Artswells: a bubble of art and magic

Artswells. You hold a special place in my heart. A green foresty one filled with artists, musicians, gypsy treeplanters, decorated with colourful old rag bunting. My favourite festival, I've been telling everyone I met the past year. I couldn't agree more. I come home under the moonrise, shooting stars, northern lights. We scream with delight after jamming in the cold all night, when the sun rises over the mountains and the moon sets like a giant orange ball behind the trees. Early morning smoke over the river vanishes when I kick my boots off and hide under a blanket. 

Wells is so far away, a full day road trip away. Driving through forest fire smoke, thinking what on earth are we doing? As we arrive in the tiny town of wells, the big lake awaits to wake up our tired bodies. Cold water swims are espresso for the body, getting it ready for a festival of dance and art! A familiar feeling comes over me as we roll in through the magical little town. Surrounded by mountain green, a patchwork of river and pippi longstocking houses brings me right back to last year, frolicking around the festival. I left feeling so inspired, and now I'm back! 

Music pops up everywhere, like an endless jam going for four days and nights straight. The awesome mix of people makes Artswells what it is. Drunk punks, blessed coast hippies and everything in between. If Artswells was a drink, it would be kombucha with whiskey. Every single person you meet is so freaking talented, it's mindblowing. From accordion players to tattoo artists, herbalists and poets, everyone is an artist in Wells. 

When everyone is weird, we all become normal. When you can all be yourself completely, there is no judgment. It's a magical place they created in Wells. A bubble of art and joy, music and play. The skies stayed clear of smoke, but the fire inside of me is going crazy with inspiration to create. Oh Artswells, you did it again. 

Fleetwood mac n cheese

This summer I was going to take it easy, leave room for long hikes and camping trips. But then festivals happened. And I can't say no to dress ups, silliness and dancing under the stars. So as soon as Bass Coast finished, I washed my clothes and dusted myself off for Burn in the Forest. Back to back, when you're on a roll you might as well keep rolling. The road trip was sweaty and bumpy. Every drive my car seems to let go of something. By the end of it, I'll be on my own. This time, it was the gps that gave up. So lots of stopping and smiling: excuse me, do you know where I'm going? I didn't, but somehow I made it to Burn in the Forest. 

Men in tutus welcomed me, blowing bubbles in my face. Hello, sweet festival life! If Bass Coast is for dancing, this one is for rolling on the floor laughing. So many silly things happen in one weekend, it's hard to recall even half of it! Every camp does a million things, so the fomo is real. On Fryday the number one question we asked ourselves was: will it fry? So fryers got a-sizzlin' and blocks of chocolate, brie, pickles, bacon, donuts, everything and anything got thrown in those makers of magic crispy goodness and out came the fried mess of pickle flavoured chocolate melted bacon dipped in brie. Yum! 

Baby cheetah camp offered a furry place of 24 hour purring sounds to nap off the fried food coma. Workshops on merkin making and nipple tassels, naked lube wrestling happened and horny men wearing nothing but a giant horn. When I thought my face was going to fall off from laughing, three girls dressed up as pineapples surrounded me. Would you like to enjoy the 360 degree pineapple experience? Uhm yes, of course! While one girl rubbed a pineapple on my arm, I got to smell the sweet golden fruit and simultaneously a shot of pineapple liqueur was poured in my mouth. All while they sang: this is your pineapple song, it isn't very long. And off they went. I actually cried tears from laughter. 

Never was I hungry, after gifts of Dutch stroopwafels (I received a little waffle necklace after doing a splendid interpretive waffle dance while waiting in line), viking feasts, glamorous tea and cookies with the empress and the marvelous fleetwood mac n cheese party. 

Thirst was quenched even before your cup was empty. Guns and rosé, wine and cheese, ceasars on the beach, spiked mimosas for brunch, a little coffee with your baileys? Yes, there was booze and food aplenty, but that's not what it was all about. It's the moments of happiness you share with this group of people you call your family for at least one weekend. Blissful river floating, story telling, love letter writing (yes, there was a postman!), sunrise dancing, waking up in a cuddle puddle, experiencing life in all its silliness together. 

