Telluride day III

The white cresting the mountain is
smoke, not cloud.

Saturday was a pretty laid back day which is not to say was without a little drama.  We started like every other day by taking our chairs into the festival and securing our little strip of land.  The night before a woman remarked that she was impressed that we were able to stay within our little rectangle.  Its simple really when you dance to the beat in little shimmies opposed to the Wizard of Oz Scarecrow style which seemed the overall preferred dance style.  Also, unlike many, we were not sporting multicolored, wildly decorated, hula hoops for endless gyrating and arm rotations.  I never knew hula-hoops were all the hippie's cat's pajamas but it was almost a requisite for any large tarp group.

About mid morning we noticed that smoke from distant wild fires was steadily creeping over the tops of the surrounding mountains.  The fire raging 60 miles to the south had to be considerable seeing that as the day continued the smoke would provide a screen from the sun until about dusk when it finally blew out of the valley making for a pretty, yet ominous, sunset.

 With time between bands we did a little more wandering in town.  Spotted some choice bumper stickers, saw some very mountain-town wood work and signed up for our horse back ridding adventure on Sunday. Having asked for a simple lunch recommendation we followed some one's advice and went to the Floradora Salon, which I can guarantee, without a doubt, is a place we will NEVER again return.  After being seated our meek waitress eked out a request for our drink orders. Having surveyed the laminated Whisky sampler menu Jonathan indicated he wanted Series 3.  I emphasized this menu's lamination because to me it indicates that its a feature the restaurant is encouraging, which I would presume would be understood by the wait staff.  Its cleanly presented, organized, and EASY to understand, foolish me, I set my expectations way too high.

Far too long a time span later, the waitress dropped off  a whisky on the rocks before fluttering off to the unknown. Skeptical that the order is correct we gave up waiting on her return and asked an employee who we managed to make confused eye contact with whether or not the drink delivered was correct.  He guffawed a "no", encouraged us to not worry about it, drink the drink and he would retrieve our waitress to get the right order placed.  Jonathan again ordered the Series 3 to which she commented that during the previous order he stated he wanted a specific Whisky.  Not true honey, but place the order with the bar and we'll be good. 

Time ticked by and I realized that I had nearly finished my lack luster lunch yet Jonathan's whisky sampler still had not arrived.  By now I've left vacation mode and am about to lose it Caetano style. Jonathan asked me to be calm, so I did my darnedest to put on a non-mocking smile before I headed to the bar to inquire about the sampler I could see awaiting delivery, bar side. 

Here is where ugly started. At the bar I waited patiently as the bar tender milled about, making a good effort to avoid my eye contact before leaving the bar with an empty jar and heading into the kitchen. My forced smile was starting to turn a little manic at this point. Just breath. Several minutes later, upon his return, he again avoided me.  When we finally made eye contact, to which I indicated "yes I would like some service/recognition" he turned back around.  This guy, this very funny man was treading a dangerous line. When I said excuse me to get his attention, he held up an index finger and told me "in a minute". Breath through clenched teeth is an art form, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. When I was finally able to speak to him and inquire nicely about my husband's order which I indicated was at the end of the bar, he snarked that a waitress was there and would get it, and started to turn away.  I was on the edge, and with an ever raising voice clarified that the woman by the drinks wasn't even our waitress. Again I found myself staring at this guy's back, so knowing Jonathan would appreciate I not create the epic scene I was born to unleash, I snarked with with a smile in my voice  and said "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you".  No doubt he heard me, but he continued on in his ignorance,  as my comment was chuckled at by patrons within earshot.

I returned to the table, whisky-less and borderline foaming at the mouth.  Another waitress brought over the drinks and apologized, claiming our waitress had left for an emergency. Then came the bill.  All I can say is my love for Jonathan is the only thing that kept me from losing it. Not only did they charge us for the wrong drink, but we fought, as calmly as possible, myself, trying to keep my mouth as shut as possible, with: the waitress who brought the bill, then our waitress who must have set aside her emergency to stiff us on an order that she screwed up, then the bartender, then the kitchen guy and eventually the owner of the restaurant.  After all of this we got the first drink begrudgingly removed from the check, as our meek waitress continued to point out that it was our fault.  Like I said, NEVER EVER EVER again will we set a foot in that wretched little place.

 

It took me a moment, or two or three, but after we returned to our chairs and joked about the absurdity of the entire situation we settled in for another evening of great music.  The first band we saw was Yonder Mountain String Band. They didn't perform quite the traditional music Jonathan was hoping for, but their Radiohead infused Bluegrass was interesting.  Can't say its my new favorite, but they did a great job of performing their unique musical mix. During the break is about the time we were gifted by the random reappearance of dear little Warren.  From out of nowhere this child, who seems to mock the limits of silly energy, ran over to us said hi, then ran back to his base tarp.  Again finding this an excellent chance to bemuse myself with random comments and over the top cackles, I found his running charge which came to a complete halt at our chairs before his run back home, pretty entertaining.  When K.D. Lang and the Siss Boom Bang started up I had had my fill of Mr. Warren and let him know we were done and it was time for him to stay on his tarp.  He obliged and we enjoyed the performance on the stage.  K.D. Lang sounded great, put on a good show and was very comical in her banter with the crowed.

Our headliner for the evening, and I say "our" because they were not the final band to play for the day, was the Sam Bush Band. While Jonathan appreciated their talent we were both a little disappointed in the rock rather than bluegrass emphasis of their performance.  We decided to call it a night a little earlier than usual since the following day we would be driving about 45 minutes away to saddle up for a horseback ride; however our intentions were a bit for not.  I now introduce to you the "sketchy night hippies".   Each night the night hippies, mainly consisting of any random group of partiers undoubtedly donning over priced Patagonia and organic north face apparel would get loaded to the verge of starting fights at the bar just below our third floor room.  It was as if the calm demeanor of the friendly day Trusafarian, having worn through their supply of pot, booze and suffering from far too much sun exposure transcended into sketchy night hippidom. The land of the sketchy night hippie is a dark, and likely stinky, "all natural" place.

Finally having fallen asleep it was only a mere 3 or 4 hours later that we would be awoken by a daily dose of a 5 o'clock bird frenzy. While the chirps of the occasional morning bird can serve as a lovely sign of life and a reminder of nature's bounty the birds convening on our roof were deafening. It was as if the loudest birds in town, all chirping, each fighting to be heard, descended upon our open skylight to convene their little birdy congress lasting about an hour.  Why not close the window you say, well the open window was our only form of minimal air flow. Apparently the good, wealthy people of Mountain village don't have air conditioners, which is understandable, but they also don't seem to believe in fans. But lets focus on the bright side, all was well, because we were still enjoying our vacation.