I love festivals. Everything seems so utterly uncomplicated. You dance, make new friends, share your belongings, you eat and drink when you please and when you’re lucky you discover your new favourite band.
The real world rules do not apply. All is bubbles and cake even if the rain comes pouring down and you discover your tent isn’t as waterproof as the manufacturer promised it to be. But it doesn’t matter, because sleep is rare and you don’t want to spend your time in the tent anyway. The complete festival area appears to be a dream. People dressed up like rabbits or artist performing in fairytale like costumes, multicoloured balloons, ferris wheels, psychedelic music accompanying the setting sun, everyone treads you as a friend, because that is what you are – stranger or not – you’re all in it together.
Then, after a few days or so, it is time to wake up, to pack your stuff and move back into the real world. How hard the transition can be. Now I can only dream of going back there again…
…or wait for next year.