The way that I observe my life appears as something along the lines of a prolonged comedy sketch. A string of embarrassing mishaps and continual mistakes that I have gradually learnt to seek humour in. Probably (hopefully) more characteristic of my age than my core person. It then appears that if you take a group of girls entering their 20s and place them in a foreign country the disastrous elements become heightened. Spending the past week in sunny Croatia at Outlook Festival this was certainly evidenced.
An experience that began with almost missing our 6 hour train from Budapest, followed by queuing for an hour and a half in a torrential downpour, losing my purse with the contents of all my bank cards and money on the second night, tied up by a series of misadventures that are perhaps not so blog appropriate - it seems that almost everything that could go wrong, did... All the same, as I find myself back in the familiar confines of my mother's sitting room all I can muster is a desire to be back in the dusty ruins of Fort Punta. Despite the initial fear of being forced to beg for tokens at the side of arenas, I can say with the upmost assurance that I have never spent a week feeling more without a care than the week just gone. So then what is it about the bass festival, now in its 7th year, that has the ability to instil such ease even at times of panic?
Entering into the campsite just outside Pula on the first day, drenched to the bone and covered in mud, I found myself fighting the urge to feel immediately disheartened. The general morale of the group had been rapidly dashed by continual complaints and despite my best efforts I found myself struggling to resist comparisons to the rainy backdrops of UK festivals. After ditching our backpacks, the clouds had cleared but my scepticism had kicked in in full force. Maybe I travelled all this way for yet another mud bath. I could've just caught a ferry to the Isle of Wight instead of trekking to the other side of Europe.
Mustering the last of the days strength we set off towards the beach with low expectations and a healthy dose of British cynicism in tow. As with other festivals I've become accustomed to the fact that you hear the music well before you see it. Similar to the moment of standing on a sweat filled tube as it nears Westbourne Park on Carnival day and you feel the structures underfoot begin to rattle. Rising anticipation as you feel the bass start to run through you. Then it's upon you, the sight of a swarm of bodies, locked together in exaggerated movement. This, however, was unlike anything I've seen before. A crowd outstretched along crystal waters, extending as far as the eye can see. In the snap moment it took my eyes to adjust, taking it in, all those stresses and doubts had vanished, dispersed into thin air. It's that age old thing - no description can match the reality. Though I've seen the photos and heard the stories, it takes for you to stand in the midst of it to truly grasp it.
The consecutive days passed in a length of bliss. Beginning by lazing in the beating down sun and swimming in the clear streaks of water before descending on a playground of ruins lined with some of the best soundsystems I've ever come into contact with. The creators of Outlook claim they wanted to reflect soundsystem culture - 'heavyweight soundsystems, in a friendly, warm and inspiring peninsular, sea-side location.' Well with one of the most incredible settings they seem to have stumbled upon the perfect combination; thousands of people out to have a good time in a literal paradise. Whenever people comment on the friendliness of festival crowds I'm always sceptical. Largely happy groups are easily hindered when among such a high concentration of people, and although you might reflect my scepticism I've never been among such an entirely warm congregation. It could be the influence of the surroundings, but over the week it was simple to observe, everybody seemed to be in a state of ecstasy. Days that felt like months and a feeling of calm that is yet to shift, all I know is I'm counting down every second until I find myself back under the Croatian sun.
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