Download – Day 1

I slept like a log, thanks to the first room to myself since I was in Jordan. And utter exhaustion. Anni called me at around 8:30 and we arranged where to meet, Lyse made me a farewell cuppa and I scarpered off to catch the train from near her house up to the end of the line where Anni awaited in her dinky little motor. Lyse – a huge thank you for your hospitality, comfy bed, internet access and chicken curry! You are a star amongst stars!

Using Anni’s new birthday toy – a satnav system – we managed to not find the hotel we’d booked. Instead we resorted to the decidedly low-tech but much more accurate technique of asking someone. The Ramada decided that we couldn’t be refunded for the night we didn’t want to use despite the booking centre selling Anni the room on the condition that the dates could be altered. Anni will be taking that up with them next week. Happy puppies, we were not. Plus, our room “wasn’t ready” despite several people in front of us getting into theirs easily enough. We ditched our luggage, sorted day bags and legged it.

“Breakfast” consisted of a sausage and chips from a chippie near Asda in Derby. Hey, I’m only here for a few days so I’m treating it as a holiday – it’s indigenous food! We loaded up on snacks and drinks from Asda then headed Download-wards.

Parking was swift and I swear the walk to the main entrance was shorter than last year. As ever at a festival, I was wearing a Toon shirt so I got talking to the guy putting the wristbands on – and queue-jumped as a result. Once inside, I met Talia from Bristol for the first time. Nice to meet up! She was with a friend of hers, Hazel, and the four of us threaded our way to the Dimebag Darrell tent for the first band of the weekend, Turbonegro.

As would be fairly common for the bands in the tents, we ended up squished outside with a passable view of the stage. Some of the bands playing the smaller stages over the weekend were hugely popular so gathered quite a crowd despite the space (or lack of it) available. Turbonegro were pretty good, playing decent no-fuss rock’n’roll. I definitely need to look out more of their stuff.

Next up, though, were the mighty Megadeth on the main stage. Oh, yes. Almost dot on time, Mustaine & co. trod the boards to a huge welcome and launched into “Sleepwalker” from the new album. The ladies stayed up the slope and watched while I did my usual and vanished into the middle of the crowd at ground level to beat merry hell out of a bunch of strangers. I wish I’d taken my camera in with me. As well as a very attractive girl who hit like a man (kudos) there was a one-legged man in the moshpit! I poop you not. One leg, two metal crutches, mental attitude. Further kudos.

Megadeth, of course, rocked. I’m still not that sure about the newer stuff, they scattered in a handful of older songs most of which were from Rust In Peace, though I think the biggest crowd-pleaser was “Peace Sells…”

Injury count: impressive bruising of both forearms, gouges on my right wrist (I think from studs on someone’s jacket), cuts on left elbow, very sore right elbow from crushing it twice. The usual.

The set changes on the main stage were managed swiftly and around twenty minutes after the ‘Deth exited, Dragonforce replaced them. Woah! I didn’t catch these madmen at Graspop a couple of years ago – I must have been watching someone else – but I’m glad I caught them here. Their rules seems to be “why play one note when you can play 27?” and they must be one of the fastest bands right now, taking the term “speed metal” to its extremes. Superb vocals, great fun, women getting their tops of on the huge video screens to huge cheers. Rock and f’ing roll, indeed.

A potty break was called for and we wandered aimlessly trying to locate the wrong ones (we headed for ones we could see within the campground that Anni and I couldn’t access) until we got our heads around how the site was laid out, slightly differently from two years ago. Free drinking water was used to refill all the bottles we had on us, then we waddled back into the main area to watch Wolfmother. By now, Hazel had wandered off to collapse in her tent as their group had been awoken at 4am by some kiddie playing System of a Down at full volume (until someone kicked his stereo to pieces).

Wolfmother were pretty good, but we really just sat and watched them. Anni got ripped off £5.50 for an admittedly decent burrito and then the rotting remains of Guns ‘n’ Roses took to the stage and pretended they were still good (translation: Velvet Revolver came on). They were the first band of the day to come on stage late, which is typically primadonna-ish of them. We tolerated this for a while as there wasn’t much else to do before dividing up. Anni went to watch Korn in one tent while Talia and I headed for the Tuborg stage to get a decent spot for Hayseed Dixie.

On the way we popped into the “turn up and play” tent. It’s kind of an overgrown karaoke where random bands are created from people who want to get on a stage, playing cover versions. What we saw was pretty good and I was amazed to see Krusher, formerly of Kerrang and some dodgy rock TV programs, doing the compering. He looked about as drunk and wasted as I ever remember, though much older. I swear the guy’s barely 45, but he looks 70. Mind, I doubt anyone’s enjoyed their life (and all possible excesses) as much as that man!

