Tuesday 1st June (continued)

Rancho Silvestre turned out to be a large conference centre complex overlooked by wooded hills on all sides. After finding our rooms and unloading the luggage we made our way to the main hall, where we would be performing during the festival. A glimpse of the swimming pools reassured us that we wouldn't be roughing it.

Sound checking in the main hall

Inside the hall we were introduced to the sound technicians who were (seemingly) finishing the set-up of the PA (sound system). After a few minutes of testing their English and our Portuguese it was clear that we'd need a translator on hand, but Renata was there with us and once we'd established the basics we were able to (mostly) get by with waving and pointing. We stood on the stage holding our instruments and they flitted amongst us with microphones, stands and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of cables, weaving us into symbiosis with their system. Each of us was processed in turn, told when to play and when to stop while mysterious twiddling went on until the sound boomed out across the hall. The sound was very echoey in the empty space (especially the very boomy drum) but a room full of dancers would soak up this excessive resonance and in a (relatively) short time we were ready to all play together to sort out the final balance.

It was all going really well up to then.

Getting the right set-up for a live band can be tricky but it's not rocket science. The main objective is to amplify each of the musicians so they can be heard in the hall but almost as important is getting the right level in the monitors - the little speakers on the stage - so the band members can hear each other. If the monitors aren't set up well it can be difficult, frustrating or, at it's worst, impossible to play as you can't hear what you or your bandmates are doing.

Once we started to play together it was clear that the monitors weren't working. We waved and gestured while the sound guys fiddled with the controls and the equipment and slowly things improved, but for some reason they could only get my speaker to work very, very quietly (apart from a lot of humming and hissing). After twiddling the controls they decided to replace the cable that connected it to the rest of the system. Then they replaced that one. Then they replaced the speaker with another one four times the size, moved the original one to the other side of me with a microphone in front of it, and replaced the cable again. Still no joy. Eventually it was decided that this was a Big Job and we were released to have lunch while the system was given a more exhaustive going over.

After a splendid lunch (with a huge dessert selection - a harbinger of temptations to come) my dark forebodings had receded somewhat and we returned to the hall to finish the sound check. The speaker set-up had changed yet again but was only marginally better than before, not an encouraging sign. We pressed on despite tempers beginning to fray amongst the band - sound checking can be a wearying chore even when things are going smoothly. To have to 'perform' on your own in fits and starts, on demand and often at short notice, broken up with long periods of waiting and occasional blasts of deafening feedback, and knowing that what gets set up will have an enormous effect on how you will be heard later - it can soon start to wear you down. After what felt like hours the system was performing slightly better than before (although I may have been desperate to think so) and we decided that it was good enough and fled the scene.

The sound check had left me pessimistic about how our performances would go - not an uncommon reaction for me - but the day had also had its successes. We'd worked on our repertoire and set lists for the week and checked with the organisers that there would be people to teach the appropriate dances for each of them. I'd restrung the guitar. Bill, Rory & I had found some time to play through some instrumental numbers in our room and had come up with some interesting new ideas for a couple of them. And, in my role of communications facilitator, I'd set up my laptop so people could check their email and Lucy could Skype with her family back home. There were some dark clouds on the horizon but lots of things were going well. And we were still in Brazil!

Wednesday 2nd June

Morning view from my laptop

My body was still under the impression that 4am was a good time to wake, but at least it was getting easier to go back to sleep. After another couple of hours of repose I silently (well, softly) rose, washed & dressed, and headed out to enjoy the relative stillness of the morning hours. And to try to catch up on my diary entries, now lagging by a day and a half.

It was a cool and cloudy morning, pleasant from a Scottish perspective although probably arctic (or antarctic?) by Brazillian standards - it didn't seem to have tempted many of them out of their beds. The hotel staff, the only other people around, smiled at me as if to a potentially crazy person, and who's to say that they were wrong? Sometimes I think that it's part of a tourist's duties to provide eccentric entertainment for the locals, to simultaneously confirm that people are all the same under the skin and that the world is full of strangeness and wonder. The cleaning staff and I shared this ephemeral space, our common humanity acknowledged in a smile while we were all in some sense aliens there - temporary visitors serving the 'real' residents. The unfamiliar screeching of strange birds overhead somehow completed the scene in a way I couldn't explain, as if there was a Great Truth here that was just beyond my comprehension but that my soul could sense. A special way to start the day.

Followed by breakfast, of course. I met the rest of the band as we tucked in to the usual vast spread and we laid plans for the day, starting with a long overdue rehearsal.

