Swap the mud for the beach

Trust me, I’ve been there
Zoe Williams

I have a kid now, so the only music festival I’ll be going to in the next decade will either be WOMAD or a smaller musical event, maybe in a garden instead of a field, with a stereo instead of a live act, going by the name “barbecue” instead of “festival”.

But let’s just say I was in the market for an extravaganza of wall-to-wall outdoor musical fun – I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t do, and that’s stay in England. I have lived through enough Glastonburys to know that Jay-Z ain’t gonna carry a crowd with me in it. I do not want to go to Reading Festival again, just to be another year older than the 10 years older I already was than everybody else. I would definitely, positively go abroad.

Here are some misconceptions I always had about Benicàssim (close to Valencia) and every other festival anything like it, by which I mean, occurring in a foreign country.

First, I thought that only posh people went. What is the matter with me? Getting to Spain is about the same price as getting to Bounds Green. Also, the ticket is no more expensive than one to a UK festival. You don’t need to be connected to go there, you don’t need to have been at school with a Spanish music producer, and even if you were, that wouldn’t necessarily make you posh. I just always had the background sense that to have that much fun, without the penalty of British weather, you had to be privileged, the same way as when you’re a kid you think only aristocrats go skiing.

Second, even revising my “posh” opinion – which I had to, since I have friends who’ve been to Benicàssim, and they’re not remotely posh – I still thought that life for the rank and file of the European festival, for the people who aren’t performing and are so ill-connected they can’t even coherently order noodles from a food stall, would be treacherous to the point that you might Second, even revising my “posh” opinion – which I had to, since I have friends who’ve been to Benicàssim, and they’re not remotely posh – I still thought that life for the rank and file of the European festival, for the people who aren’t performing and are so ill-connected they can’t even coherently order noodles from a food stall, would be treacherous to the point that you might

Third, I thought that not speaking the language would tempt people to rip you off. Ridiculous. Nobody is ever more tempted to rip you off than the purveyor of weak lager in a UK musical event. Language or no language.

I could carry on all day, but this is the way to do outdoors, with proper weather, better hippies, nicer campsites, more stylish drinks. Go to Europe, chum! Do it for me.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 9th, 2008 at 3:18 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.