So after 77 days, visiting 6 festivals, 10 countries and 16 cities over 2 continents it’s time for me to return to the mundane. Back to London to my new home in Woodford and to the job that was the reason I was able to save up for such an adventure and I am pleased to say that I am very ready for this. Don’t get me wrong my trip had such an abundance of fun, excitement, hilarity and new friends that I’m still trying to process the whole thing. But what I’ll really remember it for is just how character defining the bloody thing has been. When I look back at a lot of it I’m starting to realise just how high the difficulty setting was. Now I’m not saying that I was expecting the journey to be a breeze. I knew that travelling alone and taking on such an intense task as attending week long, drug heavy festivals in hot countries was going to be a challenge. The first being before I left when the result of Brexit meant that the pound was now at it’s weakest for over 30 years, meaning financially there had literally not been a worse time in my life to decide to go travelling. But before I left I got my mind MOT’d with a series of therapy sessions, got my teeth sorted by the dentist and got the all clear from the clinic. A challenging and muddy Glastonbury was also there to serve as the perfect training to get me match fit for a summer of festivals. So mentally, physically and sexually, I was in rude health!
If you were to ask me why I’d decided to embark on such an adventure I’d probably say that I wanted to broaden my horizons of European festivals. For almost 10 years now I’d been attending a variety of festival of different sizes and styles all over the country, now I felt it was time to see what Europe had to offer and whilst I was at it why not see what the rest of the continent is like? Since I was on such a trip why not finally go and see my darling Deirdre over in Montreal for a few weeks, that would be a great way to top off a guaranteed full throttle trip. Then on the way back I’d stop at my parents to sleep for a week before returning to the mundane back home. To be really honest with you I decide to go on this trip because I thought it be a laugh and life in England is often boring and frustrating and recently my mates had started doing my head in. After 9 months of scrimping and saving I had everything booked with a healthy amount in my savings account to take the piss a little bit.
So here it is! All that I experienced, learnt, discovered and lost on my Festival Odyssey…
I was glad that I got Nowhere out the way with first. As far as festivals go that was an intense one. 40-degree heat in a baron and dusty location and loss of weight I didn’t have to lose due to little food made it a punisher. Certainly glad I went though. It’s a very unique event full of broad variety of characters and the sense that anything is possible. The harsh environment actually made you feel like you deserved your good time; also it’s a good way of doing a Burn event without having to chuck 2 grand at Burning Man. But when leaving Nowhere I was particularly excited to be firstly going to Barcelona – a city I hadn’t visited before but mostly because I was going to be staying with my old school friend G who had recently joined the London exodus to live in the Catalan capital with his Spanish girlfriend Alba.
First port of call was the pub for the Euro 2016 final between hosts France and Portugal. A particularly fitting first night in the city for the two of us, as both G and I as well as a couple of other friends from school have kept in touch over the last year through a football Whatsapp group. The final itself was an anti climax, just one of them typically drab nil-nil’s. Personally I wanted France to help boost the morale of the population a bit, they deserved it after relentless couple of years they’ve had and also quite a lot of the attendance at Nowhere was French and they were all both really lovely and also very excited to be in the final. The match of course went to Portugal in extra time, but I was happy for G as it meant that he won his works sweepstake and was going home with €100.
Seeing as G had work on weekdays I was left with the afternoons and evenings to explore the city at my will. As I was only there for 3 nights I thought I’d get all the touristy stuff ticked off my list and rent a bike so I could see the city in the best possible way. As the city was the birthplace of one of the worlds most renowned and revered architects in Gaudy, so most of my interest revolved around seeing his work. My first stop though was behind enemy lines at the Nou Camp (Camp Nou?) I felt I should whilst I was in town and to be fair it’s not a bad little tour if that kind of thing interests you. For just over €20 you get to walk through all the trophy cabinets, walk out in front of the pitch, see the changing rooms and get given a thorough run through the history and ethos of the club. There’s even this interactive bit where you can stream a load of videos of historic goals and games. Don’t pay for the audio guide if you know what’s good for you though! For an extra tenner it don’t really tell you much and even if it did personally I didn’t particularly care.