Rehearsing

It was good to play together again. Although we'd only been in Brazil for three days it seemed like we'd spent ages recovering from the journey and playing tourist and it was good to focus on what we had come here to do, and what had brought us together in the first place. After a sharing circle - our usual start to a band event where we each talk about how we are and what's going on for us - we started working our way through the set list for the evening's performance. There was the odd wrinkle and rusty moment, as was to be expected, but this was far outweighed by the joy of making music together again, having our very different contributions weave together to create something harmonious and whole.

With a very positive rehearsal behind us there was a growing sense of confidence and optimism about the evening's performance, and with a hearty lunch under our belts we settled into our free afternoon in a much more sanguine mood.

We returned to the hall to complete the sound check and set-up late in the afternoon. In theory this should have been just a confidence check of the settings and levels that had been sorted out earlier but after the problems with the monitors yesterday there was potentially a lot more work to be done. My post-rehearsal aplomb took a bit of a wobble but still carried me along, even if the sound system was barely functional we'd put on a good show.

Things had not miraculously improved overnight. Leon, our sound engineer, twiddled and adjusted various controls on the mixing desk but there was still virtually nothing coming through to us. Gloom was hovering in the shadows, waiting to pounce, when suddenly inspiration struck and I looked on the back of the mute monitors to find they had volume controls, each set very, very low. A quick adjustment and sound burst forth from them, bringing relief and joy in its wake. We quickly worked through all the microphones and instruments to make sure they were all coming through and with this confirmed we trooped off to dinner with something of a spring in our collective stride.

The view from the stage

We arrived at the hall early to make our final preparations for the gig. Instruments, stands, chairs and various other bits & bobs were carefully positioned, strings were tuned, microphones were tapped and one-two'd, and our stage attire was given a careful last check. All being well we sat down to await the start of the evening's programme.

Getting sessions to begin on time during large events is always a challenge, especially so with the first slot where people are greeting old friends, the logistics haven't quite bedded in, and the million and one things that hadn't been foreseen suddenly pop up and have to be dealt with. But somehow order was coaxed and bullied out of the chaos and a mere fifteen minutes after the scheduled start time all 250 of us were arranged in circles around the spectacular centrepiece, each person holding an unlit candle and a square of cellophane to provide a decorative yet protective wax catcher. We were taught the simple dance that was to be the starting dance for every evening's programme, were attuned to the spirit of the festival (in Portuguese, but Frances provided a simultaneous translation), lit our candles, and as the music started the festival of dance began.

The music itself was, to my ears, very cheesy and clichéd, sounding like an extended version of a 60s TV show theme, but the atmosphere generated by so many people dancing in a big hall lit purely by candlelight was magical. An excellent start.

While we were being arranged and organised at the startI'd jokingly asked Lucy to guess when we'd actually start playing. She'd gone for 25 minutes after the opening ceremony had started while I'd gone for 35, and it was good to see youthful optimism triumphing over crusty cynicism. At 9:10pm we were up on stage, the dance had been taught, and it was time to, er, face the music.

Waiting to start

We were starting with Enas Mythos, an old favourite from the early days of Sacred Dance that had been requested by the organisers and that we'd learnt specifically for our Brazilian trip. I'd long since stopped teaching it as it had become tediously familiar over the years and didn't feel 'authentic' to me, but returning to it as a musician I'd found that it was actually quite a nice tune. It was a bit of a risk to start off with it as it was still a bit fresh and 'green' in our repertoire but we played it well and it went down to general approval and applause.

We'd survived the difficult first dance. However it wasn't really typical of our style so the next one was likely to be the real test. We'd gone for Lute Lute / Buka Ere, a Rom (Gypsy) medley that went from a deceptively quiet start to a full-blooded finish featuring Rory on gajda, the fearsome Balkan goatskin bagpipe. As we thundered along I could see the dancing line weaving back and forth, filling the hall with a tumultuous tangle of happily bouncing dancers, and as we sounded our dramatic climax we were met with a roar of cheering and applause. We had passed the test with honours, distinction and would probably have received a row of gold stars too if they had been available.

The rest of our set was met with similar acclaim. We'd planned on a varied selection of tunes to show off our range and versatility and they'd all gone down really well. In a final display of professionalism we finished on the dot of the hour we'd been asked to fill, took our final bows, and stepped back to let the rest of the evening proceed while we basked in our well deserved pride.