Magical memories and sweet friends were made. A glimpse of pure openness, generosity, inclusivity, being fully aware of the bubble of fun and freedom we created. All good things come to an end and the journey must continue, inspiring me to take this wonderful experience with me wherever I go. Burn in the Forest turns the fire in my heart into a spectacular show of fireworks. Cheeks glowing, soul sizzling with delight. But body in need of a detox. 

Space toast for breakfast

Two weeks ago I left the lush Comox Valley for dry and dusty Merritt. The journey from island to mainland. A ferry ride salty with goodbyes, straight into Vancouver's traffic jams. Welcome back. I left the island but not the pace. Slow tunes singing along in between the honking smog of busy city streets. Vancouver family welcomed me with birthday hugs and dinner, a home to come home to. Heart overflowing with love, I left early the next morning, too early for traffic to be jamming my jam. 

Merritt appeared after many a mountain pass, little screams of delight whenever I drive through majestic mountain views. Jimi Hendrix blasting out of my open windows, letting in freedom and dust. The Bass Coast site in full build up mode. Welcome home. Again and again. When you travel, many places feel like home. Because of the family you made, the memories that fill your mind with sweet butterflies, the times you shared on the land. Merritt, as dry as it is, holds a place in my heart. Wild roses and sage brushes form the landscape. The best sunsets I have ever witnessed throw pink golden spotlights on the sandy mountains. Gravel roads and prickly thorns, a fast flowing river to wash away the day.

A festival had to be built. Tying thousands of ribbons to catch strong winds, a main stage with a space ship, a cantina for Sunday soul sessions, decorations and installations for extended forest frolicking. Bass Coast, I missed you. Your quirkiness, craziness, you absolute beauty of a festival. Run by women, it's all in the details. Like a big open air living room that welcomes people to connect, dance, swim, chill, run around naked, a house with doors wide open. 

Nothing beats thousands of awesome people coming together to play. Nothing is serious. Mornings are for skinny dips, baileys coffee and mushroom honey. Burlesque workshops and the famous twerkshop gather a floor filled to the brim with booty shakers. Most of the weekend, I was dancing and laughing so much, I forgot there was gravity to be maintained. Babe Coast made me fall in love about 135 times a day. People looking so handsome there was almost something indecent about it.

A wacky group of eccentrics, drinking their whiskies and swallowing their pills. Dance floor moves kicked up the dust, throwing energy balls around, losing all track of time until the morning comes. The sun rises over zombie faces, still dancing, can't stop won't stop. I am one of them, drowning in my big fake fur coat. But the bass keeps me up, and the dancing is only really done when the music is turned off. We linger, hiding ourselves behind sunglasses, giving last hugs goodbye. 

It felt like the festival happened in five minutes, too fast too soon. So I stayed. The river massaged my sore bones, dust and sweat washed away. Others sticked around too, so we gathered under the stars for jam sessions and late night talks. Letting it all sink in. So much joy, music, dancing. So many new friends. I left Merritt with a family I can always come home to. 

Happy festival summer!

Saltspring summer sweetness

When I moved to Vancouver Island, people would tell me: you will love Cumberland and Saltspring Island, you would fit right in! I did fall in love with Cumberland as soon as I saw that cute little town nestled in between mountains and forest. So I stayed. But Saltspring was always in the back of my mind. At the Herbal Gathering (a festival for herbalists, it is as wild as it sounds) I bumped into Aly, a lady who makes her own soaps and herbal producs, and who inspires me endlessly. You should come visit me on Saltspring Island! 

That was all I needed to hear to hop in my car and go on a road trip to the island of magic, two hours drive and a twenty minute ferry ride from Cumberland. I arrived in time for the colourful Saturday market, danced to every busker in sight and blended right in with the Saltspring crowd. Wild flowers, underground farmers markets, smiling faces all around. I immediately understood why people recommended me this place. Aly took me to a house concert where violins and accordions turned the living room into a dance floor. Welcome home, I smiled. 

