As summer draws in…

As summer draws to an end, the time of blogging and site maintenance begins again.  I apologise to all my invisible visitors out there, yet to thrall to the content of crudista.com due to my serious lapse in updating. I’ve been busy, otherwise engaged, not inspired to write, code or design.  Tut-tut.

This summer has been a strange one for me:  I began it zealously aiming for a 100% raw diet.  I travelled to Italy, then Austria, and managed to stay 80-90% raw throughout.  I returned to Spain and embarked on a week-long Yoga teacher training intensive, through which I also adhered to my raw diet.  Here, I met MariFran, who told me that the redoubtable Balta was planning a second Raw Food Festival at his finca in southern Spain.  Excited, I packed the car, my daughter and a random penniless Californian (Lee) and headed south.  It was a long, hot drive and our reward at the end was 2 hours lost in the back roads of Marbella, bumping over hard chalky tracks in a 20-year-old hatchback.  When at last, at last, we arrived, there was a long walk down to the finca, to pitch a tent on an unprotected, improvised campsite.  A ploughed field, more like it.  At least supper was good, but the banging techno-dubstep music that somehow passed for appropriate entertainment on a back-to-nature Raw Food Festival kept many awake well into the wee hours.  Thankfully, both daughter and I were so exhausted that we slept all night, rolling over the uncomfortable ruts beneath us.

The next day, we scavenged breakfast early, upon waking.  Thankfully so, as no one else was able to eat until gone 1PM due to lack of organisation and poor planning.  Foul tempers flared, a debate ensued, flies landed upon the fresh juices and cut fruit, Balta lorded it with his stupid musings, many silently resolved never to return and my daughter made the most accurate pronouncement of her opinion of the event by shitting in the middle of the circle.  Shame gave way to amusement, but I noted that everyone was too cowed by Balta’s bullying to help me clean up.  It was a low moment.  After reluctantly eating the offerings, we retired to our sweltering tent for a siesta.  None of the planned activities took place – including the proposed children’s activities, more than slightly annoying for a mother.  In the midsummer heat, there was no refrigeration so all the lvoely food sat wilting in the shade.  The water came from a spring some 15-minutes hike away.  It was nice, but the voracious thirst of the 40 attendees meant that the jugs were constantly running low.  By late afternoon, while bathing in the admittedly gorgeous little river running through the property, I knew that I had to get the hell out of there.  Sadly, my limpit Lee – without money, itinerary or driving license – needed to first plan his next move first.  We stayed the night.  Sleep was again uncomfortable, but at least I knew I was getting out of there.

I awoke with a strong urge to poo.  Nasty diarrhea.  Something was wrong. I felt terrible.  We packed and got the hell out of there, not before shitting my pants on the way into the woods.  I was feeling green.  We stopped in Marbella for a cuppa, then onwards.  The car overheated outside of Granada.  I was too sick to think about stopping for more  than a short moment.  Daughter was also green round the gills.  By Benidorm I was seeing double.  All I could focus on was getting us home.

I was violently sick for four days.  I ran a huge, high fever.  Daughter was back in diapers to contain the explosions, but fortunately not as unwell as I.  The experience left me unable to face raw food of any kind – not even a piece of fruit could pass my lips. Since then, I do not aspire to 100% raw diet.  I eat perhaps 60% raw and don’t sweat it if I don’t achieve even that.  I realise that my lifestyle is not that of a hippie, that I have no aspirations to live a primitive, back-to-nature existence, that I am firmly and fully urban, modern and hygienic.

My experience of the Raw Food Festival helped me discern this:  The divide between urban raw and back-to-the-landers is as wide as it ever was.  Shall the ‘twain ever meet?  I don’t know.  I do know, however, that crudista.com is directed towards people like me:  we are not about preaching 100% raw food diets, unless therapeutic.  We are not admonishing people to live without electricity or refrigeration.  We are realistic about what we can ask of ourselves and others.  Raw food must be fun, easy and flexible.  That’s what crudista is here for.  Cheers!