Well so much for constant updates. That one kind of flew over the cuckoo’s nest. It’s not even that I had restricted internet access. It’s a lack of time and motivation. Just imagine I wrote this over two months ago. Ok? So it’s July 1st.
Which brings me to...
Ah yes. Glastonbury. If there is one thing you do in your life, make sure it is Glastonbury. You may have heard that it isn’t just a festival. How is that possible, I hear you ask? In the greater scheme of things, how can 5 days in some random muddy field in the South of England be “a life-changing experience”? As often as that is said, there is truth behind this statement. It is just a festival. But on the other hand, it really isn’t. It is more. Much more. It is a completely different world. It’s a privilege. It’s a way of life. It’s an overdose of music, atmosphere, people, sights, smells, experiences, learning, love, community and joy. It’s the young teens who have just finished school and want to celebrate. It’s the family who want a holiday where time together isn’t a chore. It’s for those who consider themselves open-minded until they realise how much wider their horizons could be. It’s the 60-something-year old who wants to relive something of their youth. It’s the 20- something- year old office worker who always wondered how life would have been had they been born in the 60’s. It’s for those who seek something different and want a place where, even if you are alone, you aren’t lonely.
I am aware that could sound extremely pretentious and preachy to some and you may think I may as well change my name to “Tree Hugger”. However, I’d like to stop you right there. Don’t judge until you have experienced. You would have to be an extremely pessimistic or unlucky person to come away from Glastonbury without feeling as if you’ve had a weight lifted off your shoulders. You’d have to be determined not to have a good time and possibly without the use of your cheek muscles.
I think I have built this up enough. Now. Here it goes. My Glastonbury experience. If you find the following entries boring or repetitive, I am sorry you feel that way. If you do on the other hand, after reading my stories, feel like you’ve to go now, are creaming your pants with excitement or are crying into your palms for missing out on tickets, I’m delighted. The subject of Glastonbury causes a whole spectrum of emotions. Hope I get that across.
This entry is going to be about; Glastonbury: The Journey.
Uuuuuuugggh. It’s 4am. Wednesday 23rd June 2010. After only 3 hours sleep (late packing), the 5 of us have to arise. It’s dark and foggy outside. The exact kind of weather that makes you want to roll back over and forget you ever woke up to such a sight. I groggily get out of bed, aware we’ve a pretty long day ahead. The 5 of us get dressed and run through everything once last time. Tickets. Check. Ferry Details. Check. Camping Equipment. Loaded the night before. Last to go in is our backpacks of clothes for the week. No time for breakfast, just a quick bowl of cereal or a piece of fruit and boom, boom, boom; into the jeep.
Who are these 5 travellers? Well...
Number one: Mum. The woman who facilitated the dream and is potentially the coolest and most laidback woman alive. Loves music. Loves her children. Eternal hippie within. Glastonbury? Her cup of tea. And finally, here’s the opportunity, presented on a plate.
Number two: Christine. 18. The realist. She doesn’t get excited for things until they are actually happening. She won’t believe Glastonbury is real until she sets her foot inside the grounds. Great sense of fun but hates rushing and prefers going with the flow. Also loves regular meals and sleep. Could be problematic at Glastonbury.
Numero 3: Daniel. 17. The optimist. First festival but boy, he’s been rearing to go for years. Is probably the most eclectic of us when it comes to music taste. He’s taken bits of my taste, Chrissy’s and Mum’s and has crafted his own. Extremely open-minded when it comes to new bands and has a sense of direction like no other. This comes in handy later.
Number 4: Michael. 15. First festival as well but Mike embraces things differently. He’s the guy who just does his own thing. No plan, no problem. Michael comes to Glastonbury with no expectations; A clean slate. Hates rushing and standing around but leave him to roam like the dark horse he is and things should go peachy.
Number 5: Sarah. Me. 19. The brains behind the operation. Since watching Blur in 2009 on the BBC, the cogs began to turn. 2010 would be the year. Was up at the crack of dawn on ticket day. Organised ferry. Checked out campsites, band rumours and routes to. Sorted our personalised timetables and maps . Freak? Maybe. But loves festivals. Has over 15,000 songs on her iPod. Loves sharing experiences with her family. The one who goes researching the bands months in advance and can barely contain herself when she gets to see them with a newbie.
That’s who you are dealing with here. So picture us, in the pitch black, leaving our town and heading down the 3 hour long road to Rosslare, the Ferry port. Our ferry leaves at 8.15am, for which we arrive in plenty of time for. The journey too, aside from the terrible rain, was uneventful except for the excited “If’s” and “When’s” as well as a shout out on a national radio station, wishing us luck on our journey.
Once loaded up in the ferry, we go up on deck. Veterans of ferry travel, we know we’ve to eat to pass the 4 hour crossing and try and spot fellow festival travellers. There appears to be none.
Four long hours pass with only an overpriced breakfast and an uncomfortable snooze to occupy us. Finally we hit Pembroke and I get impatient at the time it takes to dock. All loaded up, we land on Welsh soil at 12.30pm. The excitement is tangible in the air as we take it all in. Already looking out for other Glastonbury parking stickers, this excitement decreases considerably as we realise that Wales is a country considerable in length. The only exterior mention of Glastonbury is the lovely lady in the Pembroke branch of Argos, where we had to buy a reasonably priced battery operated digital camera, who told us that her son goes every year and never shuts up about it. Good sign.
