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Birthday Blues (the Good Kind)

Saturday in Toronto is gorgeous weather — blue skies as far as the eye can see. We head over to the Distillery, a “heritage site” in an old distillery building where there are many artists galleries, studios, shops and restaurants. It’s a welcome respite from all the retail that surrounded us the day before.

Around 3 p.m. we get in line for the ferry to Virgin Fest. Now, my past concert festival experience had me expecting dirt and gravel and no luxuries whatsoever. But the island where they hold the concert is really gorgeous — grass and trees, and even a little carnival area with rides.

We see M.I.A., Arctic Monkeys, and Interpol. The last show of the night is Bjork, and she is amazing. All glittery and hyper and kooky — exactly like I’d expect her to be. Granted, it’s standing room only, and I am not a tall woman, so I can’t see too much, but the music is awesome, and I have a good view of the video screens. Poor Lori ends up with some woman with ginormous boobs squashed against her back. But she still has fun.

As soon as Bjork leaves the stage, there’s a mass exodus to the ferry entrance. We have to wait an hour amid a crush of people before we can board the ferry. If I was claustrophobic, I would have had a meltdown. We get back to the room about 1 a.m. and fall into bed, blissfully fatigued.

The next morning, we’re up early so we can check out and catch the bus to the airport. It’s gray and and a little rainy. We had a great time, but we’re glad to get back home.

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