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A Break from Reality
by Cory Dunn
Life supplies one with few places of peace. Few places to marvel at; few Edens. We are faced with constant money problems, the news screams with stories of rape, incest and murder, and a constant struggle to define and find love. Escaping life is one of the most difficult things to do. Some people escape to Las Vegas, gamble their life away and enjoy the company of prostitutes and financial parasites. Others, search inside with mind-altering drugs and alcohol, constantly chasing away the demon of consequence. Some attend church, praying to anyone that will listen, that maybe, just maybe, there is something beyond this inane plane of existence. I have but one Mecca, one paradise. It is a town nestled in the mountains of Colorado, and it is called Telluride.
Telluride is a ski resort in the winter, and a beautiful festival ground from spring to fall. Every September I make the long trek through the hollow, lifeless plains of Arizona to Colorado’s rich, bright green pasture for the Blues Festival they hold. The closer I get, the more things come to life, as if I am watching the world sprout from nothingness as it did so long ago. Nearly to Telluride there are large canyons lined with green grass, tall white trees with lime green leaves, just starting to shutter out orange and yellows at Fall’s presence. There is a fog above the mountains, adding to their mystery. Then I’m there. The road is curved to truly give you a peep show into the immense beauty that is Telluride. The town surrounds the main street, every shop, every restaurant in a rustic fashion. There are no McDonalds, no Wal-Mart’s, no corporations of any kind. Telluride is like walking into an entire different country, or reality. Ahead is the tallest of the four mountains that distinguish Telluride as it’s own entity. In the middle of the mountain is a rushing waterfall. The banner above the street declares, “Welcome to the Town of Telluride”.
The field where the festival is held, and the camp ground are right next to one another. The Campground is straight out of fantasy. Plenty of cover due to all the towering, gorgeous trees. Paths lined by smaller, swan-shaped plants. There is a large stream that finds its birth at a massive, powerful waterfall, right in the middle of the campground. The ground is soft, as if lined with mattresses for the campers. The people are friendly, and have no problem approaching one another, trading stories and becoming instant friends, simply due to the fact we all are experiencing this same heavenly force. Varying great music dances through the air, as everyone sets up and prepares to share something with these lovely mountains. No Matter how many times I go, it is still shocking how stunning it is. Then I make the journey through the Town of Telluride to the Mountain Village.
The town of telluride is built in a rustic aesthetic. Every bar, store and restaurant is unique. There is a gondola that takes everyone to the mountain village above Telluride. The trip to the Mountain Village shows how small the most important town to me is. A small box of perfection. The Mountain Village is pleasing architecturally as well as naturally. The hordes of grass are perfect and the buildings are sturdy, stunning and serve a purpose to the overall feel of the area. There is a pond of ducks at its head, as well as wonderfully painted telephone booths and statues throughout the area. It is a more open space than telluride, however, just as special and unique. The gondola in itself is just as relevant. People are thrown together into a small, floating room and anything can come from that. Randomly selected to meet someone new. Placed between two landscapes that scream beauty. The next day is the festival, so I go back to the campground and prepare for the journey to the festival grounds.
On the way to the festival grounds there is a clear creek, filled with ducks. There is a sturdy wooden bridge over the creek and the trees overhang the sidewalk. Smiling faces and friendly hellos follow the path. To the right are houses, slim and tall, adhering to no general regulation of conformity. They climb the mountain, without taking too much in their wake. Through a gate and into a grass-laden field, and there I am. The stage is well built and lined with various blues artifacts like neon signs that say “Juke Joint” and a large banner in back announcing the Blues and Brews Festival. In the backdrop of the stage is something even more remarkable. A towering mountain with an avalanche of lime green leaves. No ground can be seen from this massive, sprouting giant. The sheer incredible sight of this mountain cannot be described properly. I have tried to describe it to many people and have yet to find a way. This is the rare occasion where the eyes beat out the imagination, no contest. Various shops and stands selling good beer and food at decent prices, hippie accoutrements and even a massage stand line the back of the festival. Each stand with a person who has an interesting story to tell. One of the festival days sponsors a beer tasting, which in any other place seems like disaster in waiting. In Telluride, it is a way to meet many people, all friends at first sight. Closer to the stage are people of all backgrounds, all ethnicities, and all problems, happy, together. Rich people pass joints to poor people , Conservatives pose in pictures with Hippies, and I marvel at the sight being played out in front of me. It is as if social class does not exist in this holy land.
I want to find a negative counter-point in Telluride, but I can’t. It is immaculate. Separated from anxiety, hate and injustice, it is beyond the realm of possibilities. There are no big corporations, no social system, no unhappiness. It is easy to get lost in the mountains and forget about what one faces when it is time to leave. Then the drive back to Arizona begins, and as everything slowly dies, I remember.