Gottwood

It was finally that time of the year! Like an excited schoolgirl ready for her first day, I jolted out of bed; my breathing getting shorter as my mind began to race with mental notes “tent poles? Check. Glitter? Check. Wine? Check” I took a deep breath. One step at a time. First mission: Coffee (not that I needed more stimulation...)

It was time for Gottwood, the first festival of the year located 6 hours from Bristol in Anglesey, Wales. I zoomed over to N’s house as the caffeine levels peaked, half dragging along my camping gear that was awkwardly strapped to my body. We packed the boot of his newly acquired, 1960’s baby blue Volvo, shut the bonnet and sat down to fiddle with the ancient seatbelts. As the hum of the engine began to reverberate through the leather seats, I rolled down my window, closed my eyes and felt the Bristol breeze as the first of the day’s tunes began to play.

The flow was easy as the hours passed, countless rollies were smoked and conversation continued … until we hit standstill traffic. The summer sun beat down hard on the bonnet, the temperature gage was stuck on ‘hot’ and we began to feel like a slow cooked, Sunday roast with no ‘fan assisted’ option to cool us down. “Please can the engine not blow, please can the engine not blow” was the mantra for that moment as I supressed the possibility of getting stranded in the middle of Wales.

One hour later, when patience had reached its limits, the traffic started moving and so (thankfully) did the breeze. We drove on, engine intact, brain half baked but managing to keep our cool and save the full cook up till later. It wasn’t long before we’d made it through the tedious queues, bargained down the shuttle bus driver and arrived, along with the rest of the crew to the camping spot that T and D had patiently saved… poles, pegs, mattress pumps and many hands – soon enough we’d erected a little village with I and B’s totem Bell tent adorned in fairly lights and incense, serving as a signpost and safe-haven for when the rain fell.

Gottwood was the perfect festival to start the season; the music was mostly funky house with the line-up including amazing artists such as Joy Orbison, Bradley Zero and Archie Hamilton who played in stages dotted around the Welsh woodlands; the lake-stage holding the perfect day vibes for when the rays were out and the pyramid stage, with its 3D mist-filled visuals transforming the night-time into a multidimensional reality of sorts. With our beautiful crew who could often be found slutdropping under the neon arrow held by Queen L, we wondered through the woods, dancing along and branching off to discover magical venues.

It’s funny how fast we create routines for ourselves, the motive of our waking life became the music instead of the sun; rising late-afternoon, beginning the ritual of glitter and fancy dress, packing some real nutrition in at the avocado stand followed by a caffeinated beverage of some sort: re-set, re-charged and ready. Should the griminess and overflowing portaloos get too much to bear, the glorious options of a shower or a posh poo were game changers. Although, it did rain enough for a daily cleanse (free of charge!)

I chuckle to myself as I reminisce about the first downpour. I was sat against a hay bail, talking to a beautiful stranger about our love for the elements and nature. A deep, monotonous techno tune was playing and every 4 beats, a woman’s voice would quietly chant “rain”. Sure enough, synchronicity was in effect and the droplets started arriving, rapidly picking up pace and shifting the tone of our conversation from appreciation to annoyance; we cursed the elements that we’d loved only minutes before, gave each other a squeeze and ran off to join our separate crews. We clambered into the bell tent, leaving our muddy wellies at the entrance to enter the west world of yoga and slut drops to a harmony of kumbaya… “Inhaaale” everyone lifted their arms “and exhaale”, as their eyes closed and their arms came down “OI OI OI OI OIIIII!!! CHUG IT!” We creased at the vibe-kill as the group of lads next door began chanting loudly, jeering their mate on to chug his beer and then like clockwork, L stumbled in to the centre of the circle, eyes rolling and 2 bottles in hand. What to do but laugh…

From laughing to tears, the times took an emotional twist. I truly learnt the effects of sleep deprivation due to being convinced that the festival finished a day early and pulling a premature all-nighter. I realised I’d gone from half-baked to fully frazzled when I bumped into our mate O (who we’d spent all morning with) in the middle of a crowd, looking at me as he called my name, still dressed in his policeman outfit from a few hours before. My blood froze, thinking I’d been hunted down by security and was being kicked out of the festival. I stood in shock for a few minutes before my very slow brain began to recognise him and I loosened the grip on my rucksack and broke the confused silence with a laugh. A new song came on and the rhythm continued, as it always does.