The remainder of the programme was made up of dances to recorded music, which turned out to consist of a rather odd selection, at least from my perspective. Mostly fun and bouncy dances they ranged from (vaguely) familiar 'oldies' through to unusual choreographies with strange musical accompaniment - the weirdest being one that sounded like a japanese TV commercial. It was all good fun and we all stayed on and joined in with the frivolity.

Eventually the evening came to a close and after a short visit to the bar for a couple of celebratory Brazilian beers it was jiggedy-jig back home to hose myself down and flop into my welcoming bed. It had been an excellent way to start the festival and my forebodings had been put to rest. Could it continue this way?

Thursday 3rd June

Frances drops in on our alfresco breakfast

Thursday morning was warm and sunny, a bit more 'Brazilian' than the previous days. After my (by now) usual early morning routine of catching up with the diary I arrived at the dining room to find my bandmates ensconced outside, enjoying an alfresco breakfast. None of the Brazilians followed our example - for them I suspect that it was still midwinter weather - but they greeted us warmly as they passed, no doubt tickled by the antics of the crazy foreigners.

Our morning rehearsal was scheduled for the large room we'd been in the day before but the day was so inviting that we decided to play outside in our breakfast nook, at least until someone told us to move. Instruments and set lists were retrieved and we started to play.

Within minutes we had become a tourist attraction. Many of the festival participants came to take photos but it was interesting to see that rather than take pictures of the band they would get their friends to take pictures of themselves standing in front of us. They were polite and respectful, keeping out of our way and not distracting us while we were playing and asking if it was OK if we were between songs, but it seemed like our purpose was to be an Interesting Thing that they could document themselves as having visited. I got a sense of what the Eifel Tower must feel like.

Today was to be the first of my afternoon dance sessions. There were too many participants to teach all at once so they had been split into three groups who were rotated through the various workshops on offer. I was under strict instructions to do the same dances to the same music each time, a new experience for me and one that I hoped wouldn't cramp my trademark style.

The inviting warmth of the dance workshop room

I arrived in good time, primped and prepared, and found the dance space locked. After a slightly nervous period of scurrying around I found one of the English speaking members of the organising team who found a member of the hotel staff who (eventually) found the correct key and we were in. The sound system was explained to me (it turned out to be one of the powered speakers that we'd used for monitors so I was by now familiar with the controls) but as I tried it out I found there was a very strong echo for the far wall which, in the middle of the room, muddied the sound enough to make the rhythm difficult to make out. Not great for a dance workshop, especially one featuring tricky rhythms. I moved the table and speaker to the middle of the long side of the room where the echoes would be the least, only to find that the power cable had an earth prong while the socket didn't have a slot for it. More scurrying, slightly more urgently this time, resulted in an extension lead that had the required combination of prongs and slots and we were ready to go.

The workshop went well but was hard work - for me at least! There are all sorts of extra problems to deal with when teaching a large group (there were about 70 in the circle) and having to use a translator can slow things down and dampen the flow of the teaching, especially with a wordy teacher like me. Luckily Frances had been assigned to be my Portuguese voice and she was wonderful, quick and clear so the rhythm of the teaching was preserved. Even so I automatically cut down on the amount I was saying and resorted to demonstrating the steps with lots of mime, gesturing and sound effects - meaningless words that somehow expressed the rhythm and style of the steps. I've resorted to this method of teaching when dealing with non-Anglophone dancers in the past and it's amazing hoe much can be expressed without a working vocabulary. One way or another the essence of the dances were transmitted and we were soon moving as one (or at least a fairly small number).

For some strange reason I found myself teaching in French, something that popped up again and again through the festival, both in my workshops and in the hall with everybody present. I suspect this was a way of making me think about what I was saying rather than just letting the words flow, subconsciously reminding myself that everything was being translated. For whatever reason it seemed to work pretty well, very curious.

The Brazilian dancers were attentive and (in general) quick to pick things up but had real problems with uneven rhythms which seemed even more alien to the South American psyche than they were to northern Europeans. We persevered and, through a combination of their determination and my expert tuition, ended up moving with a sense of union and harmony. Mostly.

I'd been given very strict instructions to be done and finished by 6 and it was with a sense of professional pride that I completed the closing ritual with five minutes to spare. However I'd not allowed for the fact that most of the dancers wanted to have their photo taken with me so it was another ten minutes of smiling and posing before I made it out of the hall. As setbacks go it was one I was happy to live with.

Rehearsing outside the dining room

Hard at work planning the set list

No expense spared for the guest dance teacher

After the workshop there was just time for me to wash my face and change my shirt before heading down to the hall for another soundcheck with the band. Once all was well (or well enough) we set off for dinner and to prepare for our evening's performance. What could go wrong?

