Tales from the Largest Puddle Ever

I’ll start by saying that Caroline’s money was too wet to buy ice cream after the music festival. I’ll start by noting that my shoes didn’t fully dry for four days, and I’ll start by letting you know that my hands were so pruney they started fully peeling off like a human snake. If you’ve ever been to an outdoor music festival, you know there’s a few things that could make the experience go downhill quickly. First of all, if it’s too hot and you’re wandering around a huge field in the baking sun. Second, if the bathroom crowds are bigger than the concert crowds. And lastly, if it rains. When we spontaneously bought tickets to Primavera Sound the day before the festival, we were imagining having our cool music girl moment—you know, a bucket hat, a mosh pit of people screaming songs at each other, maybe a rhinestone or two—and we did not predict that we would end up in what essentially became a multi-football field sized puddle with 10,000 other people.

We arrived on day 1 with a beautiful skyline. A perfect, cloudless sky and a light breeze so we could enjoy the concerts we wanted to see. I love music festivals because there’s so many people who share meaningful connections with songs and artists, and witnessing that feels so human and so sweet. Caroline and Isabel and I came pre-prepared with fanny packs and water bottles and the determination to see all of our favorite artists. We skipped around the grass and ate overpriced chicken tenders, and ended up at a DJ show that I could only ever describe as NASA German steampunk core. This 50-year-old man was standing on stage in a trench coat, mixing beats that sounded like you tossed a bunch of power tools into a cement mixer. You know it’s hard techno when everyone around you is dressed like the artist. Meanwhile, I am wearing a green Hawaiian print bucket hat and pink eyeliner. Really getting good at the whole “blending in” thing.

The other thing that you don’t realize about music festivals is how easy it is to lose your companions. So I leave during DJ Space Station’s set to buy myself some food, promising Isabel and Caroline that I knew where they were and could confidently find them on my way back. Just, like, sort of near the yellow sign, maybe 20 steps to the left and diagonal until the guy with the red hair and the evil scientist goggles. Easy enough. Upon returning, though, this time with overpriced nachos, I realized they had been swallowed in the throng of minion-esque listeners who were all dancing like the only body part they could move was their neck. My dear colorful friends were nowhere to be found. I wandered aimlessly, recounting my 20 steps and feverishly eating nachos, trying to spot the red-haired guy with his construction glasses thinking I was going to have to spend the rest of my night alone, when I felt a hand grasp me from the crowd. It was Caroline! She found me! We left that show soon after because it was beginning to feel a bit too much like the Matrix. If she hadn’t found me I probably would have metamorphosed into one of the fans. I was just missing the leather knee-high doc martens. 

The second day of the festival was unfortunate. No rain jacket or umbrella or tent could have spared us from getting absolutely soaked to the bone. It didn’t just rain. It poured continuously for five hours, saturating literally every part of our bodies. I don’t think I’ve been that wet in my life. They had to end the festival early because of the rain, canceling one of my favorite bands at the last minute. As the aforementioned thousands of people streamed out of one of two entrances, I stood in the middle of the giant puddle (literally the size of the Atlantic Ocean) and cried. Caroline, Isabel and Elise were a bit shocked, but I was so sad that I wasn’t going to get to see my favorite band perform. We squelched home, but not before Caro got rejected at Freddo for having sopping wet money. Although the rain was miserable, it made the special music moments more surreal. Screaming Arctic Monkeys and Lorde surrounded by other fans in the pouring rain is not something I will forget soon. Partly because it was amazing, and partly because my red socks were so wet that they dyed my feet a pinkish color that I could not remove for a week after the festival. A constant reminder that dang, we really survived a monsoon.