Washington - Day 1 to Day 3

 
Where to start? Normally a chronological record would suffice but instead I’m tempted to write in order of the events that made the three days in Washington one of the highlights of my time in US so far. That means that rather than starting with the tour with Nicole (not either of the camp Nicoles), I’ll start with the dinner at her grandparent’s house.

I’ve been forewarned about the behaviour of more southern families. The, to a Brit, reprehensible taboo of people popping in and out of other people’s houses and getting fed, or indeed feasted, and having a wonderful time. Nicole’s grandparents are probably the most wonderful combination of welcoming hosts, good cooks and adamant conversationalists I’ve ever had the pleasure of being guest to. We enjoyed ribs, macaroni cheese, fresh (oh, my goodness, fresh!) vegetables and a slab of cheese cake washed down with New York variety dry red wine. The tour around the Washington Air and Space Smithsonian, and the other main monuments had been tiring enough to guarantee that a home cooked meal would drive us into the living room for a long chat about Nicole’s Mum’s MBA, college football, and plenty about the UK, but not before Nicole’s grandfather took us to see his picture in Vietnam uniform, and began reminiscing over his children and grandchildren. Nicole dragged us back to the living room but I would happily have listened to Mike until he’d run out of family members to show off.

During the last three days we’ve seen the Air and Space and The Natural History Smithsonians and the International Spy Museum. As one would expect the Air and Space Smithsonian was packed with an amazing collection of memorabilia from the Apollo and Gemini eras, space suits, space craft, even models of some of the Russian spacecraft of the time... my heart stopped for a split second when I saw Voyager suspended from the ceiling (not the real Voyager of course, that’s gone where no man has gone before). 

The International Spy Museum on the other hand had its ups and downs. Firstly, it’s the best small museum I’ve been in – well laid out, thoroughly researched and packed to the roof with interesting stuff – but in contrast to all the Smithsonians it’s not free. The second set of ups and downs came about 15 minutes into our visit in the form of the earthquake. Since the previous exhibits had had light and sound effects , when the floor started undulating, the light-fittings shaking and exhibits rocking, I thought it was another immersive trick... then a staff member rushed us out into the street. The effects of the quake seemed minimal at the time: we stood in the street for no more than 15 minutes before being ushered back inside to resume the tour... it wasn’t until later that afternoon, wandering around the Washington Monument that we noticed there was a crack. A full 60% of the length of the monument, the side facing the White House, bore a very visible crack. Cordons roped off the monument on all sides. With a hurricane due to hit North Carolina while I’m out here I’m beginning to realise that I’m going to experience more of the wonders of America than I bargained for.

There’s little I need to say to recommend the Smithsonians. Even if you had to pay for them, they’d still be the finest collection of curiosity quenchers available to man. They’re all within walking distance of one another, the buildings rival the magnificence of the V&A, and everything about them screens “See me!”. It’s a major disappointment that into three days (two lie-ins and plenty of photographic distraction) I was only able to fit in three... I hope to return to see the Holocaust exhibit and all the others, not to mention the numerous nooks and crannies I missed. 

Niagara Falls - Day 1

We arrived in Niagara Falls at about 7 in the morning, at the Daredevil museum which doubled as the Greyhound station. A souvenir/convenience store, the squat building cornered an intersection only 10 minutes from the Niagara State Park. 

The weather was gloomy, a posse of clouds ambivalent on the subject of rain, so rather than hit the falls straight away we wandered round the State Park island, chancing that it would brighten up. The river leading into the Horseshoe Falls ran wide between the island and the mainland, gathering momentum before its final 100 ft fling into empty space; a thunderous, crashing roar produced a never-ending plume of cloudy water vapour that rose up from the river below, the river between the USA and Canada. The path round the island ended at the gift shop, a guy gave us a couple of free tickets to the Cave of Winds since he couldn’t use them, but in the end we opted for the discovery pass – 33$ for all the attractions.

The Cave of Winds isn’t a cave, unless they count the tunnel leading away from the elevator, it’s a route around the American falls. The awe-inspiring drop as soon from the island is something much more heart-stopping from beneath: from above the water vanishes, and the spray’s kicked high in plumes of rainbow-tinged spray; from beneath the spray is invisible beyond the wall of white, a billion drops of water weighing no more than a gram battering over the wooden walkway every second.