On the previous evening the band had played straight after the opening dance and once we'd finished our set the dancing continued to recorded music. Today we were going to try it the other way round - the first half would be to CDs, the second to live music. (On every night there was also a late night session that followed on into the early hours but this was held in one of the workshop spaces after the 'main event' had finished. With my full schedule and advancing years I decided to give it a miss.)

We had arrived early to give the sound system a final check (something we got into the habit of doing every time) and once we were suitably reassured we sat back and waited for the evening's session to begin. Soon the (by now toe-curlingly familiar) strains of the opening 'theme' dance began to sound forth from the speakers and we rose to join the long, spiralling line.

The dances that followed were a curious mixture of playful fun ones and 'wafty' choreographies, pleasant enough but not particularly engaging (at least to me). After a while I found myself sitting out more often than dancing, and slowly the exertions of the day started to catch up with me and I found myself starting to flag - to the point of feeling my eyelids grow heavy. The dances went on and on (and on), way past the time we were expecting to start, and after a while I found myself growing more and more irritated by having to hold myself ready to start while not being given any idea of when that might be. Eventually I went outside to get some air and clear my head.

I was expecting there to be a break between the recorded music and our set and was keeping half an ear open for the distinctive hubbub of a large group breaking into unrestricted chatter. But suddenly I heard Rory & Bill calling my name with a degree of urgency so I smartly made my way to the hall to find that we were about to start STRAIGHT AWAY! A quick check of the instruments and we were ready to begin.

Normally I'd expect to be soothed and settled by playing with the band but there was an extra complication this evening. We'd shown the set list to one of the organisers and I'd confirmed with her which dance would go best with each tune. However when the moment came for the teaching to begin she would appear in front of the stage, asking for "a quick reminder of the steps". Rather than go through the process of showing her the steps and then waiting for her to teach the group, slowing things down and breaking the flow of the evening, I decided I might as well just teach the dance myself, something she was very happy for me to do. For most of the dances.

Having this double role on top of my growing tiredness put me right at the limit of my energy and concentration levels. I found I was putting so much of my attention into looking at what the next song was going to be, what would be the best dance to go with it and how I should approach the teaching (while still remembering to play the right chords at the right time) that I was losing my connection and rapport with the rest of the band. However I didn't feel I could let go of any of my roles without the evening breaking down (or at least stuttering on half-heartedly) so I kept going, presenting a bright, shining face to the dancers while inwardly sinking deeper into my funk. At the end of our performance I packed up and left, alone, partly needing time to myself to unwind, partly not feeling I could face more people for a while.

I found myself a quiet spot and sat listening to the night and texting a couple of distant friends for support - mostly on a symbolic level as it was 4am in the UK at this point.

After a while I went to see if any of the band were still up and around and met Rory heading homewards. He was concerned that I was OK but confirmed that my distant and apparently sulky mood had not gone down well with the rest of the band. I went to bed wondering what repercussions tomorrow would bring.

Friday 4th June

Friday morning broke warm & sunny and once again we gathered at our outdoor table for breakfast.

In addition to keeping ourselves properly fortified we needed to discuss the evening's set. The original plan for the festival had us not playing on Friday as it was reserved for a session of meditation dances but the organisers now seemed keen to have us provide some live music. We'd been asked to play for an hour (the same as for the previous two nights) so we went through our repertoire and came up with a selection of quieter and more introspective pieces that would, we thought, fit in nicely with the evening's vision.

Rehearsing by the pool

There was going to be a seminar in the workshop space near to our 'breakfast corner' rehearsal spot so we'd been (politely) asked if we could find somewhere else to play - far enough away so the sound wouldn't carry and distract the participants. After a quick scout around we decided that the pool/fitness centre building would act as an effective sound barrier so we set up camp on the other side of it - by the outdoor pool. With our paraphernalia spread around on the loungers we went through the set while catching a few rays and entertaining the passers by.

Preparing for my second dance workshop was a strange experience. In my mind I'd already taught it but now I had to psych myself up to do it all again and to remember that these new participants hadn't heard what I'd said the day before. I'd decided to change the order around (after seeing how the previous day's participants had responded to the teaching) which helped keep things distinct but even so I found the question "Have I already said this?" popping up regularly in the back of my mind.