The next morning National Aboriginal Day asked for a first nations gathering on the beach. I watched the clouds roll in, mountains disappeared but the fire was stronger than the rain. Elders sang songs and played the drums while young ones danced. We wrapped ourselves in layers of stories by the fire, passing around a big pot of moose stew to warm the soul. 

Ryan hitch hiked down to the island and with him, the sun arrived. The ticking of drops on the car made way for sun beams through the leaves of the trees. We drank wine listening to a frog orchestra, overlooking the reflection of the sunset on the lake. Finding places to sleep in the car unnoticed, where we would wake up with a gorgeous view in the mornings, became our daily treasure hunt. From the lake to the forest and the beach, every day Saltspring greeted us in a wonderful new way. 

Mountain hikes filled with dragonflies were followed by refreshing lake swims and strong coffee on the side of the road. My mind wandered back to Spain, where I had my first cafe bombon with my feet in the sand. Espresso and condensed milk and life is good. Fuel for more hikes and swims until we found a field of flowers and decided that's where we would live. Sun and wine make for sweet memories of summer love. 

We missed the ferry on the way back. Lake swims were more important. The island got stuck in my head like a song on repeat, all the way back home. 

Love letter to Cumberland

Cumberland,

How do I even begin to express my love for you? By dancing in your streets, hugging all your people, writing you a love letter? I didn't know which one to choose, so I decided to do it all. I left you this morning, after four months of bliss and sunshine. The winter months made me doubt my love for you, but that's a personal thing. It's not you, it's me. I'm a summer child and you definitely brought the child out in me these past months. Running around the forest, skinny dipping in the lake, digging in the dirt. 

Three seasons in four months, it felt like we were only together for five minutes when actually I lived a lifetime with you as my witness. I felt lost under all those layers of clothes, out of my element in the cold. You made me feel at home and lit the fire. I arrived by myself and I left with a family. Being part of a community is something I longed for dearly, and you welcomed me with open arms. My search for work got answered by four jobs. I got to write! For a living! And meet the most amazing people, collect their stories and be a sister in the Cumberland family. A wild woman in a bunch of even wilder women. A travelling spirit finding a place to rest. 

I fell in love and made dear friends. I'm leaving with a heart overflowing with love. My creative spark is alight, leaving books of poetry in island houses. The mountains cradle my thoughts. The trees clear my mind of any worries. The ocean's salty water attracts me every time, clothes off in a heart beat. Waves spit me back out on the beach, making me a better person. It's the combination of all of this, that makes me feel so good. But it's the people that make it a home. A place filled with love. A valley full of memories, I take them with me wherever I go.

And I will always come back.

Love,

Joke

Lost in the woods

One fine Tuesday morning I decided it was time for a road trip. I loaded the car with coffee, cookies, my friend Ryan and a gangsta rap playlist. Ready to hit the road, Drake was shouting from the speaker: 0 to 100 baby real quick. I hit the gas and my poor old car could hardly make it to 80 before she started shaking and rattling like she was going to fall apart on the spot. That's okay, we've got time! Holidays! I don't care about other cars passing me. Constantly. And honking. I just get into grandma mode and wear my snail speed with pride. 

So slowly but surely we rattled along until the air tasted salty and Tofino welcomed us with open arms. Hugs from worldwide friends and ocean views got me all excited. Adventure time! Four of us took off on a well prepared hike through the woods, to find an old plane wreck. Coffee, speakers, joints, shoes off and pants rolled up. Two minutes later we were knee deep in mud, swinging from one rope to another, following bright orange ribbons some nice hiker placed in the trees. 

We found the plane wreck and did the tourist thing: taking pictures while climbing the plane. Overlooking the tree tops and our deliciously muddy feet, I smiled with delight. So happy to be back in Tofino! We stayed there for a while and slowly got back down, deep into the mud. We made our way through the dirt slush and were laughing and tagging along until one crazy fast Canadian couple passed us. With no mud on their feet, legs or face! They smiled at us and walked like they knew something we didn't... A short cut! Without mud! Let's follow these guys! And so we did. They were almost racing through that forest so it was hard to keep up, but we found them deep in the woods. 