So, although there were shit moments (like when we were dancing at the pyramid stage and the guy dressed in the inflatable poo-suit popped up on top of the hay bails), most of them were incredible (like when the whole crew coincidentally found each other around a random tree, like woodland creatures responding to natures call). On the last morning, C & I were the last to leave the deserted campsite due to our deadened response to all the attempted wake up calls. I managed to luckily reclaim my phone at lost and found before we spotted N & D who’d been patiently waiting for us by the car. As we drove off in that baby blue Volvo, I smiled; still riding the buzz of the weekend and feeling the warmth of beautiful company, like an aftertaste of the Chai-rum that had always given us that much needed lift at the end of the night. Until next year, Gottwood.

Song of the day: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-s32ESIR-4 

Mix of the day: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1hIxht83h8

A sleepless night

Desert traffic

Continuing on from my last post: our camel tour began at 3pm and B. (who was pioneering it) closed down the hostel for the night to join us along with volunteers M & Y. I began the journey a little apprehensive after receiving uncomfortable warnings from the locals about sexual harassment - having 2 minor negative TripAdvisor reviews shoved into our faces, 5 minutes before we left. We dismissed their accusations, wondering whether they were due to jealousy or an attempt to knock out their competition (that was rated highly on TripAdvisor). We all squashed into the jeep and began the hour long journey into the desert; it consisted of a symphony of loud Hindi pop, bumpy roads and clusters of wild camels that were perfectly camouflaged against the beige landscape. I watched fondly as 2 cows played, butting heads and frolicking around the lush green shrubs. It was a rare moment in India to see cows playing in their natural surroundings: away from the bombardment of traffic, fluorescent lights and piles of rancid rubbish.

After a pit stop at a nearby lake, we arrived at B's village and were introduced to our camels. I was going to be riding 'Raju', B. proudly explained that he'd won a few of the local Rajasthani camel races... I prayed that its racing streak wouldn't kick in mid-safari... As the camels sat placid with their legs awkwardly bent behind them, I noticed that hard calluses had formed where their bodies touched the ground on the back of their calves and under their chests. They were mounted with old brass saddles that were rusty and worn from constant usage and piled high with our mattresses for the night. We sat down on our beautiful beasts and I centered myself, engaging my thighs and trying to get used to the unusual sensation of riding an animal. B rode with me for the first half, pointing out the holes created by desert foxes, wild gazelles that shied behind far away bushes and the plenitude of huge black beetles rolling around balls of camel dung. We rode for hours with the rhythm of our animals into what eventually became a setting sun. Passing the odd tourist group who were also wearing flowy headscarves and looking enchanted.
The camels driver pulled on the reigns and the volatile rhythm started to slow down as we reached our designated spot and my thighs gave in. A few other desert folk from nearby villages sat squatting on the ground, waiting to pamper the camels and set up dinner.
Besides the terrifying moment of Raju almost knocking us off his back, it was all well and lovely: headstands in the sand, racing down dunes and feeling the wild, rough energy of the desert. I even learnt the art of making chapatti for the first time! But as the night wore on, the deserted skies began to form heavy clouds that were visible through yellow flashes that illuminated the picturesque landscape. Plan B, if it rained was to sleep in the nearest village. But as the water droplets started to fall, the plan was for some reason abandoned in favour of lying on our mattresses on the sand, under a plastic tarpaulin that was used for the camels. The energy of the group soon became confused agitation, with no help from the Bhang cookies that were uneasily digesting in our tummys (interestingly, Bhang: the male marijuana plant is legal everywhere in India).
We lay, smothered by a plastic sheet feeling the pressure of the rain against our bodies as it started to pour. The holes in the plastic, that were of variable size soon became evident as I awoke with bloodshot eyes every half hour to another stream of water dripping on my feet or forehead. It felt like a bloody Chinese torture method. The crackle of the plastic would send me in and out of dreams, as someone else's hand angrily punched the cover off our faces (that was far too close for comfort). We'd expected the storm to pass after about 30 minutes, an hour at the most, with great reassurance from B who knew best...