But before I could work through this new challenge I had a more immediate one - the dance space was locked and there was no 'official' person to be found. With five minutes to go I found Frances, my translator, who found someone to let us in, only to find that the sound system from yesterday had been removed. By now I was getting used to the Just In Time style of facilities management - I remained quite calm while the speaker was located & delivered and maintained my cool when I found there was no mains cable for it and another runner was dispatched. Eventually, and in the nick of time, everything was working and I could turn on the music and lead the first dance.

Or almost working. The sound was very strange so I had to declare a break after five minutes while I tried to work out what was going wrong. A Technical Expert was summoned and solved the dilemma (I had been given an incorrectly wired cable for my iPod and was only getting one side of the stereo) and we were soon up and running (or rather dancing) again.

Despite my apprehension about doing a re-run of the previous day's material the workshop went very well and turned out to be a little easier after all. I managed to stay fresh with the teaching, said many of the same things as before but in new and interesting ways (my translator may have had a different opinion), and with the advantage of 'hindsight' was able to bring the session to its conclusion right on schedule. I let the questions from the group lead my comments & observations which took them off into different areas than the day before, which kept me on my toes and helped me stay present and engaged with the participants. A good session.

A very unexpected Brazilian element was added by three parrots who were in cages outside the dance room - they joined in with a lot of the music (especially the bagpipes!) and caused great hilarity by wolf-whistling while I was teaching.

Once again I only had time for a quick wash before heading off for another sound check, but after all it was just going to be a quick review of yesterday's settings...

The sound system for the main hall (where we were performing) had been set up on Wednesday by a group of three or four engineers who, once things were working properly, had departed leaving just one man, Leon, to operate it during the festival. In theory this was fine, all that was required was someone to set the levels and keep an eye on things, but Leon did not inspire confidence. It didn't help that he spoke virtually no English and everything had to be passed through our organiser, who had excellent English but knew nothing about musical instruments or sound systems. But even allowing for this he seemed to have a very limited knowledge of the equipment and to compound things was one of nature's twiddlers - every small adjustment we requested seemed to involve changing at least four controls. He also seemed to have been told that replacing things was a good problem solver and so many, many microphones and cables were swapped in response to what seemed to me to be non-hardware problems. He was friendly and affable but at times it would have been nice to have had someone gruff, rude and competent.

The centrepiece for the hall and the stage backdrop

The sound check was proceeding slowly but smoothly when suddenly Leon let out a yelp - never a good sign when dealing with electrical equipment. The smell of burnt plastic was another Ominous Portent and after some quick checking for flames he was on his mobile, presumably calling the rest of the crew for instruction. We awaited developments. After a long, desperate sounding Portuguese phone call and some investigation work by Leon and the band we established that the small speakers ringing the hall were all silent but that the monitors and the big speakers either side of the stage were still working. The system would be quieter and the sound less well spread through the room but it would still be workable, especially for an evening of meditation dances. The (non-technical) organiser wanted the monitors turned round to face the dancers rather than the band, presumably on the 'more is better' principle, but we were firm in stating that it would be impossible for us to play without monitors.

When we arrived back after dinner the monitors had all been turned round. This wasn't a big problem - they were quite small and we could turn them back ourselves when we needed them - but it did give an idea of how our input was being treated.

The latest plan for the evening was that there would be two meditation dances done to recorded music at the start, then there would be a small ceremony followed by another CD dance, then we would be starting. Everyone was happy.

It actually turned out to be three dances to begin - we started, as usual, with the 'theme' (which was sounding cheesier by the day) but before too long we were up on stage and playing Harsaneek which had been quickly and well taught (by one of the organisers) and which we finished to great applause. But as we prepared for our next song the same organiser appeared at the front of the stage again, asking for "A little reminder of the steps". The dance for the song we were about to play was in two parts and wasn't something that could be communicated in a minute or two, so once again I put down my instrument and took on the role of dance teacher for the whole group, plus the job of announcing the change to the second part in the middle of the sequence. I was not a happy bunny but at least I thought that I could concentrate on the music from here on in.

Before the start of the next song she was there again, this time admitting that she didn't know the dance, so once more I switched into my second role. The dance, Pomaško Širto, was not a difficult one but it was in a slow-quick-quick rhythm which the Brazilian dancers seemed to have trouble with so the teaching took a bit longer than usual. Still, in the end we were all moving more or less together so I returned to the bandstand and we played the song.

As we were getting ready for the next dance (which I was confident that the organiser knew and could teach) there was a flurry of activity on the dance floor. One of the other organisers made an announcement, music appeared from the speakers and as we looked on in confusion the group started dancing. We put down our instruments, left the stage and tried to find out what was happening.