The girl asked us if we knew where we were going. We laughed. "Of course not, we were following you!" Anyway, we would just follow this mossy path and find our way out. Until the path hit a dead end of many many branches and bushes and I don't know why but we just kept going. Was this perhaps an animal path more than a human path? The wolf tracks told us yes. We lightly panicked. Okay, we freaked out. 

We tried to walk back but wherever we looked was dense forest. We were really trapped. In a gigantic forest filled to the brim with wolves, bears and cougars. Fun fun fun! The first thing on my mind was: "we'll have to spend the night in this forest!" And then: "We're never going to make it out alive!" I screamed to keep the wildlife away, but mostly just to scream. We marched through that forest like we knew where we were going, but clearly, we had no clue. 

Ryan's phone was the hero of the day, with a gps showing us the way to the road. We had to walk through bushes and climb ditches and more than once did we hear cars passing like a mirage. Reality was: we were still in the middle of that wild forest. We yelled and howled and ran and accidentally hit each other with brances in the face. And then: the relieving sound of the highway! 

Never have I been so happy to hear cars flying past us. We made it! We survived! Hugs all around! Followed by ocean swims to wash that mad adrenaline off our bodies. To celebrate life, we feasted on seafood and wine. That night, we watched the sunset from a couch in the sky. Someone placed a couch on a platform in the forest (just a 5 minute walk this time), overlooking the ocean. A magical end of a wild day. 

Cougar tales

Where do I begin? As soon as my work visa expired, adventures started happening for real. No more work means all time to play. One big long holiday! Until the money runs out. Then it's back to business. But for now: I'm on this island in Canada, where life is o so different from homeland Belgium. There are mountains and road trips and don't get me started on the wildlife. I have so many wild stories my fingers can't keep up with my brain. I want to tell them and I will tell them all, even if it takes the leftover ink from my pen and biting nails in excitement until there are none left.

First there was the late night visit of Canada's famous killer cat the cougar. I was home alone and woke up to an evil cat sound, followed by seven chickens going crazy, followed by silence. Then the footsteps on the deck. The scratching at the window. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. The lights were on. "Anyone here?" My heart was beating in my throat. I looked outside: full moon. That explained everything. "I'm probably just going crazy", I thought while slipping back under the blanket. I left all lights on. Just in case.

The window scratching started again and I grabbed my phone. Like a maniac I called every person in Cumberland I know. No one picked up. It's 2 am and people probably think I'm drunk calling them at this time. So I called everyone again. As the monster cat kept scratching the house, my friend Jen picked up the phone. Thank goodness. 

- Are you okay?

- A cougar just killed all the chickens and is now trying to scratch her way into the house.

- Where are you? 

- Hiding under a blanket. 

The angel Jen got into her clothes and hopped in her car at 2 am to rescue me from the cougar attack. I spent the rest of the night on her couch. Morning sun showed big dark bags under my eyes and memories of adrenaline rushing through my veins. Was it all just a dream? One of those vivid ones, that stick to your skin all day. I drove back to the house and it was not a pretty sight. Feathers all over the garden, one traumatized chicken standing in the middle of it. 

The poor chicken went on walkabout the next day. She never returned. I packed up my car and decided it was time for a road trip. The cougar has been back three times, hoping to scare more chickens and travellers.

Life right about now

Oh what a wonderful day! Waking up feeling free, birds singing it's time to shine. Morning coffee rituals with friends in the garden. Long lost catch ups of two days not seeing each other. When coworkers turn friends turn family, 24 hours feels like a long time without hugs. Cuddles, stories, laughter. We decide who will be the bun and who will be the hot dog in the middle. Two buns make a sandwich but they will feel the cold wind on their backs. It's best to be the dog, stay warm in winter time. All with a serious face. I nearly hit the floor laughing. Life is sweet, I think.