The following day I visited the Casa Batilo, a worthy museum if you’re interested in finding out a bit more on Gaudi, originally built in the early 20th century for a bourgeois Barcelona family. It gives a lot of insight into his styles and inspiration. Most fascinating being his use of nature as a design tool, how a lot of his structures matched that of animals or of trees, the ceiling of the lost of the Casa Batilo for example matches the skeletal structure of a snake. Even the furniture he designed for the interior was ergonomic so it would suit the features of whoever sat on it. The museum also shows designs for his other works around the cities. All different schools, parks, houses and churches, the man had an incredible body of work. When I visited the Sagrada Familia I was quite overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it. All the Stations of the Cross carved into the sand stone structure and the spires lifting far off into the sky. I couldn’t go in as it was sold out, I think it’s one of those things you have to book in advance. I’ll probably do that next time. I was never truly aware of the scale of Gaudi’s work but the man was indeed an innovator of his time. Geezer designed nearly every major landmark of the city for Christ sake!
When I didn’t have much to do I had a wonderful time cycling around the narrow cobbled alleyways of the city, poking my head into all the little bars and shops that took my fancy. The city has a large main road that runs diagonally through it called Av. Diagonal so no matter how lost you think you are it’s easy just to find that road and if that fails just head south and you’ll hit the sea front eventually. I felt very safe cycling through Barcelona and cycle hire was only something like €16 until 8pm the following day so it’s not bad value. Beer was about €4.50 a pint and a meal with drink was around €15 (Although I did here of €1 tapas places) so it’s not the cheapest European city out there but by no means the most expensive. I didn’t have any trouble conversing in English and at no point did I ever find myself feeling like I had no option of anything to do. I’d love to go back and see some more of it.
On my final night, with his newly acquired winnings, G took us all out for pizza at a restaurant local to him where we chatted about times old and new with his missus. I remember even then being filled with this rare form of excitement. My journey was only beginning and already I felt like I was well into an adventure and got to see a very dear old friend of mine to boot. He’s a good man is G, humble, loyal and always genuinely happy to see other people do well and take a great interest in everything someone else has to say, always has been, he’s a rare breed in that sense. I admire the cunt for actually having the bollocks to run off to a foreign city at the drop of a hat like that. A lot of us sit around London and talk about it, he just got up and did it it in the space of a week. I wish him and his bird all the best and I look forward to seeing him again soon.
I’d left Barcelona with a sense of positivity swirling around my head. I’d only been on the road just under a couple of weeks and already I’d seen so much and I was only just getting started. I looked to the next few months with a sense of wonder. What adventures lay ahead of me from here? But before I had time to get lost in my own wonder the next morning I was on a flight to Brussels for Dour Festival. I was especially excited because it was to be the first festival I’d ever done with Deirdre, I also hadn’t seen her for a couple of years so that was extra exciting. Straight away I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed just having her ramble away next to me. Even when I’d zone out when she’d just be walking along next to me nattering away about what ever was on her mind. It’s always been something about her I’ve found really comforting, almost the opposite of a comfortable silence. During the festival I took a picture of her that was to be a source of solace for me on the road ahead. Just a simple one I took as she looked up at the camera looking naturally pretty. We arranged to meet up in Berlin the following week and that made me look forward to the road ahead even more.
Petch and I arrived in Antwerp on the Sunday night and checked into a pretty plush Air BNB, paid for by the man himself. The meth bender the two of us had been on all that day meant that I couldn’t sleep a wink that night, the following day I had planned to meet up with Meddler and Sarah in the city and had to spend a good few hours walking through Antwerp coming down hard in the hot morning sun with 20 odd kilo’s of weight on my back and 2 bags in both hands filled with left over beer and crisps for some reason. I stood around sweating bullets in the hot Belgian sun, trying to find shade under tree’s and next to buildings until the gang showed up at around 2pm. We spent the afternoon exploring the city, stopping for pit stops at bars for beer and chips, ducking our heads into sex shops and waling around the red light district, which I later discovered on a search for a late night kebab was actually a pretty stylish and trendy part of town. Quite quiet and clean with a few nice bars surrounding it, an age of difference to that of the Amsterdam red light district. It was great to get to see them on the tour, without their presence I would have probably just wondered the city on my own. I booked myself into a guesthouse and the following afternoon boarded a coach to Utrecht.