At the entrance to the Cave of Winds they issue ponchos and flip-flops, and an elevator takes you down 75 feet to the tunnel on the west side of the falls. There’s plenty of walkway that’s dry enough to shoot pictures from, and plenty of walkway where the water literally rains all over.

Speaking of rain, the clouds took the opportunity while we were ascending in the elevator to try and steal the Fall’s glory. Thumbs up for ponchos. The discovery pass grants access of the Cave of Winds, the trolley shuttle bus (which we never took), the aquarium, the Maid of the Mist boat ride around the falls and the IMAX theatre. As it was raining and the theatre was a short walk away on the mainland it seemed like a good idea to go inside. 

The history is Niagara and the Falls was shot beautifully in the 40 minute film. The Lelawala, the first steam boat to do tours around the falls before the Civil War, was recreated in its last Hurrah! journey through the troubled waters before the falls; the story of the Maid of the Mist was told, of a Native American girl unwillingly married, who sailed her canoe over the Falls, and as legend tells can still be seen in the rainbow of the Falls; of the few survivors who made it over the falls, including a school teacher encamped in a barrel with her black cat, the cat returning as white as fright from the descent.

Rain abated, we emerged from the show hungry and set off for Canada. Crossing the border wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it’d be, no pat-down, no queue, not even any more than a query over my washed-out visa photo. There was no way that we couldn’t go into Canada with it staring us in the face across the ravine, and going there for a lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe and buying a postcard can hardly be said to qualify as seeing the country... but I have a stamp in my passport.

Once back on American soil we went on the Maid of the Mist boat tour. The Canadian side does have the advantage of a walkway behind the falls but the boat rides are the same as far as I could see. Everyone dons a blue poncho and crams onto the boat. The boat pulls out from the dock beneath the observation platform that juts into the void over the river, the motors fight the flow from the falls and charge toward the largest. Foam builds up in the water near the falls, but it’s a thick skin in the semi-circular cove around the falls where the Maid of the Mist turns, tilting into the spray until your eyes can’t stay open. I had my glasses and my hands to shield me but in the midst of the stream all I had were infrequent blinks in which to catch the majesty of the cascading water. Of all the things I did in Niagara, I was determined to experience this one completely, and hence avoided taking any photographs.

The rest of the time in Niagara was spent wandering around, seeing the shell of city that for all intents and purposes operates a life-support machine for the tourism. The same could not be said of the Canadian side, built-up and vibrant. We did visit the aquarium, watched a seal show, and stocked up on food for sandwiches before heading back to the bus station. Had I the chance to go back I would have gone to see the Falls at night, where lights of different colours illuminate the water and on some evenings fireworks do the same to the sky.

The bus from Niagara Falls to Washington, DC, was uneventful... I slept, in complete contrast to the first bus journey, and was fully ready for all the happenings at the capitol.

New York - Day 1 to Day 3

“New Yorrrrrrrrrk, concrete jungle where dreams are made, Oh, there’s nothing you can’t do-ooo, now you’re in New York, New York, New Yorrrrk”. I didn’t write that just because that song was embossed on my mind for the last three days, though it absolutely was, I wrote it because of the leg swinging, head turned skywards walk that goes with that song. In London I usually watch the pavement (sidewalk), a remnant of the time when I read books while walking to school... In The Big Apple the endless staggering architectural megaliths draw the eye up, and up, and up! 

Barry and I arrived off the bus a couple of blocks from Port Authority in the mid afternoon. Our ultimate destination, a cosy hotel on the upper west side, the Marrakech at 103^rd and Broadway, was reached by way of the Greyhound terminal at Port Authority. The discovery passes that we picked up are worth every penny (or will be), 60 days unlimited Greyhound travel, so far the trip to Niagara Falls reads as a little expensive ($550) but it’ll pay for itself in two weeks.

Since more than a dozen Lee Martians had booked in the same hotel, we went out together on the first night. After a tasty fajita at Mama Mexico the group reached a consensus on where to go through a process of ‘Follow that taxi!’, alighting together outside the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square. A couple of Irish bars (and a very bad Guinness and a fantastic Long Island Ice Tea) later we found a club that took us up to about half two. Though rather expensive, NY has some great bars, and the never dying night has an addictive quality.