Bill found one of the organisers and returned to tell us that they had decided to do a couple of dances to recorded music as they felt the group energy had faltered during our last song. It was a bit of an abrupt and arbitrary decision but they were the ones with overall responsibility for the evening and had presumably acted in the way that seemed best for the group from their perspective. Not letting us know what was going on was probably just a result of having to make quick decisions on the fly.

One dance led into another. And another. We sat and waited.

Jacqui sings Abba

A change in the style of announcements gave us hop that we would be playing again, but instead it was the start of the Colour Mandala. Everyone had been asked to come to the hall that evening dressed in a single colour and they were now being organised into colour groups. This took quite a while. Each group was then arranged into a series of concentric circles (except for the small yellow contingent who could only manage a single ring of dancers) and the dance was taught - not the slow, meditative movements that I was expecting but a fun, bouncy Israeli dance. The music came on and off they went - two of the band members had joined in but the rest of us sat and looked on.

This dance was repeated, then the groups were merged into one huge collection of concentric circles and another dance was begun. At this point we were starting to wonder if we'd ever get back onto the stage - we'd still not been told anything about what was happening - so Bill went off in search of an organiser and came back to report that there would be one more dance to recorded music and then we'd be playing again. The dance came and went but straight away more music started up - what was happening? When we realised that it was just a repeat of the previous dance we calmed down a little, but when another dance started up we decided that we wouldn't be playing again that evening so we packed up and left, heading for the bar.

It was a short walk through the (from a Scottish viewpoint) warm night air to the building that housed the bar but emotions were still high as we reconvened there. The fact that not one of the organisers had taken the time to let us know what was happening as the evening's programme was changed was the most annoying, especially as we had put a lot of effort into coming up with something that would fit with their intentions for the session. Of the three pieces we'd actually played two had been instrumentals so Lucy and Jacqui had only sung one song. And I had my own upset about having to teach as well as play despite having (as I thought) made sure that there was someone else to lead the dances. We shared our pain and vented.

Eventually the emotive pressure decreased (although the wounds remained). Jacqui and Lucy started up the karaoke machine (a chance to sing!) which led Bill and myself to seek refuge in the pool (snooker, not swimming) room where I was humiliatingly beaten. After a while we came back together and decided that we could not go on without meeting with the organisers and talking through what had happened and what was expected for tomorrow's final performance. But this was something for tomorrow, now it was time for bed.

Saturday 5th June

Saturday greeted us with more sunshine but the mood was still decidedly cloudy. At breakfast Rory said that he'd met one of the organisers and that a meeting had been arranged for 12:45 that afternoon - not ideal for me as I didn't want to have lunch just before teaching but I guessed that the organisers' schedules would be even fuller than mine. We were also told that the proposal for this evening was that we play three tunes, a gajda (bagpipe) piece in the centre and two more songs from the stage.

We returned to the pool area for our rehearsal but spent most of the time talking about how we were doing and reviewing the events of the previous evening. Everyone was feeling pretty low (to varying degrees) and there wasn't much enthusiasm for preparation for the gig, especially as we weren't sure what would emerge (or be revealed to us) at the meeting. We decided that we'd ask to do three numbers on stage rather than start with the gajde piece (that way we'd all be playing on each of the songs) and came up with a selection that we thought would both please the dancers and display our collective musical skills.

Just as we were ready to start running through our little set list one of the seminar groups decided that the weather was too good to be trapped indoors and decamped to the other side of the pool. Rather than risk an Incident over disturbing them (although we were tempted to use the We were here first defence) we moved again, even further away. But the sun was still shining and we rustled up some chairs so we could still play outdoors. The rehearsal was somewhat muted and downbeat but we went through everything and felt reasonably prepared, assuming there were no Big Surprises waiting for us at the meeting.

I made sure I was first in line for lunch and had a good sized salad under my belt by the time we met up for our meeting. The mood was sombre and serious as we took it in turns to say how we'd seen the events of the previous evening and how that had left us feeling, each person having the chance to give their own personal view rather than getting into a 'them' and 'us' confrontation. In a lot of ways this helped but there was an obvious division between the two groups that couldn't be disguised. The organisers' position was that they were sorry that things had been changed at the last minute but they were responding to what they saw as the needs of the group and that was their prime responsibility. The band's main complaint was that nobody had taken the time to tell us what was happening and when we were told something it didn't happen anyway. I added my unhappiness about having to take on the teaching despite being assured that it wouldn't be necessary. There were some tears but the strong emotions were kept in check and didn't build into displays of anger, which was something of a tribute to the self-control being exercised.