I’d been recommended the city of Utrecht by a couple of Dutch nationals, claiming that it was basically Amsterdam without the tourists. This is its most precise description. Beyond the contemporary train station is the tiny, historic city, with a similar circular canal lay out to Amsterdam that wraps around a huge church tower in the city centre. Unlike the Dutch capital though Utrecht is very quiet and curiously a lot of the tourists are also from the Netherlands, tourists in their own country. I managed to find and old hostel to the north of the city, bordering on dilapidation it was an authentic hostel experience filled with some colourful characters.
I was greeted by a man I can only describe as an Australian caricature. Pissed and stoned, tall and dark with a Paul Hogan hat. His opening lines asking whether I liked changa and if I smoked hash, and assured me that if I was crazy I would fit in at the hostel rather well. His greeting made me feel very welcome. My room was a large dorm that if filled entirely would have been hellishly over crowded. I’d arrived in the Netherlands during the middle of a heat wave and thought I choose a bunk beside the window, an idea that turned out to be pointless, as the old iron shutters only opened a crack. The showers were suitably scummy and cold and there was a sign in the bedroom that was very insistent that sheets must be put over the plastic mattresses. The Aussie entered the bedroom and invited me up to smoke spliffs and drink beer with him and some other English guests. I told him I’d be straight up once I’d washed the sweat off with a cold shower.
The other two English guests were a very attractive and incredibly chilled, young couple from Nottingham who had been travelling the world for over a year. There was also another older Aussie geezer who described himself as a frequent traveler of the world. Then there was a Greek guy who didn’t say much but looked a lot like the doctor from Human Centipede and that made me uneasy. The whole place seemed to be filled with a range of out casts and travelers who I couldn’t help but wonder what their stories were, a friendly bunch none the less, I really like the vibe in that place. The hostel also supplied all the food for you that I hadn’t come across before, a really nice touch I thought.
That night we sat around talking about how our home countries media portrays different cultures, what our stories were for traveling and music. The Aussie got drunk and of course controlled the course of the conversation. Bantering with us English and telling us about his home back in Aus and telling us about the birds he’d shagged.
My first night sleep I was plagued with some pretty terrifying sleep paralysis and night terrors. This is a common side effect of festivals for me, especially considering the potency of the cocktail of amphetamines and psychadelics I’d been consuming at Dour. At one point I thought I was being pinned down and attacked by another guest in the room, another sequence was believing I was in a boat on some very choppy waters, and when I looked over there was people in the water trying to capsize me. If at any point I woke up screaming during that night of incredibly unsettled sleep nobody let on anything the following morning.
As I mentioned I’d hit Holland in the middle of a heat wave the result of which made it incredibly hard to go wondering around the city. I really don’t cope well with hot weather; even when I’m sun creamed up, hat on, with a bottle of water in hand at all times it just makes me too uncomfortable. This was the case for most of my stay in Utrecht, I’d be wondering around taking in all the typically wonderful Dutch architecture, get to a café and melt. It wont matter how much water I get into myself I always feel like I’m about to collapse. I still managed to take a lot of Utrecht in though and I’d recommend it if you’re traveling through that wonderful country. There’s not too much in the way of coffee shops, but I did find a wonderful one on a boat called ‘The Culture Boat’ North West of the canal from the centre of the city. A lovely little Dutch secret.
