All of which are filled with a variety of personalities that can’t be found anywhere else. This annual festival brings out the best and the worst of people of all age groups.
Between the hardcore fangirls, the awkward wannabe musicians, the wasted old rednecks, the endless number of gypsies, the fanatic mosh-pitters and the large cult of teenagers who, according to The Script, arrived solely “for the drugs and sex”, you can find me – a combination of all of the above.
Like a journey through a war zone, the weather had bestowed on the Paléonians an onslaught on the third day: rain as strong as bullets and music as putrid as the scum-filled, muddy ground upon we walked, terrorized the 8 km squared of festivities.
The week began with a – rumoured – stunning performance of the great Robbie Williams. It’s been told that his leather pants made ovaries explode within a 1 km radius. In the same night, the upcoming Slovenian DJ, Grammatik made the crowd “hit that jive” with many of his hipstery hits, including remixes of samples from the 60s.
Infamously, Paléo got even more heated up as I finally joined on the Tuesday with a very revealing tank top and an IA bag filled with my tent to make proper use of my 6 day ticket. Setting up the tent was a very entertaining activity as my friend and I were lacking a hammer so he decided to bash pegs into the tent with his iPhone. It was my first time at the Paléo camp site and it really did feel like I’d finally arrived where I truly belonged.
To be continued…