Driving north we are on the upward span of a long, arching bridge. Up ahead the girders of the bridge, set against the monotone grey-blue sky, make it look as if we are driving towards a door in the firmament, opening into a hazy Great Beyond.
It’s not too far from the truth. As we crest the bridge we can once again see over the pastures and fields of windmills that seem to roll on forever. The far north of Germany is almost as far into the Great Beyond as you can get and still be in continental Europe. The weather looks menacing but we’re heading to a festival where a little rain really won’t hurt anybody – Germany’s Wattolümpiade, the Mud Olympics.
‘Problem is that all the best stones you’ve had, you’ve thrown away…” – Ron, back-to-back ‘Old Tosser’
I’ve always had a soft spot for Wales. The very same rain that sheeted through the streets and turned to mud underfoot while I was at the HowTheLightGetsIn festival, was the very same that made my onward trip deeper into the heart of Wales the most enjoyable drive of the trip so far.
I do have to admit a certain closed-mindedness when it comes to notorious party-island destinations. I’ve always been unenthused by the tales I’ve heard from Bali (or Aus-Bali-a as it could otherwise be known), I found few redeeming features in Corfu and please get my head examined if I ever mention Ibiza as a possible destination.
Well here we are: 7 festivals down, and over 20 yet to go in European Bazaar. But already we have a clear front-runner for the best and most bizarre festival in the One Small World Awards! Will anyone be able to eclipse the friendly lunacy of Blackawton’s International Festival of Wormcharming?
The topic of Peak Oil was all the rage there for a while and, depending on whom you speak to, it’s either been reached or it hasn’t. Either way our collective eye seems to have moved on from this particular calamity.
Yet it seems that no sooner has one fallen off our radar than another one rears its head: this time the issue of Peak Food.