After a healthy lie-in (getting up at 8:45, Camp Lee Mar style) NY Day 2 started with breakfast and a trip to the post office. Since I’d brought enough clothes to last two weeks, and realised that I could clean clothes in the room on the go etc., rather than lug the extra weight I prepared a Flat Rate box, packed what I didn’t need and mailed it to Petunia the next day. The local post-office was a small affair by American standards, but compared to the one I grew up with – a little old lady behind a sweet counter in a shop one could take a couple of steps to pass and miss completely – is was huge. Compared to the post office opposite Madison Square Gardens however (our first port of call after heading south from Port Authority) that local post office was again tiny. Of the same proportions at the Natural History Museum in London, the respect shown to the posting of letters and parcels was immense. Since I was there I bought some international stamps so I could send home postcards and things, and was a little disappointed that the Pixar film-inspired editions were only available as domestic stamps. 

After the post office, we had fun trying to find the Empire State Building, wandering around using the map the hotel gave us, until we alighted right beneath it... the cost of the accent was $22, a bit much for a view, so we set off in search of the Rockefeller Building to see if it was cheaper. It wasn’t. We went to the Nintendo store next door instead and messed around with 3DSs for a while. 

Walking around Manhattan, NYC, is easy, the streets are parallel, laid out in a grid and numbered in ascending order west-to-east/south-to-north. What’s deceptive is the distance. 10 blocks is a fair distance, and the 60 odd blocks between the hotel and the Empire State Building is more than I’d be up for back home. The subway threw us off the first day as the mix-up between how express and local lines worked made us overshoot by a couple of dozen blocks. Local trains operate just like the London subway, except there’s a additional express service overlaid on the local service, going to only a few stations on the line. 

After StarFox 3DS, we headed to Five Guys for a really good burger. Anyone passing through NJ, NY or VA should check out Five Guys: they use real meat, I mean they make the burgers themselves where you can see, the fries are cooked in peanut oil and taste great and the strawberry ice tea is de-lish. Speaking of ice tea, it’s a drink that the UK doesn’t have so much, I mean there’s Lipton’s variety that I’d drink if there weren’t any Oasis, here there are endless options and some of them are really good. If you need evidence look inside my camel-back...  although it may look like a bag of concentrated urine it’s actually 2 litres of AriZona lemon ice tea! It was in fact ice tea that led to a bonding scenario with a fellow passenger on the bus to Niagara Falls: 

Bound for Buffalo, I sat opposite a man who I will affectionately dub ‘Splitter’, a real gentlemen. Talking on a night bus is frowned upon, but after a talk about London, and about all the people who’ve died and the few who’ve survived going over the Niagara Falls, I was thinking he was rather cool and we chatted for most of the journey regardless. A primary school teacher with some wicked dreads and a good story to tell, he related to just about anyone in ear-shot – including the border patrol officer at Rochester who checked our passports – that he’d been to his brother’s fiftieth birthday. After an unpleasant exchange with a fellow guest of the party he opted to sneak out the back entrance, take a taxi to the Greyhound station, board the first bus home and by ways and means ended up looking at every single picture on my camera. I’m very grateful to him for at the first service stop, before going through the photos during which Barry took a nap, he returned from the station with a 99 cent can of AriZona ice tea to find me and Barry chowing down on our $12-dollars-a-day sandwiches (for the last day in NY we managed to dine together, for three meals, on the ingredients for sandwiches costing only 12 bucks*). Upon delivery of our hopeful tale, of two young men determined to see America on a minimal budget, he bought us a can each... and we made him a sandwich, hence the synthesis of our conversations. Thus it is proven that ice tea can bring strangers together :)

* the ‘meat’ for the sandwich was the homogeneous Bologna of the sort that, were the original animal ever to be tracked down and accused it would deny ownership.