Last night's tipsy texting tells me summer is here. My heart skips a beat all the time. Caffeine keeps me going but everything happens with a shiver. I burnt my face in that first sun. In burnt the burn the next day and now I'm like a snake shedding skin but still smiling. Some days I wake up feeling like a wild woman, ready to take over the world. Dancing naked to yeasayer eating chocolates in the shower, all the good stuff all at the same time. Finding a forgotten taco like a treasure in the fridge. More coffee. More shivers. Wearing only glitters. Half a day off and I'm having a one woman party. I write, trying to pour my excitement for life into words. I kiss the paper, make ink stains on hands and cheeks.

Strawberries ripen just by looking at them. I close my eyes and smell memories of summer fields of joy, cheap champagne picnics, swaying hips on festival grounds. I taste the salt of your body while swimming in the ocean. Cold water is my morning alarm. Hair still wet, slamming car doors, almost late for work. I see myself in your sunglasses and smile every time you walk past the window. 

The rain makes life less heavy, the air is clean, plants are relieved and the pavement smokes. I love the smell of rain on a hot day. I get out until my feet are muddy and my legs can't dance anymore. I've got something for you, you say and push a piece of paper in my hands. 1920s typewriter ink, fingers moving fast, mistakes are made easily so you flipped the page and there it is. A poem named Joke the Wild. Words get blurry as my eyes do too. I smile and hug and hug some more. Summer rain makes for starry skies. Coming home tastes like your words on my lips. 

Winter beach fire

Dirty chai to set the mood

slow tunes follow 

the rising sun

you rest your head

on the dragonfly pillow

your hand shades your eyes

I jump around spilling

cold coffee on the ground

twirling the wine glass in the air

fancy morning coffees

we drink and stare

out through the valley

where the trees hit the mountains

the snow touches the sky

the waves take the fire

barefoot on the rocks

memories of shooting starts

keeping me up all night

listening to the song of the ocean

thinking everything will be alright

Snowy adventures

If I would explain last week in colours, I would speak in snow and night sky. Clouds gathering, flakes falling. Wherever I look, I see paintings of white and black and all the shades of grey. Not the exciting kind, more the stay inside and carry blankets around the house kind of story. Don't be fooled by my cosy style as I wrap my socks around my legs, all the way up to my knees, pyjama pants neatly tucked in them to keep the warmth in. I stare out of the window and see my freedom wheels, riding me all over the place in search for crazy adventures. Just not now. A bike covered in snow is not always the way to roll. 

I have been stuck in my snowy cabin. The only way to get a coffee is to hitch hike into town. It's easy but slippery and I kinda like not having to wear outside clothes (meaning anything that is not considered PJ's). But one fine morning I peeled my pyjamas off my body and decided it was time for action! It's not because I'm stuck in the snow I can't go on adventures! Right? I gave my bike a look of a disappointment, grabbed my coat and hopped in my new friend Carol's car. 

I met Carol a week ago, when life was still sunny and warm. My bike and I were on a journey in Courtenay and of course I had no idea where I was going so I asked a fellow biking lady for directions. And just like that, a new friendship was born! We swapped biking for hiking and set off on a day trip to Campbell River. The drive was like a dream of winter wonderland, with snowy trees, mountains and views so beautiful my old little camera had no idea what to do with them.

As we approached Elk Falls Provincial Park, I got excited. I had only ever heard of snowshoeing when I moved to BC two weeks ago. And yes, I imagined walking around with tennis rackets tied under my shoes. Which - for those of you who are with me - is NOT the case. Getting ready took me about two hours but there I was with snowshoes and poles and thermal underwear. Elk Falls, show me what you've got! 

A gorgeous forest walk and then... A lot of steps to get to the viewpoint. The gear went off (except for the thermals) and I enjoyed the gorgeous falls. As I was looking around, I felt as if I was really living in a painting. Oh, beautiful Vancouver Island! I'm in love.

City girl goes island

You know how sometimes when one door closes, another, better one, opens? Flashback to the beginning of December in Toronto. It was freezing cold and I just got let go from my warehouse work, seeing it as the ultimate sign to start writing more than ever. One week later I found a fancy job as a communication specialist at a scientific research institute. It took me eight hours of exams, two job interviews, Saturday meetings and a total makeover to fit into their corporate world. But I got the job! 