The following day I set off for Amsterdam, which wasn’t initially a plan of mine however as I’d wanted to make my way further east as soon as possible. Western Europe especially the Netherlands has a tendency to eat up all my funds and Amsterdam of all the cities will always be the main contributor of this, it’s very hard to do that place cheap. But the reason I was in the beautiful Dutch capital was because my old time best friend Lauren just happened to be visiting with her boyfriend on their way to a D&B festival. I had a couple of days before heading to Germany so I booked myself in at Camp Zeeburg, my favourite place to stay when I’m in ‘Dam. If you don’t mind camping it’s a great way of staying in the city on a budget. Amounts to about €7 a night in the summer months. It’s on a nice lake, lovely mix of families and youth, staff are great, showers hot and free and the bar is pretty chilled if not a bit pricey. I always feel at home when I’m there.
I hadn’t seen Lauren in a while, nor had I met this new fella of hers. Back when we were younger there used to be this ongoing joke between the two of us about how she could never have boyfriends because they always ended up getting on better with me then they did with her. This to my knowledge was her first proper relationship in quite a while so I was keen to meet geezer. We spent the warm summers afternoon doing what people do in ‘Dam, getting stoned, drinking beers and just walking around admiring the beautiful renaissance architecture and soaking in the unique, relaxed ambience of the city, which is probably what makes Amsterdam one of my favourite places in the world. I don’t really smoke weed, there’s only one bar that I like to pop into the once whenever I visit, I never seem to have enough money to properly enjoy the place but every time I go I find myself content and inspired in just simply wondering around enjoying my own thoughts. This year I looked at all the different barges on the canals and fantasied about that alternate reality where me and The Boy are actually married. In this daydream we run a bike shop from our barge that we also live in.
It’s a masterpiece of a city where everyone appears so happy and friendly; this I find is helped by the truly wonderful Dutch language. Whilst sat in a bar I was listening to a table of Dutch women talk over drinks and was struck by how similar it is to German but spoken in a tone that the person speaking it was constantly having a good time. I’m also amazed at just how fluent every Dutch persons English is. It’s practically a bi-lingual country where I personally don’t have to worry about toning down my accent or worry about the amount of slang I use. Even their humor is as dark and twisted as that of us Brits. I know it’s not cool to favour nationalities but the Dutch are number one spot for me and their capital city I consider the king of Europe. A utopia for stoners and hedonists and a mecca for cyclists, I’ve made the pilgrimage there every year since I first went 5 years ago and probably will do again next year.
It was a brief yet pleasant meet up with Lauren, it’s ashame because I really don’t get to see much of her anymore these days now that she’s taken up a career in the ski business. I liked her boyfriend though, he seemed pretty chilled and I reckon someone like that is ideal for a character as intense as Lauren. I should really make an effort to go visit her out in France or where ever it is she live now. We’ll see how the coming months treat me.
Seeing as spending not even 10 days in Western Europe was like setting my wallet on fire I decided to hitchhike to my next destination of Hamburg. It’s always been a method of transport recommended to me by other travelers as both a cheap way of getting around and as an amazing experience. As Holland and Germany are quite well connected in terms of motorways and considering my impression of Dutch people is that they are all lovely and helpful I thought that the process would indeed be the proverbial piece of piss. So off I set from Amstel station where there is a designated hitching spot.
I managed to get my first lift in about 20 minutes, this was after a couple of drivers who would respond to my thumbs up and smile by flipping me off and even a few drivers who would indicate to pull in only to throw the international sign for ‘wanker’ out the window and speed off again. I found these interactions more funny then disheartening. So my first ride was from a German geezer who couldn’t speak any English but told me he’d take me to the Autobahn. ‘Result!’ I thought, but infact he meant he’d take me to the next service station on the motorway. He sat and waited there for about 40 minutes until it was clear no one was picking me up, then gave me a lift to the next service station where he left me. What wasn’t in my favour was that I was trying to hitch on a weekend which id been advised not to do. What’s more it was the first weekend of the summer holidays in Holland meaning that most cars would be filled up with holiday making families. This was indeed the case. After about an hour of waiting a very pretty Dutch lady with a baby pulled up next to me and offered to give me a lift to the next city of Arnhem, where apparently it be easy for me to find a lift north beyond the German border.
