"Ah, you're looking for boom boom", fistpump.
"Er, yes, the festival".
"Sim, o bum bum" fistpump, fistpump, "you have to go back where you came from, back to Idanha-a-Nova where you follow the river, mumble mumble, Barrancos mumble take a left mumble. But whatever you do, do not cross the river. Then you follow that road, mumble mumble mumble mumble and there, you ask for directions again. Ok?"
"O-ok" I have no idea, "muito obrigada e boa noite".
I turn the little Fiat 500 around and leave the thin smiling older lady standing by the road near the border of Spain and Portugal. We are once again driving back towards Idanha-a-Nova, towards a setting sun, towards the policeman who told us to come in this direction in the first place.
"Do you know where you're going?"
"No, but we'll figure it out".
"Well, if we pass that camper van again we can ask them for directions. They looked like Boomers."
"These guys also look like Boomers, and they look just as lost as we are". We pass a car parked on a side lane leading to the middle of a wheat field, interior lights on, a big map held up comically covering the faces of two blonde hunched figures. They could also have been spies.
After about an hour of driving up and down the same 20km stretch of road between Idanha-A-Nova and the Spanish border, asking for directions two more times, once to that same policeman who sent us the wrong way and another to the French group in the camper van who took the time to explain that all policemen are idiots in broken English, we finally found the way to the entrance of Boom Festival. We also found the 2 hour long queue of cars waiting to be let onto the grounds. In fairness, it was another 20 km to the actual entrance from the point where we finally joined the queue. 20 km at a snail's pace. 3 hours later, just after midnight, we were in.
The week that followed was one of the best festival experiences I have ever had. Disregarding the music which is where the festival gets its name from (psy trance = boom boom), this was a gathering of 30,000 like minded, socially, environmentally, and politically conscious individuals who were out to have dance, have fun and share the love. It's hard to talk about the festival without sounding cheesy, but what struck me most was the open-mindedness and genuine kindness of complete strangers towards one another. As an example, even after 7 days of full on party mode, there was very little litter to be seen on the festival grounds. Communal areas such as vegetable and herb gardens, shared kitchens, cafes and tree nests were kept clean by the festival goers themselves. Bending over the mud ovens puzzling over where to get more kindling from, someone suddenly appears beside you with an arms' full of firewood. Suddenly instead of cooking a meal for a small group of friends, you become part of a shared feast exchanging ideas and tips, sharing the workload. If only large cities had more communal spaces like that, as well as the conscious mind to be more respectful towards each other.
Mind you, I am not entirely sure whether such a social system would work for more than a week. The novelty might wear off after a while and you could find yourself searching for a way to escape the crowds and the noise. You could end up in a wheat field surrounded by golden morning light, glad to have found some solitude at last, but wary of the harsh glaring sun which will quickly make its way of the bright blue sky.
For the most part though, the festival was truly educational and eye opening experience. I learned about water treatment systems which use different kinds of grasses and mosses to purify water, without the need of using chemicals. I also learned about midwifery and the fact that it is actually illegal to practice this in some countries. Who knew having a child at home could be so threatening for the medical profession. I learned different theories about the psychology of relationships, models for efficient and self-sustaining communities as well as the role of the individual on the political system. I even met Benny Wenda, the Laani tribe leader from West Papua who talked about the genocide of his people and civil war that is going on there right now. Turns out he's been exiled from his country and now lives in Oxford. There is a recording of him speaking Laani on Language Landscape.
The trip ends with Inti and I camping near an abandoned house on the hillside of Idanha-da-Nova. Nothing obstructs our view, the distant sounds of Boom echo in the valley and mountains, our bellies are full of watermelon and homemade tomato jam given to us by kind, jabbering old ladies dressed in black, ready for Sunday evening mass. Tomorrow we wake up at the crack of dawn and make for Lisbon. We are ready for our next trip: Manila.
www.boomfestival.org
www.freewestpapua.org
"Er, yes, the festival".
