Dispatch from the most under-the-radar festival in Europe
No phones on the dancefloor. Nudity encouraged.
Six willies. Maybe seven. Definitely more than I’d planned to see in one day, let alone on one dance floor. It was day two (or three, they all blur into one) of a midsummer music festival called Waking Life and I was having to avert my eyes as a group of performance artists gathered in the centre of the rave, their bare bodies writhing to the womp womp womp of the speakers.
Waking Life is unlike any music festival I’ve ever been to, but seeing as I couldn’t get tickets to Glastonbury this year, it was the best alternative. In fact, it was the most alternative.
Located on a lake next to the tiny village of Crato in Alentejo, Portugal, the festival was started in 2017 and the Guardian listed it as one of the best under-the-radar music festivals in Europe the following year.
So, when I was added to a group chat of friends all wanting to go, I was intrigued. The internet gave very little away. The festival’s own website was vague, calling itself a “playground for creation and experimentation.”
The festival has a no phones policy and discourages any photography (although they don’t put a sticker over your phone camera). Their Instagram page is also fairly abstract with only occasional photos of the site and blurry videos of some stages.
My request for a press ticket and interview access to the organisers and artists was ignored and there are no in-depth reported features of the festival itself to be found anywhere online. (I was actually commissioned to write one but the outlet later had to kill the piece due to budget constraints, sigh).
“The whole experience offered escapism in its purest form. Something many of us often crave when we feel shackled by the chains of a Blank Street pistachio latte for breakfast, a Pret posh cheddar and pickle sandwich for lunch and an existential crisis for dinner.”
The three organisers have never revealed their identities but they gave a collective anonymous interview to a small independent magazine ahead of its inaugural year. At that time, each of them were based in Berlin, Ghent and Lisbon, and wanted to create a project that would unite their passion for music as a vehicle for promoting dialogue and reducing polarisation.
Six years on (the 2020 and 2021 editions didn’t happen due to COVID), and Waking Life has evolved naturally by word of mouth. The people you find there are from all over Europe, who share a love of music, connection, vegetarianism, recycling and left-wing politics.
The music is in the region of electronic dance, deep house, techno, ambient and experimental. In other words, from stage to stage it all sounds the same. That might be my only criticism of the entire festival and the only reason I’d think twice about returning. I’m no EDM-head, so it would have been nice to find the occasional stage that played songs with words.
That said, the whole experience offered escapism in its purest form. Something many of us often crave when we feel shackled by the chains of Blank Street pistachio latte for breakfast, a Pret posh cheddar and pickle sandwich for lunch and an existential crisis for dinner.
The best decision our group made was to invest in Sleepy Tipis (tents with a floor mattress, pillows and bedsheets provided). I don’t know how I would have survived partying from 7pm until sunrise at 7am every night without a comfy bed and a spacious tent to recover in during the hottest hours of the day (it was 30-36 degrees throughout the event).
There was also the lake and all the shady spots surrounding it to seek refuge in, if you didn’t mind being surrounded by nudists having a dip, and a few couples hiding a multitude of sins under the water right in front of you.
Some memories may not be suitable for publication here (several family members including my grandmother are subscribers) but I think the last night sums up the adventure of Waking Life.
As everyone returned to the tipis in dribs and drabs depending on who had to drive the next morning or who had the earliest flights, I and one other friend found ourselves to be the last ones standing.
We left the stage we were at in search of food, and gravitated towards the stand with the longest queue. Something was odd about this food stand, but because it was 4am and I was a few drinks in (to say the very least), I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.
The kitchen was painted onto the tarpaulin that hung behind the counter, there was no food in sight, and the person manning the stall was dressed like a clown wearing a purple top hat and kaleidoscopic glasses, and I could hear the light thumping of familiar music coming from somewhere nearby.
“Table for two!” he called out through a fuzzy megaphone. Then he swung the counter top open and ushered two people at the front of the queue to a door that led through to the back of the food stand.
As the door opened, the volume of the thumping music increased and two people exited. I caught the chorus of the song just before the door slammed shut: I’m every woman, it’s all in meeeeee…
We had stumbled upon a secret dance floor. The one-in-one-out policy meant we were waiting for maybe twenty minutes before it was our turn to enter. “Table for two!” The host beckoned to us to come behind the counter. And then, we slipped through the door.
We found ourselves in what felt like a makeshift living room. It was dimly lit with fabric on the walls and could only fit about thirty people. We stayed, we sang, we boogied until the man with the megaphone came in and stopped the music.
“A moment of silence. Congratulate yourselves. You found us!” he announced.
A pause.
Everyone cheered.
The music resumed.
It was Kylie Minogue’s I Just Can’t Get You Out Of My Head.
La la la la la la la la la la la…
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