The highlight of the NY trip for me, beside seeing the city itself - feeling the ‘buzz’ - and seeing off more counsellors from camp, was seeing Chicago on Friday night (NY Day 2). I had forgotten to bring the card by which I’d booked the tickets out with me that morning so we returned an hour before the show to pick it up. Before getting on the subway there were signs of bad weather, clouds, what looked like heat lightning. These signs were as effective at communicating the impending deluge as a mouse squeaking “Oh, bugger” ahead of the coming of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Leaving the subway station, we saw a line up the steps, fearful of something above them. As we saw the truth, that if rain were radiation, the downpour would be a lethal dose, I removed everything but my clothes, left them with Barry and sprinted three blocks to the hotel. Steams were rivers, puddles where sinks, my trainers and everything else was soaked before I’d run three house-lengths.

In a frantic panic, this being less than 25 minutes before the start of the show, the theatre a good 54 blocks south from the hotel, I changed, grabbed coats and debit card from the room and hailed a taxi. NY taxi drivers know nothing more than the streets, not where the subway stops are, not where theatres are... and I didn’t either, not in terms of where X meets Broadway. Getting to the subway station after thinking for a while about where it was, I ditched that taxi in hopes of a more informed driver, grabbed Barry from the station and hailed a second cab. Alas, no luck in finding one who knew anything but intersections... I had to call Petunia, who’s internet have been connected only 20 minutes beforehand, and get the exact location. We got there about 5 minutes late. Nothing was ruined, we missed the introductory dance, but caught the first song – ‘All That Jazz’.

Chicago on Broadway is one of the best shows I have ever seen. The dancers’ and actors’ commitment and passion, and talent, was astonishing. Nicole Bridgewater’s performance as ‘Mama’ elevated ‘Be Good to Mama’ above all other songs in the show in my opinion. It’s well written, beautifully choreographed and it would be a mispresentation to admit that it’s not damn sexy as well.

Besides taking my breath away, the only casualty of the evening was my passport. I’d left it in my back pocket in that first sprint through the rain and the picture of my J1 visa is now a ghostly set of glasses below a shadowy mop of hair. It seems to not have been a problem since I was able to get into Canada and back while at Niagara Falls (a blog post for that is on its way).

One last thing in NY that was worth every penny for entry (alas, NY museums are not all free), was the American Museum of Natural History. The inevitable collections of historical artefacts, dinosaur bones etc. were offset marvellously by my personal favourite exhibition. The Rose Earth and Space Centre, I think I have the name right, is in a building overlooking the lawns. The natural light steaming through the floor-to-ceiling glass emblazons the planets, galaxies and moons, suspended from the ceiling in a celestial dance round about the Big Bang Theatre. Before I come to the theatre itself, it’s worth remembering the handrail around the outside... a number of panels dedicated to each, the handrail counted through all the orders of magnitude from the size of the atomic nucleus, all the way up to the expanse of galaxies and the dimensions of the known universe.

The Big Band Theatre itself is a sphere supported in space inside the Rose Centre by many pillars; inside is a section of the sphere that forms the projection screen for the show, a handrail borders the screen and the show is meant to be watched from above. Voiced by Liam Neeson, the presentation showed the scale of the universe in a way reminiscent of the opening to ‘Contact’, starting with Earth, expanding through lower magnifications, rings appearing to show the current scale: 1 light-year, 10 light-years, 100, 1000, 100,000 light-years, until the whole universe was contained within the theatre floor. Then the cosmic background radiation pattern appeared, with a time-line of the universe from the moment of the Big Bang until the present, Neeson’s voice intoning the stages of matter, star formation and finally the production of life. The exit of the theatre led onto a walk-way that spiralled down to the exhibition exit, sectioned into millions of years with more panels depicting the stages of the cosmos... I felt rather old by the end of it. 

Having said a few final goodbyes at the hotel, myself and Barry went down to Port Authority to catch the night bus to Niagara Falls.

Adult Week - Day 1 to Day 6

Adult week may have been one ninth of my time at camp, a whole six days more in America adding to my now-impressive tally, however the relaxed nature of the adult programme – a holiday rather than a development camp – meant that pretty much nothing incidental happened. There’s a lot I would like to relate, most of it to do with sugar, but it is forbidden.

The fog of fatigue that had settled with the departure of the keep-on-your-toes kids had thickened into a smog once the adults were well rooted, a smog enriched by kidsickness and holiday-hopefulness reduced evening activities to half-hearted pilgrimages to church and recuperations in the staff lounge. The loss of the Americans (and if I’m being totally honest, their cars as well) was felt throughout camp, not least by myself as my belovéd Petunia was one among the departed. It was wonderful to reunite with Penelope in New York, though I’d like to know how she and Mr Yee-Ha! got home given that their four legs together were no better than their own two alone.

