Erin Granat: My first time was in Oregon, 2017.

It was a behemoth effort of organizers and attendees alike, all with stars in their eyes. Literally — as in the big star in the sky. The sun. Doing it’s normal day-to-day thing like heating the planet and inspiring life to grow, and then performing its special hiding trick every 18 months or so.

Which sounds like not a big deal, but it’s a huge fucking deal. We call this deal a lot of things: spectacular, awe-inspiring, etc. 

We also call it an eclipse.

The 2017 total eclipse was like a hit of the universe’s best visual drug, served on an astral platter and oh-so-rare, thus all the more alluring. After this one was visible in Texas, we wouldn't be treated to another one in the United States for over 20 years. My best friend Machete and I just had to go. 

I was in Peru, in the Andes hiking with a San Pedro curandero. The only thing worth leaving such an experience-- and I’m talking rainbows and ruins and alpacas and transcendence-- would be seeing the eclipse with Machete. 

So we’re both in Austin, Texas, land of two-stepping and tornadoes and edgy hotels and bougie barbecue. But we can’t find each other. 

Machete Bang Bang: When Erin asked me to join her to see the total eclipse in Texas, it was an automatic YES in all caps. Yet, as I waited at a random shopping mall at dawn for a stranger to come meet me in order to caravan to her, I was starting to question my decision. But before I could surf any hard wave of doubt, I reminisced on the many adventures Erin and I have been on since age fourteen. This was definitely turning into another one we could add to our book of our long term friendship. Or, as we call it: Life Wife-ship.  

A text dinged, snapping me out of a memory of us giggling behind our director's monitor on the set of our feature film we co-created called Moon Manor (yes, this is a shameless plug): “On my way!” The stranger’s name was John, but goes by Mr. Gold. We were connected through spotty wifi and late-night texts from Erin who, regardless of flying high under a perigee moon to Vulfpeck at the Texas Eclipse Festival, was still ensuring that this man would give me safe passage to join her. 

When John emerged from his dusty car, I understood why he was known as Mr. Gold. He is dressed head to toe in an all-gold ensemble. However, his nickname made more sense about his heart than any clothes you’d find him wearing. “Ready to ride?!” He asked with a wide grin as he handed me a coffee in a can. Smiling back, I started the rented electric car with an anti-climactic silent vroom. 

EG: The Texas Eclipse Festival was fantastic and weird. Most festivals are. But this one was heavy on the bizarre. The intentions were charming, but there was a tension in the air. Eclipses are like that.

I spent the first 24 hours scoping the scene, wanting to curate the highlights of the fest for Machete. The big pitch were the lineup of musicians (like Tycho, Vulfpeck, Zed’s Dead, Barclay Crenshaw, Bob Moses, Paul Oakenfold, Lee Burridge) playing next to the leading minds of space exploration (astronauts from Blue Origin, Virgin Galactic, DearMoon, NASA) in addition to psychedelic science and technology innovators like (Dr. Bruce Damer, Dr. Peter Diamandis, Rick Doblin, MAPS). Meow Wolf had an immersive installation, and there was even a spa on site. 

The Grand Artique city-within-the-festival-city were the best vibes. They had a train car set up as a living room, a vintage store with eclectic goods available for barter, and a foot-washing concierge. They curated the Earth Stage, from which I saw such varied delights as the whirling dervishes and a drone show – maybe the most spectacular sky show I’ve ever seen in my life, a thousand drones making the shape of an astronaut, then buzzing into the shape of a spaceship.

I was excited for Machete to arrive, to have a buddy to get ready together with, to have late night snacking and chatting. The next day was her arrival, and the eclipse.

MBB: Bluebonnets. Cows. Emus. Homemade signs for Jesus. The countryside in Texas during spring is a beautiful array of fertile life and random human imprints. Mr. Gold and I eased along, surprised there was no traffic since the eclipse was only mere hours away. Shouldn’t this be a packed stretch of highway, all eyes vying to see the moon cover the sun in the direct path of totality? 

We pulled into a parking lot. Dirt rose in great plumes. Mr. Gold and I started walking towards the gates of the festival, chirping about the logistics of how we would find Erin, when security stepped in front of us.

“Pardon me, but you’ll have to turn around. The festival has been canceled,” the man drawled politely. I immediately started laughing, thinking it was a joke. He did not join in. He exclaimed once again that the festival was shut down. We were stunned. I had traveled two days to get to the entry point, only to be told "You Shall Not Pass!" 

“Tornado watch has been issued by the governor and we gotta evacuate all the folks off the festival grounds,” the man said. I looked up to the sky as if a tornado were to come down at that very second. I examined the heavy gray clouds and felt the warm, moist air. Well, I’ll be darned, I thought. Trying to get me INTO the festival now became a mission to get Erin OUT of the festival. 

EG: Let’s be honest, drama is fun. The stories about what happened the day the citizens of the festival woke up, ready to partake in an eclipse viewing, and instead were told to evacuate, have ranged from sticky rumors to downright lies. The truth is between the organizers and God, but I personally took it as the fates laughing at our well-laid plans. 

A weather threat is no joke, and neither is asking tens of thousands of people to evacuate a festival. What I can relay truthfully about the festival is what it felt like inside the festival grounds: lots of bewilderment. Glitter-animal-onesies going from costume to survival gear.

I won’t pretend like I didn’t have a privileged opportunity to exit quickly and safely – I was at the festival on a media pass. The sense of doom was palpable, however, and the feeling of Machete trying to get into something everyone was actively trying to get out of made my eyes cross as I schlepped three months worth of Peruvian luggage across the dusty campground trying to find her.

