Detoxing in more ways than one

In short, the past 5 weeks have been very busy.

In long, I made a lot of money (and spent a lot of money) in the past 5 weeks. The first part can be attributed to working 10-hour days of non-stop lesson-planning, document-translating, and bike-commuting. The second part can be attributed to Spain-traveling, beer-drinking, and rent-paying.

In the past 2 weeks. I climbed a mountain, reached two different bodies of salt water, and had wine poured on my head repeatedly. We had friends visiting, with as many as 6 sleeping in one room at any given time. We made food together, slept together, got drunk together (and thus had our hangover together). This can all be attributed to San Fermín (i.e. the Running of the Bulls).

Thus, my blog went on the backburner.

In many ways San Fermín was like...

a party, where there are endless friends, shenanigans, alcohol (well, not really endless alcohol), and shit on the floor.

a war, where every time you leave your house you have to be prepared for battle.

an apocalypse, where all the stores are shut down and the only ones that remain open are taking anything you have, and no one really cares what day or time it is.

a commune, where 13 people can peacefully share approximately 50 square meters and only one bathroom, even if they only just met each other.

a break, where I didn't have to think about work or checking my goddamn email.

Now, I'm on a different kind of vacation. There's no one in the house except the two of us, and a dog. And I will have very few classes this month. So I'll be at home, writing as much as I can.

At the Txupinazo in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. See those blue signs in the back of the crowd? 

That's our building. We came downstairs about an hour before the rocket, and we still didn't get 

much further than 5 meters from our front door. (via eleconomista.es)

Philadippy

"Have you ever seen so many hippies in one room?" my father asked in reference to me and my friends at my graduation party earlier this year.

My guess is that his main indicators for this kind of labeling were as follows:

- hair (long, dreads, beards)

- smell (some BO, maybe a little tea tree)

- clothes (second-hand, worn out sneakers)

I think that when I was 15 and I bought a long skirt and started listening to Bob Dylan, my dad decided I was a hippie. Even now when I dress either like a 13-year-old boy or a 90's mom, I'm pretty sure he'd hold his ground. After all, my legs and pits are hairy, I follow a veggie lifestyle, and I still listen to Bob Dylan.

In high school, I'd say I was a wannabe hippie.

The skirt, the

clogs, the

music, the

herb, and the

diet.

But one thing I didn't really have was the attitude. Sure I wanted peace, love, and harmony, but wasn't ready to fight for it, or sing about it. 

I went to all the drum circles, but was usually bored the whole time.

Guy Wathen/Tribune-Review (Greensburg, PA)

That's probably why this phase didn't really last all that long. And Philly isn't really any kind of mecca for hippies. So my skirt was doomed from the start, I guess.

Yet, when I moved here, I never really noticed the lack of hippies.

Until a couple weeks ago. My roommates attended a drum circle (hadn't heard that in a long time) deep in the belly of Fairmount Park. They said there must have been 100 people or so participating.

Holy shit. Where did all these hippies come from?

I started thinking about Philly neighborhoods and where these hippies could be hiding. I've seen dreads, vegans, and yogis all over this city, but not too many I would consider reminiscent of my Western PA teenage upbringing. And I live in West Philly.

One interwebber made a good point on this forum discussing hippie communities in the greater Philadelphia area:

I like to think that folks on this coast are rather impatient with the left coast, identity politics, "check me out, look how far out I am" crowd. 

It doesn't mean we don't ride bikes, drink organic soymilk, eat granola and drive cars that run on fryer grease . . . we just don't wear it on our sleeves. 

You'll find most of what you're looking in West Philly but it's certainly not a hippy aesthetic. Lots of anarchist enterprises in the neighborhood to include a food co-op, tool share, cafe, bar, a land trust and a book store off of South St.

Ok, so you might ride bikes and go to independent bookstores. But that still doesn't make you a hippie in the sense that I know hippies...

When I was 18, I sat in the attic of a house in rural Western PA with approximately 10 other people, mostly older than me, for a drum circle that went until approximately 6:00 AM. 

The house was pretty small -- just a kitchen, bathroom and a large, lofty bedroom that the couple and their daughter shared. They also had a vegetable patch, which at this point was dead and frigid because it was February. The couple planned to homeschool their young daughter, as this mission against government-funded indoctrination was written all over their kitchen cupboards. 

I was ready to leave after about an hour but had to wait for my ride home. There were drums, shakers, space cookies, reiki massages, and a dog. I fell asleep for a while with the dog on the floor. 

That was it, man. That was a hippie household. Off the grid. Truly anti-establishment. But solidly working for peaceful coexistence. And I was fuckin' bored.

So I'm thinking that the huge crowd in Fairmount Park that meet regularly for mega drum circles are not like the hippies I met in my hometown.

I mean, wouldn't living in the big city with a hippie philosophy wear you down? It's a fast-paced, heavily polluted lifestyle that doesn't really mesh with free love.

Or does the city just make you adapt? And if so, are you a still a hippie?

PS. The church linked above ultimately won the zoning battle, but lost the drug war.