Myself, Barry and CPFMK were working together, me and Barry living with the travellers in Cabin 6, and CPFMK attending during the day. Adult week would be better sold to the staff as a slow wind-down after the kids’ wind-up. Of the many hours that made up a given working day, too many were spent lying in the bunk attending those who wished to enjoy their holiday in the proper fashion: lying in, lying through and lying thereafter. While lying in bed was initially tempting and welcome, the reduced pace, rather like a sprinter after the finish line, had us tired and exhausted after a couple of days. I took to running everywhere when not attending to the travellers to maintain my energy.

One happy circumstance of adult week was the larger portions that were possible. Not on a restricted diet but instead on holiday, the counsellors were free to indulge with the travellers as much as their stomachs could accommodate... I had thirds at most ever meal for the first few days, and toned it down a little thereafter as the huge amounts of food only added further to the slothful feeling.

If there is one incidental detail that must be related it had to be the devastating effect of Richard Simmons’ ‘Dancing Sweat’... there’s much to be said about the benefits of exercise, much to be said about the effectiveness of dancing as an exercise, and further said about the focused combination of the two. When ‘Jazzercise’ was mentioned as an activity, I thought we’d actually do some Jazz. Instead, we got Dick. There are few sights at camp that will summon a greater feeling of collective embarrassment than the dozen or so counsellors (myself included naturally) doing side-steps, ‘hair cuts’ and plies in front of the big screen, while the majority of travellers opted for expressions of entertainment, bemusement or obliviousness behind us.  I think that Camp Lee Mar counsellors could bring back the 80s all on their own, if only we could find enough leotards.

I bid the adults farewell without drama, and those I will miss I look forward to being reminded of when I see CPFMK’s finished scrapbook. The big affair was saying goodbye to those among the staff who wouldn’t be joining the group bound for New York later that afternoon. Besides being paid, the only upside to the afternoon were the reminders of how good camp had been, and how great the friends I’d made were when we all bunched up in a staff hug and then dispersed to form hug-lines in front of those staying at camp or going elsewhere. Having friends in Hungary, Slovakia, Germany, Mexico, England, Scotland, Ireland, elsewhere and of course America will no doubt come in handy, but I’m so sorry to see the family spirit that has percolated through camp over the last two months spread thin over so many miles.

‘Til we meet again Lee Martians! :)

Camp 7 - Day 36 to Camp End

"Two weeks, bad boy. How could you have possibly left updating your blog for so long?!"
"I was busy."
"With what, may I ask?"
"Six kids, Western Day, a camper pageant, Barry's birthday, a zip-line near-failure, two evenings on duty, one day off, rehearsals for Founder's Day, Senior Fling and Camper Olympics, not to mention travel plan issues, packing for the kids and at least three rain storms!"
"Ah... carry on."

Given this Sunday is the last before the end of camp for the kids, this will be the last blog post before they leave. It'll be nearly seven weeks since they arrived, the kids'll be bundled into buses (with most, if not all, of their luggage sent along somehow), the cabins will be cleared and further farewells bid to the many American staff that won't be staying on for adult week. Adult week abuts the kids time at camp, necessitating a swift switch of personnel between buildings, I have no idea where I'll be moved to (Cabin 1D would be ideal, if anyone in admin is reading this).

Packing the kids is a hopscotch affair since in the physical sense the room gets cluttered with carefully packed bags tucked as well as possible away from the indiscriminant feet of the kids, there’s also the sense that if one kid gets another kid’s clothes camp’ll get a testy phone call soon after Thursday.

[Oh! Meaning no ingratitude to Petunia and Barry for use of their respective laptops but it's wonderful to be using a proper mouse again (on the computer in the staff lounge, which is usually taken - three cheers for days off). Netbooks have their uses, however I am tired of dragging a finger across an increasingly hot track pad.][Update: I’m now on OD on* Day 51, and I’m back on the netbook… it’s an isolation keyboard so I’m not too fussed]

* Yes, I do know that on OD expands to on on duty, and as annoying as it is that’s acronyms for you… ‘On on duty on’ feels like a compounded sin, Dickens forgive me.