"Sim, o bum bum" fistpump, fistpump, "you have to go back where you came from, back to Idanha-a-Nova where you follow the river, mumble mumble, Barrancos mumble take a left mumble. But whatever you do, do not cross the river. Then you follow that road, mumble mumble mumble mumble and there, you ask for directions again. Ok?"
"O-ok" I have no idea, "muito obrigada e boa noite".
I turn the little Fiat 500 around and leave the thin smiling older lady standing by the road near the border of Spain and Portugal. We are once again driving back towards Idanha-a-Nova, towards a setting sun, towards the policeman who told us to come in this direction in the first place.
"Do you know where you're going?"
"No, but we'll figure it out".
"Well, if we pass that camper van again we can ask them for directions. They looked like Boomers."
"These guys also look like Boomers, and they look just as lost as we are". We pass a car parked on a side lane leading to the middle of a wheat field, interior lights on, a big map held up comically covering the faces of two blonde hunched figures. They could also have been spies.
After about an hour of driving up and down the same 20km stretch of road between Idanha-A-Nova and the Spanish border, asking for directions two more times, once to that same policeman who sent us the wrong way and another to the French group in the camper van who took the time to explain that all policemen are idiots in broken English, we finally found the way to the entrance of Boom Festival. We also found the 2 hour long queue of cars waiting to be let onto the grounds. In fairness, it was another 20 km to the actual entrance from the point where we finally joined the queue. 20 km at a snail's pace. 3 hours later, just after midnight, we were in.
The week that followed was one of the best festival experiences I have ever had. Disregarding the music which is where the festival gets its name from (psy trance = boom boom), this was a gathering of 30,000 like minded, socially, environmentally, and politically conscious individuals who were out to have dance, have fun and share the love. It's hard to talk about the festival without sounding cheesy, but what struck me most was the open-mindedness and genuine kindness of complete strangers towards one another. As an example, even after 7 days of full on party mode, there was very little litter to be seen on the festival grounds. Communal areas such as vegetable and herb gardens, shared kitchens, cafes and tree nests were kept clean by the festival goers themselves. Bending over the mud ovens puzzling over where to get more kindling from, someone suddenly appears beside you with an arms' full of firewood. Suddenly instead of cooking a meal for a small group of friends, you become part of a shared feast exchanging ideas and tips, sharing the workload. If only large cities had more communal spaces like that, as well as the conscious mind to be more respectful towards each other.
Mind you, I am not entirely sure whether such a social system would work for more than a week. The novelty might wear off after a while and you could find yourself searching for a way to escape the crowds and the noise. You could end up in a wheat field surrounded by golden morning light, glad to have found some solitude at last, but wary of the harsh glaring sun which will quickly make its way of the bright blue sky.
For the most part though, the festival was truly educational and eye opening experience. I learned about water treatment systems which use different kinds of grasses and mosses to purify water, without the need of using chemicals. I also learned about midwifery and the fact that it is actually illegal to practice this in some countries. Who knew having a child at home could be so threatening for the medical profession. I learned different theories about the psychology of relationships, models for efficient and self-sustaining communities as well as the role of the individual on the political system. I even met Benny Wenda, the Laani tribe leader from West Papua who talked about the genocide of his people and civil war that is going on there right now. Turns out he's been exiled from his country and now lives in Oxford. There is a recording of him speaking Laani on Language Landscape.
 |
| View from a shepherd's house at Idanha-A-Nova |
The trip ends with Inti and I camping near an abandoned house on the hillside of Idanha-da-Nova. Nothing obstructs our view, the distant sounds of Boom echo in the valley and mountains, our bellies are full of watermelon and homemade tomato jam given to us by kind, jabbering old ladies dressed in black, ready for Sunday evening mass. Tomorrow we wake up at the crack of dawn and make for Lisbon. We are ready for our next trip: Manila.
www.boomfestival.org
www.freewestpapua.org
