The “splendour” for which the Byron festival is named presumably alludes to the music. But beyond bands, what else is there to be found … in the grass?
Vendor … in the grass
Among the myriad stalls selling flower crowns, denim shorts, paisley prints or fringe suede (in case you got here and realised you weren’t appropriately dressed), we came across 3DU. As its name suggests, it takes a three-dimensional, full-body scan of your form later made into a miniature figurine, which you can bulk-buy at three for $60.
“No doubt,” agreed the cheerful vendor, the weirdest stall at the festival. “At first, the bust and the statues can be creepy. Why would you want to buy one of yourself? In fact, what use would you have for a statue of yourself?”
These questions had occurred to us. He continued: “The statues as they are at the moment are plain. In artistic terms, you could modify them, put wings on people.” His tone became defiant. “There is a niche for this!”
How many statues of himself did he own? He looked momentarily baffled, as though the question was entirely off topic. “Oh, none.” He told us he had a “virtual world up and running”, populated by people whose forms he had already scanned, and he invited us to don an Oculus Rift headset and enter it.
“What a lovely lagoon!” said Alan happily as he explored the valley of the three-dimensional dolls. “Oh, I fell down a ravine.” There was no demand for this product, we decided, and the salesman didn’t disagree.
Mender … in the grass
When we arrived at the site, we made a beeline for the craft tent. There we met Jodie Masterton, 28, dutifully darning damaged clothes. She said five people had come to the tent to have things mended so far that morning, including a woman who needed her dress hemmed, and another whose bag strap had broken.
“We actually just fixed a guy’s gumboot. It had a big hole in it, so we just glued a big felt heart on it.” Would that work, we asked delicately? “Uh … It will probably stop it for a while. It’s just a short fix.” We asked if she had mended any broken hearts. She seemed a bit put out by the question but eventually conceded that no, she hadn’t.
Legal defender … in the grass, giving advice to offenders in the grass, often with grass
Near the entry to the site, we found a tent with a statue of a labrador and a sign that said “Did I sniff you today?” outside it. Inside was Naomi Carter, a solicitor from Randall Legal who was offering pro bono legal advice to festival-goers who had fallen foul of the law, mostly by trying to bring drugs in.
She told us that there was a huge police presence at the festival that included drug detector dogs and a mounted unit, a dubious idea given the muddiness of the ground. Carter said she once saw a punter who jumped the fence to get in pursued by an officer, mounted on “a big black horse with steam coming out of its nostrils”. It was “like something out of an old King Arthur film”, she said.
Two days each year are set aside at the Byron Bay local court to process charges laid at Splendour. The judge takes a dim view of such cases, said Carter, due to the high profile warning issued before the festival by police and organisers, so nine in 10 cases result in a conviction.
Many of her clients are teens whose lives are likely to be significantly affected by any conviction recorded, so Randall Legal offers advice on how to deal with the police, or how to get cases moved to a court closer to home.
Big spender … in the grass
We found 17-year-old Sheridan sitting at a picnic table with her two friends, as though the trio had been marooned on an island in a sea of mud. She was clutching a brown paper bag that was clearly holding recently purchased goods. We had found our big spender.
She had bought trousers, sunglasses, a skirt and rings. “And a headband,” Sheridan’s friend pointed out helpfully. None were necessities for the festival. “I just wanted to buy extra,” she said, estimating her total outlay at about $100.
Transgender … in the grass
We saw our colleague Fred McConnell as he was preparing to record a podcast, and he volunteered to be interviewed by us.
“Have you had a good festival, Fred?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s been good.”
Suspenders … in the grass
This Amish community was part of an art project, apparently, but it nonetheless struck us thoughtful Guardian liberals as being rather tasteless cultural appropriation. What would real Amish people think? Since they aren’t generally heavy internet users, we’ll probably never know.
Ascenders … from the grass
In the middle of the festival site is a hill. On top of the hill is the Moet & Chandon champagne bar. It’s a treacherous slog up a muddy slope, but on reaching the top it’s clear the tent is populated by a different class of festival-goer. At $20 a glass or $110 a bottle, this bar is only for those with deep pockets.
They wouldn’t let us in with a can of Fat Yak, but were OK with a Coke Zero. Underdressed and ill at ease in our mud-encrusted gumboots, we plucked up the nerve to interrupt two ladies enjoying some champagne – one from a normal flute, the other from a large white Moet-branded goblet.
Both ascenders agreed enthusiastically that it was worth the climb up the hill. “It’s an annual retreat for us. We come up here every year and have a glass. It’s nice to get away from all the craziness out there.” She gestured at the commoners below and looked at her goblet. “I don’t know if they give it to you, but I guess you could … optionally keep it.”
We agreed it would fit in her bag with room to spare, and noted they were selling cheeseboards. “We’re not that rich,” she said.
Extender … in the grass
Just down the hill from the Moet tent is an enormous silver and black extender pole about 20 metres long with a camera attached to the end. A banner explains what it is: the Telstra giant selfie stick.
A man urged us to have our photo taken. So we had our photo taken. The stick was created specifically for Splendour. A spokesman said about 2,500 photos have been taken so far; some people have stopped by every day.
We asked whether it was a bit of a stretch to call the photos selfies if the subject did not actually push the button. “We’re just worried about them damaging it” he said. “You know, so many people slamming it. Someone’s bound to break it.”
Blenders … in the grass
We spotted a food truck selling ice-cream and affogatos, so we asked the woman serving about her blenders. She had three, one for each milkshake flavour on offer. Which was her favourite?
“That one,” she said, pointing at a sturdy black contraption with the unmistakable stains of chocolate stuck to its insides. “Just look at it!” Guardian Australia conceded it did indeed look better than the other two, which were smaller and had fewer settings.
We thanked her for her time and moved on.
Fender … in the grass
It may have been the Rickenbacker sound that was most associated with the Smiths, but these days Johnny Marr is often seen – as here on Friday night – with a Fender Jaguar in his hands.
Iskender … in the grass
Of all the stalls selling food at Splendour there was only one selling kebabs, and it did not offer the meaty treat. An obvious opportunity for a marketing tie-in, missed.
Tender … in the grass
Plastic tumblers of gin and tonic in hand, we overlooked the crowds and debated our next move before realising we were standing uncomfortably close to a couple locked in a tender embrace. She was wearing a lace top and knee-high socks, still white even as she sat on the muddy hillside, albeit on top of her companion. Searching for the appropriate verb to describe their canoodling, we thought perhaps it was time we went to see some bands.
You could say we surrendered … in the grass.
Guardian Australia is sponsor of the Splendour Forum