As the end of camp has approached, the frequency of events has increased. At Day 49, camp is in the midst of olympic fever as four teams battle for absolute domination. We were divided into four groups on Day 47, the whole of camp: counsellors and campers. The four teams had about three quarters of an hour to decide on a name and a chant, and paint a banner. What emerged from the disorder of ideas were the Blue Bees, the Green Giants, the Tyrannosaurus Reds and the Yellow Yetis (otherwise known as the boobies, a brand of sweetcorn, a pun I actually like and the most awesome team to walk the Earth - guess which team I'm on). Being honest, despite coming first in athletics on Friday (Day 48) I do think our chant lacked the impetus of a true team chant (a rewrite of 'Dynamite', with "Who let the Yetis out?" tacked on the end), and it can’t have helped that we were forgetting the words the next day – before I’m accused of rocking the boat, I was on the writing team.

Egg and spoon race, sack, three-legged, throw the ball the furthest, run the fastest, relay... there was the standard canon, but contrasted against the plain and predictable there were the odd few races which caused a little consternation: cartwheel races were fine, and carrying Liam for piggy-back chafed a bit but was fun, it was the last race of the event where I suddenly regretted not being more sporty. Since it was the last race and no-one else was that keen to volunteer for a 'mystery' event, I took it (since I was taking photos for most of the afternoon I felt I should make up for not being with the group). Walking down the yellow-coned lane, I heard the title 'Crab Race'; I paused.

My first thought was "Argh!", as I was thinking of the crab where you lie on your back and lift yourself off the floor by putting your hands either side of your head and pushing against the ground (where your back arcs and aches within seconds, at least mine does). Rather, we had our hands the other way round... and went backwards. Since I'd not been careful about my wardrobe that morning I wasn't bearing team colours, instead by the end of the race I had transitioned from supporting the Blue Bees to supporting the Green Giants (at least on my back) as shuffling backwards on all fours, on your back, has inevitable consequences when done so on grass.

That evening, the usual high from Birthday Friday cake was elevated further when the scores came through :)… three cheers for the Yellow Yetis!

Naturally victory is a fickle fellow; he rains upon the lowlands before winds drive him away to pastures more welcoming (and in this case, green). I came back from my day off on Saturday to find my team in 2^nd place. Renewed in vigour, the next round on Sunday morning was the Olympic Sing: the chant, a camper solo and duet, and a counsellor song. Where we came I can’t quite remember… joint 2^nd maybe? Anyway, accusations of fixing were passed around as crowd opinion clashed with the judges’, and our performance of Yellow Submarine came in last (no, we did deserve it, it was lame, but the Green Giants ‘Bad Romance’ dance deserved better than 3^rd – “You didn’t sing.” is a poor excuse, we’ve been dancing at camp sing all summer).

We thought we were onto something when we re-wrote ‘Bananas of the World Unite’  as a Yeti Olympic Song (“win the running, win, win the singing!”) but everyone had rewritten something or other, and when even the opponent campers were pulling out songs they’d penned themselves it surprised me we did as well as we did. The afternoon was a spree of putdowns and pull-ups, lots of shouting and more than friendly team spirit (ok Twosie, I’ll be expecting a summons by your copyright lawyers for abuse of ‘your’ song).

Olympic Swim and Olympic Kickball all went down well, and unlike Saturday where it rained for eleven and a half hours non-stop, there was naught but the transitional cloud to darken the day. I wish I could write specifics about what the campers did, as it’s days like this where all the humour comes from the kids.

Moving back to the initial list – Camper Olympics is but one of the things that has taken over the normal routine – the rain has really come down of late. The weather goes through a rough cycle of a few hot days followed by a storm: the pressure builds like the anticipation of popping a champagne cork, and then flash-floods with lots of crinkled lightning occur, driving everyone indoors. The rain on my day off was actually unusual in that it rained for a long time without any lightning at all… at the time, being at the Wayne county fair, we were taking pictures of Sully in front of various farm animals. The downpour drove us undercover to eat the biggest ice-creams any of us had eaten, and watch the finals of the cow judging: “A fine heifer, with excellent dairy quality.” Between bites we wondered what the judge was looking for.