Getting her to drop me in the centre of town was the first bollock I was to drop. Straightaway I learnt that all hitching needs to be done at the last service station leaving town and being dropped in the city centre I suddenly realized how tired I was already. I almost considered finding somewhere to sleep for the evening, but a couple of double espresso’s soon sorted this out. I made my way to the north of town and set up my sign at a petrol station where once again I realized that even though I was saving €60 on a coach ticket I was spunking nearly 40 notes on supplies just to get me through the day; coffee, sandwiches, fags even bottles of water all add up in the Netherlands. Also by this point I was starting to get pretty fatigued when I realised that it was probably unlikely anyone was going to be able to take me all the way to Germany from here, and as the day was getting on I started to wonder if I’d realistically make it to Hamburg at all this rate. After almost 2 hours of disinterested looking drivers, an older geezer stared at my sign for a bit, then offered to take me to the A1 which was the motorway that lead all the way to Germany. He himself did a lot of hitchhiking in his youth and told me that it was alot rarer to see them it used to be – something to do with students being given discount train travel or something. He gave me a lift to the services on the A1 and I set up on the long exit road, fully aware that it was now evening and I was still 300km from my desired destination. I’d been hitching for 6 hours and aint even crossed the German border yet. One vital piece of advice the last ride did give me which I will relay to anyone thinking of hitchhiking for the first time and that is… Someone will pick you up eventually! Even when you’re starting to give up hope and think you’re going to be stood at that service station for the rest of your life, remember that it is absolutely inconceivable that someone wont be going the same way and give you a lift.
After an hour and a half of blank stares and looks of bewilderment from passing drivers I was just about to walk over to the large bay of resting lorry drivers and ask if anyone was to be going through Deutschland. Then just as I was about to pick up my sign, a car filled with 3 fella’s blaring Bob Marley pulled up next to me and offered me a ride all the way to Bremen. They were a smiley and chatty bunch from Sierra Leone living as tradesmen in Germany, just on their way back from visiting a small town in Holland. ‘It’s a small town, like Coventry’ one of them told me. During the journey they asked me about my thoughts on Brexit and after I told them about my dismay they started to discuss it among themselves. One fella mentioned about the prime minister resigning and his pal responded with ‘It’s because the Queen ordered him too!’ I didn’t correct anyone on this bit of misinformation, I actually quite liked that people thought this was how the Monarchy and politics worked in Britain.
The 2 hours in the car with those geezers really flew by. A dead friendly bunch who I parted ways with at a petrol station just outside of Bremen, about 100km from Hamburg. Although I was tired and still quite a way from my desired destination I was already won over by the hitching experience. I liked how already I’d had 4 different rides from 4 completely different types of people with the one similarity that they thought they’d help someone out by giving them a ride.
It was pitch black now and I was very hungry and very tired and told myself that I’d give it another hour and halves wait and then pitch my tent in the surrounding shrubbery and continue in the morning. Then just as I lit up my last snout before deciding to call it a night, a bloke passed next to me staring at my sign… ‘Are you going to Hamburg’ I asked?… He looked me up and down and nodded ‘Yes…. Hold on one moment’ I was so tired and relieved to get a lift that would take me all the way to the city I was after I failed notice a few things about this geezer… As I waited for him on the courtyard of the petrol station he stood there giving me this intense gaze whilst he waited to pay for his coffee, his eyes bulging out of his head, his face all scared and warped. Granted he was an older bloke but just so I’d later have no regrets I took my penknife out of my bag and slipped it into my pocket. When he came out and lead me to his car, even a passer by gave me a look somewhere between pity and concern. The geezer’s car was pretty scrappy and a slight alarm went off in my head when I noticed he had a screwdriver jammed into the passenger side lock. He couldn’t speak much English at all, but was able to tell me he was from Montenegro. After just 10 minutes he pulled off an exit to Bremen… I asked him what we was doing and he couldn’t understand me. Then he quietly kept muttering something I couldn’t understand… He turned the car onto a deserted and dark industrial estate, so I reached into my pocket and unsheathed my knife…..