by herself behind a curtain.
Now that I think about it, I might just be so smug as I haven't really met anyone star struck worthy yet. The time I was in Nureyev's house, would count, but then again he wasn't there. In fact he was already long dead and no, I didn't see his ghost. So I guess, you cannot really consider it star struck, I was just in awe by being allowed to walk on the floors which his very talented feet had once touched.

Yesterday I stumbled across this video again:

Despite not missing my old job one bit, I was thinking how it came that I was never on a shoot like this and whether I may have missed out on my chance to be ever properly star struck. What are my chances now after leaving fashion to ever meet someone like him? I started thinking how it would have, could have been. Would I call him Mr Defoe? Probably, but not because I’d be star struck, but because it’s simply polite. Not because he is famous either. I wouldn't call him Mr Defoe because he is The Mr Defoe, but because he is well...older. Yes, my mother would approve. I'd be well behaved, but also cool. Because though he is older, he is also very cool. We’d be a match made in a very cool heaven.
You could call me intriguing. Yes, he would definitely be quite intrigued by me. He'd probably give me a little sexy smile and say Please, call me Willem. May I add that my heart rate is up as I’m typing this? Whatever…okay… who am I kidding? I’d be completely and utterly star struck and yet in ideal world nobody would ever notice.
In the regular world however I would probably start to stutter with a strong German accent as one does when hit with proper star-struckness for the first time. In the regular world he would also stare at my breast and make a sleazy line about the great views of Manhattan. Or he would ask me to get him a double soy latte from the bar while dropping his last outfit from the shoot at my feet instead of in my waiting hand.
Both scenarios are actually quite horrifying. After all, we are talking about The Talented, Amazing, Genius Mr Defoe. So I'd rather dream of losing my composure, even in front of him. And so maybe it is just as well that I have never met anyone star struck-worthy. As it I can keep my cool and so can the stars.