MBB: I bounced between urgently texting Erin, who I figured was no doubt still sleeping from all the festival fête fervor, and checking the Texas Eclipse Festival site for updates. I groaned as I imagined the thousands of people about to evacuate the festival on a single road highway. The magic of the eclipse was now eclipsed by the prospect of bumper-to-bumper traffic in rural back roads. 

The cops had also made their grand entrance, and it was apparent through their arrogant swagger they were ready to arrest anyone at the drop of a tie dye bucket hat. Mr. Gold and I hung back, wishing only to observe rather than partake when it comes to law enforcement. 

My phone dinged. Erin! I sent her a pin of our location and relayed that we were in a parking lot, which turned out to be an extra, makeshift parking lot. We would have had to walk another hour to the actual entrance to the festival. Erin responded: “We can watch the eclipse there! I have cookies, nuts, peanut butter, jelly and a whole thing of mezcal.” Mr. Gold and I retreated to the rental car, sitting tailgate style as we wait.

My mind wandered to the Indigenous tribes who don’t watch eclipses due to their belief of it being bad luck. What does luck mean? Superstition? Chance? Force of nature? All of the above? As I pondered, I spotted Erin dragging her luggage our way. I couldn't help but think: luck may be what you make of it. 

EG: The best thing I saw at the festival was Dr. Andrew Weil, the “father of integrative medicine” giving a talk on the significance of eclipses.

He said his opinion is the government doesn’t want us to watch eclipses because they’re so powerful. An eclipse can cause your consciousness to shift so much that you can be sober, but feel like you’re on psychedelics. 

He also said once he was on acid and looked at the sun for two hours, then had a pinwheel of colors and swirling light in his vision for two years, which made him happy because then it was like he was on psychedelics all the time. But he also warned us to use eclipse glasses, no matter how bowled over you may have been by what you were seeing. The only time you can look directly at an eclipse is the moment of totality. 

The official NASA website says “Although you know totality is coming, its arrival can still be overwhelming. For some people, their hearts race or their eyes well up with tears. You try to absorb everything you can in those minutes: from the corona, to the planets peeking out around the eclipse, to the temperature drop, to cheers of excitement from the community around you, even changes in animal behaviors.”

When I saw my first eclipse in Oregon, 2017, I was on a cornucopia of psychedelics. It was day five of the festival. At that point you just pour things into your system and pray for the best.

Because of the evacuation, for this eclipse I’d be totally sober. 

MBB: Within fifteen minutes we made our spot in the makeshift parking lot into a makeshift party zone. If you consider a party to be a few chairs, mini disco balls, pieces of fabric to shield from the poke of cactus needles and an assortment of dry good snacks. 

As we took our artsy photos to post on social media for proof of digital existence and validation, Mr. Gold exclaimed: "the beginning of the eclipse has begun!" Clouds swept past to reveal a tiny sliver of the moon touching the edge of the sun. The combo had an arcane effect. Every few minutes, we checked to see how far the moon  encroached, noticing each time the shifting color of the sunlight. When totality occurs, birds are supposed to stop their song, and crickets pipe up a bit louder. I wondered what noises might escape from us. 

The clouds parted fully. Everything went dark. 

A surge of primal yells echoed from afar. Erin yelled out to us, “LOOK AT THE STARS!!” I tore my eyes from the sun flares of the corona to see a beautiful twilight in the middle of the day. The moon-- now a black hole-- reminded us that we are all in space, and we are part of that space. I felt the collective thread of awe that has traversed through the history of humanity.

A bug flew up my nose, which made me cry and laugh at the same time. The midday sunlight returned. All I know now: there was life before the eclipse and now life after the eclipse. 

EG: What did it feel like to finally be reunited with Machete to watch the eclipse together after months of planning and days trying to get her inside the festival?

Let me first tell you a little bit about being a nomadic travel journalist, which I have been officially/unofficially for some years now.

Let me preface this by saying I get it, no one ever wants to hear you complain about what’s “tough “about the job. It is quite literally a dream gig and even as I write this, I am on a hotel stay at the gorgeous Mas Olas Hotel in Todo Santos. There are three pools and nine gardens where they grow all their own vegetables and herbs to service their three restaurants. The beach is empty in the best way, the weather is a perfect 82° and I slept like a goddamn princess in my fluffy bed with a deck looking out at the ocean. There is an apothecary onsite where you can make your own body lotion, there are daily yoga classes, and a flower garden to get lost in, not to be confused with the cactus garden. I have eaten delicacies like caviar and sorbet, ceviche, and oysters. There is only one thing this unbelievably luxurious yet refreshingly unpretentious hotel is missing: a friend.

I have always been a lone wolf, but these sort of moments in life beg for companionship. Does a tree make a sound if it falls in the woods and no one’s around to hear it? Or however, that goes? Similarly, do pristine ocean views and delightful service (they answer everything with “It would be a pleasure, Miss Erin”) reverberate the same when experienced alone? 

According to the Austin Chronicle: “Total solar eclipses are only possible because we live at the right moment in cosmic history. Eclipses happen because the sun is both 400 times larger than the moon and 400 times farther away. This means the two appear to be the same angular size in the sky. When the moon first formed, it was much closer to the Earth and would have appeared larger, had humans been alive to see it. But the moon’s orbit has gradually been enlarging, moving away from the Earth about 1.5 inches each year. Millions of years from now, total solar eclipses will no longer occur.”

Eclipses, like lifelong friendship, align because of celestial good luck.