Om nama Shiva ;)

5 hours later, in a half wake- half sleep state, we all shoved the plastic sheet off our faces, that now reeked of camel. My clothes and mattress were soaking and stained pink from the leaking rose print on the mattress. The fine desert sand that had once felt like a gentle exfoliant, was now chafing against my sticky skin with each toss and turn. And then the mozzies arrived... desert life suddently seemed to lose its appeal. I awoke for the final time to feel the warmth of someone's body against my back, a strangers hand was comfortably draped over my hips and there was subtle breathing in my ear. It was the camel driver (that had definitely started off sleeping 4 people away): suddenly the previous days warning didn't seem so silly... I was not up for a ride at all, so I swiftly got up, shaking off the night like a damp dog and wandering across the golden hills that were cleansed from the nights rain. I did a few rounds of Surya Namaskar, saluting the rising sun and slowly and sleepily the rest of the group awoke for breakfast.

That morning, we rode back across the dunes in silence, reflecting upon our noisy night. We returned to Jaiselmer in a lethargic blur, unamused by the deafening Hindi pop that was no longer entertaining. B kindly allowed us to wash up and regain a bit of a strength with a cup of masala chai before we ventured (with whatever remainder of energy) for one last dizzy day in the desert heat. With my mouth feeling as dry as Ghandi's flip flop, I now lie, propped up by my uncomfortably stuffed backpack on a luxurious, air conditioned sleeper bus en route to Udaipur. N has crashed out with the activities of the last few days, so I turn my head to look out the murky window: the great golden ball is slowly falling through the dusty sky - a perfect lasting image of Jaisalmer: The City of Gold.

 
Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3lWwBslWqg

Creamfields

2 of the stages before the rain

I think it's fair to say without exagerrating, that the last few days have been the craziest of my life. Spontinaity is a really important part of living, and one that I strive to gain more of, being someone who's OCD is planning and organizing every minute of my time just for that comfortable feeling of knowing what's happening next. But the thing is, when a plan goes wrong, you're either left flustered having to handle an unexpected turn, disappointed that things didn't work out how they should have, or pleasantly surprised with the new outcome. The latter doesn't seem to happen too often, so I tend to end up disappointed or constantly buzzed in a heated attempt to follow my plan through. Spontinaity allows for no future thought or image - change excites humans, it's part of our nature to look for new and exciting things giving us that rush of adrenaline to feed off of. This weekend was like a tropical adrenaline storm, it just kept going with a force that didn't stop.

While the mud was shallow

Running around London day after day was getting tiring, and an email from a friend that I'd met once on a crazy night in KL, offering me an all expenses paid for ticket to 'Creamfields' (the biggest druggy techno-house-trance festival in England) caused my light bulb to ping straight away. I accepted on a whim, sorted out my shifts with the excuse of 'my cousin's last minute weekend wedding in Scotland' and picked up sleeping bags off a friend. Within a few days, a familiar face arrived at the door looking bedraggled after a 12 hour flight from Malaysia. The familiarity of having someone around that had shared the same life as me, was so relieving. It was so nice not feeling alienated or stuck behind a culture barrier. We spent three days in London, cooking, chatting, bunning and food shopping.

Taken by 'Example' during his show :)

The day of the festival finally arrived, we'd planned to have a full nights sleep before our adventure began but being the teenagers that we are, our heads hit the pillow at about 3am, giving us a good long 3 hours of rest before the alarm shrilled. Jumping out of bed in a state of pure dillusion, we showered, changed and grabbed our countless bags, dragging them down the pavement to the tube station at 6.30am. It's funny how easy it is to take a wrong turn when you're tired, and how much it affects your journey -- by the time we got to the station to catch our 7.30am train, it was 11.00am and 3 trains had since passed. In-between buying coffee to keep our eyes open, and conversing with his other two friends who had also missed their train, we managed to figure out that we could catch the next train at 11.30 and still get there on time. Luckily, unlike our friends, we didn't have to pay any extra costs for our mistake - we did however get moved back from first class to third, cramped up with our sleeping bags and boxes of rice-cakes in the corner of 'carriage F' - oh well.

