Ah, the Richmond Watermelon Festival – a delightful opportunity to get the family out of the air conditioning and into the sweltering streets of Carytown. With mainly clear skies, it truly was a beautiful day this year, aside from the thousands of sweat-glazed human bodies resulting from the oppressive humidity and temperatures in the mid-90s. But enough about the weather – let me talk about my experience.
Ah, the Richmond Watermelon Festival – a delightful opportunity to get the family out of the air conditioning and into the sweltering streets of Carytown. With mainly clear skies, it truly was a beautiful day this year, aside from the thousands of sweat-glazed human bodies resulting from the oppressive humidity and temperatures in the mid-90s. But enough about the weather – let me talk about my experience.
I’ve lived in Richmond for five years, yet somehow have never been to the Watermelon Festival. A good friend of mine needed a ride to his job in Carytown. Since he was facing five hours basically just standing around, we decided, naturally, that it would be a good idea for both of us to take some LSD. As we left my apartment, we dropped the paper tabs on our tongues. By the time we arrived in Carytown, we were full-on tripping. I knew this was going to be a unique experience.
By Joe Mahoney
I got my nameless friend to his job, and made sure he had everything he needed. Immediately, I decided that I needed to go wandering. The first thing that caught my attention was the watermelon smoothie stand. I needed a watermelon smoothie. I realized that none of these places take credit cards. I strolled around for a while trying to find an ATM, but kept getting distracted by dogs, an old lady with a ukulele, and little kids with frighteningly psychedelic face paint. About twenty minutes later, I stumbled upon the bank, only to find that there were about twenty people in line for the money machine. So I waited, and waited, and waited. I’m not sure how many cigarettes I smoked in line, but it was a lot. Side note: the granite wall on the side of the Wells Fargo building is extraordinarily trippy. Check it out next time you’re cruising through Carytown.
With money in my pocket, I felt like a free man. I got pretty distracted again as the acid started to really soak in. It seemed like, on basically every block, there was some sort of live music or entertainment. I saw a lot of bands that I had never heard of. Some were fantastic, some were completely mediocre, but I was just happy that there was music. In my lysergic haze, I wandered out of a bustling crowd that was surrounding a gigantic rubber duck, only to hear some astonishingly ambient, Sigur Ros-esque music by a band called Floodwall. I caught their last couple of songs and complimented them on their sound and use of violin bows on their guitar strings. They were really nice dudes. I think they knew I was high.
By Buddy Hough
From there, I wandered toward the West end of Carytown and heard more music that caught my ears. The Southern Belles were rocking out on the Guitar Works stage, playing a remarkably tight cover of Little Feat’s “Dixie Chicken.” I stood and watched most of their set, and was blown away by their tour-seasoned, effortless sound. A show is a show, and it was clear that the band was having fun on stage, but I think their sound would be better suited for a bar that serves people who primarily drink whiskey.
I continued to ramble up and down Cary Street, stopping at any vendor that seemed interesting. I signed up for the Colonial Downs horse race track mailing list so that I could spin the free prize wheel, and won two tickets to the races. I walked through a spinning tube with glow in the dark lights on it that made me feel like I was in Carl Sagan’s Cosmos. I petted a multi-colored poodle and giggled, until I realized I looked like a total weirdo and got the hell out of there. I got my palm read by a gypsy. This was the most disappointing part of my day. The lady who read my palm told me that I was “destined for success” but had “fallen down the wrong path” – pretty sure this could be said about any twenty-something male who may or may not look like he is high on LSD (my pupils were pretty cavernous). So I gave her my $10 and walked away, rather let down by my fortune.
By Buddy Hough
After a couple more hours of watching magicians, eating watermelon, listening to live music, and getting sunburned as the devil himself, the festival started to wrap up. I went back to check up on my friend as his shift was coming to a close. En route to my car, my nameless friend and I sat in the shade and watched the final act of music for the day: a local bluegrass band called The Inflatables. Their sound was upbeat, cheerful, and perfect for the end of the day.
All-in-all, the Watermelon Festival was, literally, a trip. I may or may not go back on acid, but I will definitely go back. All I need to remember for next year is: wear sunscreen, bring cash, and stay away from multi-colored poodles. If I do all of that, I’ll be just fine.
By McGrupp
Top Image by Joe Mahoney