The end result was that the organisers apologised for the lack of communication, the band reaffirmed their joy at being here in Brazil, and we (eventually) agreed that we would play three songs on stage rather than having a gajde piece in the round. So everyone was happy again.

Actually I left the meeting without feeling that anything had been properly resolved. The organisers' apologies had sounded somewhat hollow to me and there was a definite sense of "We've said sorry so that's all fixed" without an indication that they would act any differently next time. It was as if they were sorry that we had been upset rather than for what they had done. And my comments about the dance teaching were gently but firmly rebuffed, it was made very clear that I was the one who had made the wrong judgements despite my attempts to (as I saw it) be realistic about what had occurred. From my perspective there was nothing more that was likely to change so I held my peace, gave thanks for what had been achieved, and started my mental preparation for the afternoon workshop.

The workshop went well - by now I could roll out a well-oiled programme and concentrate on responding to questions and keeping things rolling smoothly. At least there we no more surprises to come here. Until the break, when I was told that the group I was teaching today would be doing a performance of one of the workshop dances as part of the evening's final programme. Eek! I moved things along a bit more swiftly so we had some spare time at the end of the session, organised a vote for which dance they wanted to do (luckily it was a landslide and only one recount was required), made sure that the participants knew that this was optional and that they weren't being forced to put on a performance, checked that they wanted me to dance with them, and finally ran through the dance again. Then it was just five minutes of picture taking, a quick wash & brush up, and over to the hall for the final sound check with the newly repaired sound system.

Getting just the right camera angle

In some ways it had felt like a lifetime since we'd been in Brazil but at the same time it was a shock to find we were at the last day of the festival. We had had our ups and downs (to Andean levels) but finally it was time for the climactic final show. True, we were down to just three songs but we were determined to go out with a bang rather than a whimper. We did our last check that the microphones and instruments were still working, waved at Leon on the sound desk, and joined the circle for the opening dance.

As the music faded after the final steps we extricated ourselves from the dancing circle and made our way to the stage. Everything was still (still!) working so with a quick exchange of glances and a tempo check we were away.

Our first song was Lute Lute / Buka Ere, one that we'd played on the first night to great acclaim. Starting with solo tambura but quickly joined by drum and twin voices it slowly built to a powerful crescendo with Rory's driving gajda melody adding the final touch. The dancers responded enthusiastically as the pravo line twisted and spiralled back on itself, adding cheers and whoops as the bagpipe made its appearance. We ended to rapturous applause!

We followed this with Phiravelman Kalyi Phuv to which the dancers did an enthusiastic Rom (Gypsy) čoček and finished up with Sa O Roma - Lucy & Jacqui's haunting vocals framed by Bill's driving percussion and Rory's impassioned saxophone. As we took our final bow the applause filled the hall and we were cheered and celebrated, the popular vote making up for the slights we had suffered along the way. As the clapping died away the dancers started singing in Portuguese, I never found out what it was but it was very moving to be acknowledged this way. We finally left the stage with large grins and glowing hearts.

Immediately afterwards we were surrounded by fans & admirers and the inevitable round of picture taking began again. After basking in it for a few minutes (and maybe a few minutes after that too) we were gently (but firmly) shushed as it was time for the performance dances to begin.

There had been three other workshop slots running in parallel to mine; a beginners class for circle dance newbies, one on African dance, and one based on more modern choreographies. (Or so I deduced, as they were on at the same time as mine I was unable to try them out.) The beginners were nervous but enthusiastic, they had been taught a couples dance with lots of turning while not holding hands - quite a challenge for inexperienced dancers - and despite some wobbles it went very well and they were rewarded with delighted applause. The other two groups did their dances but neither of them really grabbed me - perhaps I was too busy readying myself for my own group's display.

Gadje Dilo after their final Rancho Silvestre gig

The other workshop leaders had introduced their dances and done a quick reminder of the steps before starting. I wasn't going to talk about our dance and I hadn't realised that a review of the steps was going to be possible so we silently assembled in a long line and I signalled to Leon to start the music. We had chosen to perform Syrtos Kritikos to Iokasti's Dream by Xenos which has a very long introduction - a chance to prepare for the dance itself but also an opportunity for nervousness to build up if you are on display in front of your peers. I looked along the line smiling and attempting to inspire confidence (and getting varyingly positive looks in return) then gave my one piece of instruction - an "Aide" to start the dance - and we began to move.