We get to Creamfields, all we see are rolling hills, and hundreds of people with welly's and bags looking bright, colourful and ready for an amazing time. We could already hear the beats of Calvin Harris and David Guetta in the background, only serving to raise the anxiety levels to storm through the queue's and get to where we needed to be. We ran into a few road-blocks on the way to our destination but managed to get around them somehow (I tell you, having boobs in this day and age makes life so much easier). We amazingly got through the police checks, sniffer dogs and ID men without having ID or sober suitcases on us, and we made our way up the muddy path towards the campsites. We were in luxury camping, meaning hot showers, 'nice loos', set-up tents, airbeds and a short walk to the main arena's. It took us an hour to realize none of us had any sense of direction, and 2.5 hours later we had trudged through knee-high mud with our bags, having explored every campsite, arena and food-stall until we finally reached the tangerine fields - luxury camping. We walked passed funky heart shaped huts with wooden floors and beds (1k for a weekend) and sighed. Our 2 bedroom tent wasn't too shabby though, we lit up and lay down after our tedious journey, thankful to have finally arrived, at 6pm.

The crowd <3

We cleaned ourselves up (wet wipes ftw), got into festival gear and set out to join the crowds. The moment the magic kicked in everything went in fast forward, I felt like I was walking on an airport escalator, zooming through crowds and music -- the world spun out of control and the lights and colours carried us to a state of bliss. Nothing can really compare to live music, huge top quality speakers, the buzz of the crowd and the passion for the music, it went on till sunrise through the pouring rain and freezing gales. People's bones were literally aching due to the cold; body heat and dancing was frostbites only alternative.

Above and Beyond

Waking up in the morning all you could hear were mutters of 'is it cancelled? It's flooded. No Dedmau5. Everyone's leaving'. We poked our heads into the ongoing rain to ask what was going on -- sure enough, nature had got its own on technology and the sound equipment was all completely under-water. An intoxicated girl had fallen face-first into the mud and drowned, a man had shot someone in the head with his rifle, and about 20,000 people were all making their way towards the exit doors. Chaos.

Silent disco

Those of us who decided to stay, breathed in the opportunity with a smile. 80% of people leaving meant: Free food, free tents, free beds, sleeping bags, mats and chairs. We managed to move into a huge tent, we each had our own room, bed, (packeted) food supply and dry area - it was heaven. The clouds moved on and the sun came out at the same time as bikini's, shorts and glasses did -- the rest of the day was spent in a blazed wave, lying on mattresses in the sun.
By night, the mood had shifted. The vibe was so intense, this was the night everyone was planning on going wild. Substances, music, people, colours, everything was out in the open. The next few hours were like the first night, times a million. Hundreds of us raving on hills in the middle of nowhere. Everyone's eyes equally wide as we soaked in the atmosphere - we each met about 50 new people, heard a million new stories and tried a million new things. There was nothing to lose, no one cared what they looked like or sounded like, it was all about the love. The sun rose for the last time and we all sat huddled up, holding hands for body-warmth in the biggest tent we could find, still moving to the music. We packed in a half-daze and caught the last bus to the little town of 'Warrington' with a new group of friends we'd met the night before.

The rain took over.

We all walked into civilization together, feeling the cold-hard stares as people awed at our muddy, bedraggled and homeless appearances. From nature to cement, shops, and warmth - it felt so strange. Mothers directed their children away from us and we just stared in awe at how clean everything looked. We soon found heaven; the waitresses at Nando's hurried us in in a motherly manner, taking our bags off and sitting us down at their two biggest tables. We ate in a comfortable silence appreciating the hot food and the warm room.

We sat outside and rolled a  last celebratory joint. It made the realization that we'd missed three trains, again, less-stressful. We eventually sauntered over to the train station - this time, our seats had been degraded from first class to the carriage in which we sat squashed up on the floor with about 15 bags around us. At that point, nothing mattered, and we lay back on whatever was behind us, and fell asleep. London was a trip to return to - Carnival had just finished and it was feathers and glitter galore.. we walked through the craziness and finally got to what we'd been waiting for - a warm shower and a dry bed.

I've had a day to recover and my eyes still can't see straight. Post-festival-blues has hit and I'm wondering why there isn't a legal cure for this? The pharmaceutical industry are focusing on the wrong crowd.. The light at the end of the tunnel is seeing the photo's from the disposables that we bought with us (and magically managed to bring back!) if only life could be one big festival - Thank you Creamfields! You were a trip ;)



Recipe of the day: Daal and rice (This food saved me at the festival - an extortionate price of 5 pounds, but so worth the result)

http://www.indianfoodforever.com/bachelor-cooking/simple-dal.html