Have to be honest here; South Wales isn’t the most interesting landscape to withhold. The anticipation only heightens as we eventually approach signs saying London and Bristol. Bristol is England. Bristol is close. Very close. Which means we’re close. Having finally achieved to get Radio Somerset, I can’t describe how it felt as we went over the Severn bridge with crystal blue skies over and Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way” playing. It was like it was a completely different day .
Having prepared ourselves for the worst, we are still surprised when we pass by Bristol with no traffic delays. It’s about 4pm now and there isn’t a sign of another Glastonbury goer. This is both good and bad. Great, we’ve avoided the traffic. Shite, we’re going to find it hard to get camped up. Our jitters increase as we hear on Radio Somerset that an estimated 100,000 have already arrived but there is still a backlog on the main Glastonbury road approaching from the motorway.
We discuss what best to do. Risk an additional 3 hour backlog through Street and Glastonbury village or drive further south and approach it from the south west side, hopefully avoiding any other traffic and road closures. It seems like a good idea and worth the extra hour drive. Until we pass the quiet slip road and hear on the radio that the traffic is just about clearing up and there’s all but a clear path into the festival from the main road. Woops. But this detour turns out to be quiet nice. We make our way through the quaint little villages of Somerset, which are beautiful red slate roofs and rose gardens. After an hour, we’re not quite sure where we are and I, sittingin the front seat, am scrabbling about with the map. We come down a narrow, country road from a steep hill when all of a sudden to our right, we make out a glint of metal from the scorching sun. Lots of it. And then we spot the super-fence. And then cars laid out in neat rows.
“Hooooly crap. There it is.” “That’s it. That’s Glastonbury. After a year of planning. “ “There it is. Oh my god, it’s feckin’ massive.” “ Jesus Christ! Where does it end! “Oh it’s only 5pm, that’s good time.” “And with no traffic too.” “ Yes, yes. Right, to the carparks.”
We drive down the hill until we reach two tired looking stewards on the road who direct us left. WE drive down some ramps across an ordinary looking field, where we are stopped by another exhausted looking steward who asks for our tickets, checks our carpark sticker and identifies each ticketholder.
Something to Note: Do not make a joke about hiding the drugs in front of a steward. They do not take kindly to this. If we were not a young enough family, I’d say we’d have been subjected to an awkward and thorough search.
Onwards we drive, smiles all round, as we are directed in through field after field after field full of cars. I am beginning to wonder where exactly we are. I know the map backwards and I can’t figure it out. We were never aiming for a particular car-park as we didn’t know whether our chosen campsite would be full or not. We said that we’d just camp wherever was nearest and worry about the car later. First MISTAKE. Biiigggg MMMIIISTAKE. I’ll come back to that.
Heads swivelling, getting a look at everyone else and wondering that if these are the latecomers, how many really are already here! We had our doubts about arriving so late on a Wednesday but due to ferry times, we couldn’t arrive on Tuesday when the carparks opened. It’s a genius idea and probably why there weren’t any major traffic mishaps. Stewards direct us directly into a field, already half full. This later turns out to be in the north east of the site, near the camper van area. We park and get into action straight away. Second thing to note: Buy two or three of those trolley things. Life saver. Except we only had one. And 5 people’s equipment to carry.
Second mistake: Do NOT underestimate the sheer size of Glastonbury. Whatever about the site itself, don’t forget to include the car-park areas as well as the density of people walking with you and the volume of things you are carrying. After heading out from the car-parks, I had naively expected the entrance to be near. No. We had to walk through one field to reach the main gate [but we walked too far and missed the entrance so had to walk all the way back again]. We then had to walk through one, two, three campervan fields before we reached what is correctly called the hill of death. The hill of death is the start of the camping area and while, we had passed through areas buzzing with activity, the sheer size of Glastonbury didn’t hit us until from the hill of death; you look up and can’t see an end to it. The horizon is still Glastonbury. I wish I had a picture. It was astounding.
From there, we precariously walk down the hill and after half an hour of agony, we reach the ticket entrance which was mad. We had to waddle in through some bars and show tickets, get our faces inspected [photo identification]and go into lanes where stewards were waiting to put on your wrist band. There was much excitement about the wrist bands this year. The tickets are cool enough with your picture, U.V ink writing and whatnot on them but the wrist bands? They are made of material and fastened with a metal clip that is impossible to remove. For the 40th anniversary, they choose a nice lilac and gold design. The must have fashion accessory of the week. The coolest bit about the wrist bands is [and I can’t believe I didn’t notice till I came home] that they glow in the dark!
I can’t describe how torturous that walk was. It DOES matter where you park your car. Learn from our mistake. We passed the John Peel stage and from there we reached the furthest point away from where we had originally entered. And there it was. A space for our massive 6 person tent. Just waiting as the sunset. Glorious. We had finally arrived at Glastonbury.
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