The dance went really well. The steps themselves aren't particularly difficult but it requires a level of focus and precision to be sustained and maintained, in this case for over nine minutes which is a lifetime in circle dance terms. The group rose to the challenge and soon I found myself surrendering my 'teacher' role and just enjoying sharing the dance with them.

Something that particularly pleased me was the way the group responded to the line getting stretched. In the workshop I'd said that it was better to break the line and continue dancing than to hold on in grim desperation and as our long, long line started to stretch several of the dancers started letting go with one hand and taking responsibility for their own segment. The line was broken but the dance remained intact. We finished the dance spiralled around the centrepiece and as the applause rang out I gathered the group in a celebratory huddle. We had created something powerful and meaningful and I took some measure of pride in having helped bring it about.

After the performances a second band took to the stage. A quintet of Brazilian musicians, they played a selection of 'old favourite' circle dances very professionally and 'danceably' while adding a definite South American flavour to the original tunes. Their short but excellent set was rewarded with rich applause, my own being a oart of this.

When they left the stage a choir began singing but I was too tired to give them their due attention and packed up and headed for the bar. However I was too tired to sustain even this so after one beer I trudged home and collapsed into my bed. A good day.

Sunday 6th June

Yesterday's celebrations had gone on very late and there weren't many people around as I took my usual morning dose of peace and quiet (while catching up with my diary entries). As I sat down in the almost deserted dining room Renata, one of the organisers, came up to me and asked if she could have a quick word. With resigned apprehension I prepared myself for the worst - we'd not had much interaction since the tense meeting on Saturday afternoon where we had (very politely) clashed over the dance teaching and although the band's performances had gone down well I could see that we'd been 'trouble' from the organisers' perspective. So it was a complete surprise when she said that they were considering asking me to come back next year and asked if I would be interested in returning! Apparently the participants had been extremely positive about me in their feedback forms and in hindsight I realised that although the band had been problematic (for the organisers) the dance workshops had gone smoothly and had been very popular. I said that I was keen in theory but we'd need to discuss the details and we parted with smiles on both sides.

As my bandmates slowly assembled we moved to our usual outside table and settled in for a gentle morning. There were various things scheduled for the morning but we'd not been told what they were or if we were expected or invited to any of them so we sat and chatted, enjoying the warmth while we chilled. We'd heard that there was to be a final completion session in the hall at 11:00 so we made sure we were there for that. And, promptly at 11:25, it began.

The format was for everyone to sit in a circle while one by one people would get up and share about how the festival had been for them. At least I assume that's what was going on, Frances was doing her best to provide simultaneous translation but I was too far away from her to hear any of it and it would have been distracting for our neighbours if she had spoken more loudly. Freed from having to pay attention to the content it was fascinating to see which ones held the attention of the audience and which ones were essentially talking to themselves after a minute or two. When our turn came Rory gave a short speech on the band's behalf, thanking everyone for inviting us over and dwelling on the many joyful aspects of our time at the festival and the connection with Findhorn, then Lucy got up to add an impromptu and heartfelt few words of thanks which prompted cheers and wild applause. The intercontinental and intercultural differences had been very successfully bridged.

The São Paulo skyline from our new hotel room

After lunch it was time to pack up and leave. We had a new driver for our return trip to São Paulo and instead of the white knuckle ride we had endured out the way out it we were wafter back to the Century Paulista Hotel smoothly but swiftly. Or maybe we were just getting used to it.

Once we were back in the city things began to take on a familiar flavour - of not running as planned. Although Renata had assured us that everything had been sorted out in regards to our stay at the hotel this wasn't reflected in the actions of the reception staff, who wanted payment before they'd let us into our rooms. After fruitlessly trying to contact anybody in the organising team I ended up paying for one night's stay just so we could have somewhere to lie down, working on the basis that we could sort things out later. We dragged ourselves into our two rooms (once again it was boys sharing in one, girls in the other) and collapsed into recovery mode.

Although one of the world's biggest Gay Pride parade was happening less than a mile away we all felt too tired and hungry to go and join the festivities, so instead we set off to get some food. Rather than pound the streets looking for somewhere cheap, cheerful and offering a vegetarian option we decided to go straight to the pizza place we'd been to before the festival (henceforth known as the Best Pizza Parlour in São Paulo). The relaxed ambience of the BPPiSP blended perfectly with the salt 'n' grease of the food and the soothing effects of the beer, we were soon going over the high and low points of the festival with a more detached perspective while providing detailed sociological analysis of Brazilian television courtesy of the wide screen (but mute) TV set. But it had been a long day and after not too long we were headed back to the hotel and from there to bed.

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