Other incidents and happening of note include Stevie’s zip-line accident, he flew off at the end and I have a great shot of him dangling in the harness, the seat askew; there’s also Barry’s birthday, of which I saw only the beginning… and the end. Then there’s the bet between Duke and Twosie that led to dye-er consequences… having bought hair dye for their respective girlfriends, the bet was that they would dye their own hair if the dye went unused. Twosie, trying for blonde, ended up with a mop that can only be described as a ginger miss. I warmed to it after a while.

Among the camper events that stands out from the last few weeks was the camper pageant. I must say that the costumes chosen for the campers were more targeted towards winning the pageant and less towards embarrassing the pageantee. Since Backstreet Boys has been booming from the CD player in Cabin 1D pretty much constantly since the first Counsellors Entertainment, one of my boys was done up gangsta, and danced to ‘I Want it that Way’ in the rec hall. What stands out most from the whole summer is of course the Senior Fling.

 Our little diddums weren’t deemed capable of maintaining decorum throughout the early dress dinner and the whole of the dance, hence we ate at camp at the regular time. Thank good sense that everything at dinner was idiot proof touch-safe food, we were paranoid that the outfits – suits, hats and so forth – would be ruined. The dance portion of the evening lasted a disappointing couple of hours, my campers went home early.

Then there was Founders Day… The preparations for Founders day included numerous rehearsals of ‘You’ve got Friend in Me’ from Toy Story. I did my bit helping out Gossip and Sk8tr with the mural, painting bits of sky around the sun, the pom-poms of a High School Musical girl (that I thought were trees from my placement at the time), and in some point Petunia. The mural was spectacular in the end: a montage of ‘Where the Wild Things Are’, for which Dorm 1 did a performed reading, ‘Harry Potter’, ‘High School Musical’ and ‘The Sound of Music’… there was a school bus I think tied in with the ‘High School Musical’ bit, nonetheless I was humming ‘The Play Bus’ theme throughout the afternoon.

The ultimate all-day event that was supposed to Founders Day, turned into the patchy anti-penultimate/penultimate/ultimate three days of show segments slipped in between bouts of rain. The breaks in the schedule threw off our well planned packing plans (ha! As if, we packed what we could find, when we found it and hoped that our sustained diligent organization throughout the summer would mean that we’d get it done well enough that we wouldn’t get told off). The highlight of the segments was the counselor show: ten times more well rehearsed than the counsellor entertainments, there was the nurses’ dance, the Girls of Camp Lee Mar repeat of the first CE’s dance, Twosie’s ‘Paparazzi’ and among others which I can’t immediately recall, there was Barry’s ‘Time to Say Goodbye’. Given that he’d been dying to do a proper musical number all summer and never got the chance, I was looking forward to it… coming at the end of the show, it was highly appropriate, and bar a stutter here and there (which I comment on only to please his over-sensitive professional pride) the performance was perfect, heart-felt and moving. One regret I will have when looking back on the time at camp, was that Barry’s voice did not ring out once more over the PA as the kids were being lined up for the bus.

The last few days have been so chock-a-block that finding time to write this has been all too difficult. It’s now Day 58, Monday. The adult travelers have replaced the kids, and there are 6 little holes in my heart. To be honest, I said goodbye to five of my kids on Day 54, a lot of the female staff suppressing tears and a lot of the campers were failing. It wasn’t until Day 55 that I broke, my last kid boarded the bus at barely past nine in the morning and I felt a pang of loss, particularly heightened by the strong possibility that I would never see any of them again. Despite enough trouble, noise, defiance, and moments of what-the-hell-should-I-do, there were more than enough times of triumph, progress, connection and meaning to make up for it; this summer had been one of the most awesome of my life.

How many things have I missed? Enough to cover at least ten times what’s been posted, even before getting to the juicy camp romances (some of which I am still being teased about… a piece of advice, being nice to campers may be part of the job, it’s also a risk when crush-hungry teenagers are around :P). There’s still adult week to write up, and my travel begins this Thursday (NY, then onto Niagara Falls), I’m looking forward to writing up everything humanly possible in transit between the 20-odd places I’ll be at over the next month.