All I had to do now was change my dresscode, hide tattoos, take out piercings, wear skirts that cover my knees and look like a corporate copy. And I would have to stay in Toronto until my Canadian visa expires. Okay, I thought, I can do this. I was a bit nervous. With shaky hands I stored away my dreams of moving to Vancouver Island and writing about things that don't necessarily involve scientific research while wearing golden flower dresses and dying my hair pink. The company offered me a welcome dinner and a salary I thought I would never earn in this lifetime. I would start as soon as I returned from my month of winter holidays in Belgium. 

But on the last day of 2016 I got an email from the scientific institute. Bad news. They were not able to give me the job. I saw the bubble of me looking like a business woman in my corporate outfit pop, together with the idea of living in a big grey city for another six months, working a 9 to 5 job writing lab reports while wearing fake glasses. (When I think of myself as a business woman, I always wear glasses.) Pop! Nothing left. But relief. 

Again, an ocean of possibilities opened up and as the waves waltzed in, so did I. I decided not to let this shake my mood and danced all ideas of elegance away. Fresh adventures, I thought as I twirled around in my glitter dress. When the headache kicked in and sparkles were traded for PJ's, I opened a new email. A friend from Vancouver Island was looking for a roommate. If I'm interested to move in with her and live in the finest of Canadian nature, between ocean and mountain, lakes and pines, beach and bears? I didn't have to think twice.

I packed all my glitters, flowers, dresses that dramatically show both my knees, art supplies and dreams into my backpack and booked a flight to BC. Island life, I'm ready!

When life is a festival

One day soon I will wake up in a real bed, looking around the room nervously, shivering, asking myself: where am I? And more important: what just happened? Canadian festival summer is what happened! Seven festivals in eight weeks make me feel weak at the knees, speechless and voiceless. All the smiles, the dancing, the new friends in colourful dress ups, the love! I'm not even talking about the numerous weddings. It's the love of strangers for each other, flowing through music and gatherings of silliness.

Why do I follow festivals all over the world to the point where my voice is gone and legs are tired but there is no time for recovery? Why do I choose to be showerless, dusty and sweaty most of the weekends? Because these festivals change my life. They make me the happiest version of myself. They inspire me so much it makes my bones rattle with delight. Plus, nothing feels better than a hot shower after five days of dancing in the mud. A steaming bowl of homemade soup after weeks of granolabars and bananas. It's the small things. 

By travelling from one festival to another I try to make this magic last. They are little worlds where everyone is family. Hugging happens on a 500 a day base. You can dance all day and all night and you can play and be a child in a candy store and Alice in Wonderland, at the same time if you like. Laughing is the spoken language and rolling over the floor with laughter is considered normal. Your weirdness is celebrated by a bunch of other weirdos and that's when the real fun happens.

Shambhala was the cherry on top of the festival summer. A place where 15000 people gather to get glittered up, dressed up just to dance it all off. Every tree in the forest is decorated, every stage plays amazing music and everyone was overflowing with excitement for this crazy party. Jumping castles and little path ways leading to tree houses. An all-day funk jam, morning river swims and nights of getting lost in the magical forest. Pure bliss and gratefulness. Hugging new friends and kissing familiar faces, I felt like a bird in a love nest. One with laser shows, house dj's and so much glitter it gave me a rash. Yep, it's a thing. Too much glitter on your face and you wake up in a sparkly tent but with a bright red face. The glitter rash! The body's way of saying: my darling, enough partying. Wash your face and get a job. The only solution: cover your face in even more glitter to hide your glowing red cheeks, put on your psychedelic pants and get your ass on the dancefloor.

Artswells, and the livin' is easy

As a new day slowly rises over Artswells, I wake up to the ticking of the rain on the car. It's the quiet time of night, when all the wine is gone and the fire is nothing but a trail of smoke. People find shelter under picnic tables, trees and inside damp greenhouses, cuddling up to stay warm. I hear guitars playing. Life is never really silent when you're surrounded by musicians. 

In the tiny town of Wells artists meet for a yearly gathering of jamming, drinking, dancing and celebrating life. Having so many talents in one place is like swimming in a pool of chocolate with your mouth open: you want allllll of it! Overflowing with inspiration I frolick from the little church where French chansons are rolling from the tongue of sweet singer Madeline Tasquin. My kind of praying! In the Sunset Theatre the popcorn is fresh and violinist Jacques takes us on journeys through the afternoon. The rain stops and as the sun pierces colours through street flags, I get ready for a night of poetry and heavy dancing in the basement. The harder I dance, the more I lose my voice. 

Everybody is sweaty and moving like never before. Like snakes we crawl up walls, like sardines in a can we slip and slide to the same beat, trying to fit more and more people in front of the fan. I found a flowery dress with an underskirt that goes woooosh when I spin and so I spin and spin until I forget where I am, who I am. 

Outside the starry night cools down the body heat. Frisky fingers play the piano on wheels, wheeling it to wherever the jam is. There is a clarinet player and banjos and guitars. I gather around and the last sip of my voice vanishes. Like cigarette smoke we puff cold night air out with every word of Summertime, and the living is easy. Then we sing People are strange, when you're a stranger and it feels so right. That moment under the stars, surrounded by artists, writers, musicians, firetwirlers, poets and gypsies of all kind, I am home. 

Festival galore

I'm happy to announce I have found the silliest, most hilarious festival in the history of festivals. I'm talking crazy dress-ups, weird machines and monkey business. I thought Australians were masters in dressing up, but Canadians reach a whole new level. Big men wearing tiny elephant costumes, dinosaurs, full bodies spray painted gold, Gucci tuxedos, a suit made out of mirrors, fancy fur coats, tutus, anything, everything and of course nudity. 

Then the machines! A cash register making sound effects with every button you push. When you crack the code, the till opens up and tadaaaa! You hit the jackpot! A drawer filled with joints, condoms, candy and other festival goodies invites you to take some and leave some. The Mission Machine is another one of my favourites. An oldskool gumball machine full of plastic balls with a piece of paper inside, like a fortune cookie but more fun and less cookie. The paper tells you your mission for the day. It can go from 'contact dance with someone' to 'act like a gorilla' or more specific 'stare into Mike's eyes for one minute'. 

I waited to act like a gorilla until the time was right. I saw a man on the dance floor with a banana in his shirt pocket and things started rolling. One moment we were dancing to hiphop together, next thing you know we are chasing each other around like gorillas, making monkey sounds to everyone we crossed. Nobody even looked at us in a strange way. Because it's Bass Coast and everyone is weird which makes two people running after a banana like gorillas a normal thing to do. 

Or how about the treeplanter, digging little holes in the ground to plant bananas. After which someone went around to water them. Trampoline foam parties on Sunday afternoon. Reggae yoga. Twerking competitions. Swimming in the river and seeing a man in a suit, looking all fine and dandy, standing on the bridge. Running to the shore, getting into my wedding dress asap and marrying that man, right then and there. The happy newlyweds were greeted with big smiles and pictures. They arrived on the dance floor just as the music went all hip and funky and the crowd turned into soul train mode. I don't know about you, but I've always dreamt of dancing to soul train in my wedding dress so I was all smiles. 

My cheeks still hurt from laughing for days and nights on end. I swear I would fall asleep and wake up with a big smile on my face. Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, fluttering from one adventure to another. Bass Coast is one big playground, I couldn't stop giggling and dancing. All play and no work. Until Monday arrived and my early morning volunteer shift started. The green team aka trash club was ready to tidy up the festival grounds. I wasn't really looking forward to the big clean up, but I had so much fun finding treasures. Golden pumps, a snakeskin vest, a camping chair, curtains, coffee cups, a Pocahontas necklace and all other things that make life great. I might have gone a bit overboard but hooray for having a car that can store all the goods you find at festivals! 

Happy festivalling!