We snuck to somewhere near the front of the Tuborg tent and watched Hayseed Dixie set their stuff up – no roadies for this bunch. Ten minutes early, John walked to the microphone. “Well, we’re not supposed to start for fifteen minutes, but you’re here, we’re here… We’ve been sat backstage trying to figure out how to get this down to 40 minutes, so let’s make it 55!”

The crowd erupted. I’ve seen this lot maybe eight or nine times and I honestly think this is the best performance in terms of atmosphere I have ever seen. The crowd spilled outside of the tent, everyone knew all the words to every cover version, their own material is short enough to grab attention without boring those who don’t know it and the reaction to “Duelling Banjos” was beyond belief. Punks danced with women dressed as cowgirls; skinheads pogo’d with their arms round hairy rockers; hands were raised, clapping like mad. I don’t think there was a single person in that tent – the band included – without a huge grin on their face.

And just to think – some people preferred to go and watch Velvet Revolver instead. Frankly, they stink worse than the poop I keep in a jar (Hayseed reference) at the best of times, but when compared to HD they simply don’t come close to cutting it.

I’m really glad we got an extra fifteen minutes from Hayseed Dixie, it’s only a shame it wasn’t an extra hour or so.

Talia had never seen them before and I think she’s now a convert. And as a huge bonus I bumped into Neil and Jane from Bradford on the way out of the tent. Neil’s someone I seem to just “find” at festivals so I’ve not seen him since this time two years ago. I can’t even remember when I last saw Jane. I think we ran out of hugs, it was so good to see them again! See, this is why I wear the Newcastle shirt. Neil asked where I’d been and after about two minutes I managed to get through the list. With any luck, I’ll get an email from him next week. If not, I’ll track him down again!

The final band of the day, My Chemical Romance were on the main stage by the time we walked out. Much as I find a lot of their fans annoying (emo kids really do need help, frankly) the music’s good and they put on a good show for the short time they lasted. Their set was scheduled for 90 minutes, and they wandered off – with no encore – half an hour early. Well, if you only have two albums to play off…

And time to go home. I swapped Talia one of my jumpers for her mobile phone (she was cold and her phone needed charged), said goodnights, and Anni and I headed for Asda to stock up again. And then to a pizza place for a late supper. Nice pizza as well, though I had “eyes bigger than mouth” syndrome. Shame.

The shower at the hotel when we finally checked in was hugely appreciated and we collapsed in bed. Anni complaining about how warm it was while wrapping herself in duvet, me just lying on top of the covers – something I’ve only really “learned” how to do while I’ve been travelling. Before I left the UK, I had to have some kind of sheet over me, even on the warmest nights.

Tomorrow looked set to be more violent fun…

Jaffa Cakes. Beans. Real sausages.

I have several memories from today. One that stands out is the breakfast. Beans, superb sausages, proper bacon, bread and butter, egg, tea. In a cafe. In Birmingham.

Yes. Brum. The Midlands. Not Alabama.

My flight landed at Stansted shortly after midnight, and by 2am I was unconscious on the concrete floor with my rucksack as a pillow. I woke around 5am, munched an orange as a starter, brushed my teeth, freshened up and started plodding towards the M11. Before I’d got half way, a nice man in a white van picked me up and drove me to where the A14 crossed the M11.

I jaywalked across the big roundabout and was surprised ten minutes later when an 18-wheeler pulled up. I’ve only ever had one lift from a trucker before, mainly due to their insurance. The last guy that picked me up was in the UK many years ago and he was hauling several million pounds worth of aluminium. This driver had a trailer full of liquid with a flashpoint around 20 degrees centigrade. Thankfully it was 7am and 11 degrees so I wasn’t about to explode.

My driver for the journey to the M6 J6 was Sophia, a 30-something lesbian with two children and a wife back in Belgium. Her wife was pregnant with their third child (Sophia had borne the first two). You certainly meet a variety of people when you travel. Amazingly, I was dropped off a ten minute walk from Aston Villa FC, right next to the car park I usually inhabit when I go to away games there. I was also six or so hours earlier than I expected.

As luck would have it, Lyse (who I’d met through Couchsurfing) is an absolute sweetheart and came to get me at a moment’s notice. Eventually. After I spotted her driving across the A38 at the next junction down.

“What are you driving?”
“A silver Focus. I just crossed over the A38.”
“Erm… is there a minibus behind you?”
“Yes!”
“You need to head north a bit. I just saw you cross the next bridge down from the one I’m stood on.”

Lyse took me to her rather swanky pad, and provided me with a key, a broadband connection and directions to a nearby greasy spoon. This is where I tucked into my breakfast. Much as I enjoyed my falafels over the last week or two, it was nice to have a decent full English in my belly after so long. Best sausages and bacon in months!

So I’ve spent the day catching up on stuff, relaxing, repacking all my luggage, randomly texting and ringing people and so on.

To those who didn’t spot I was heading Brit-wards, I’m sorry. The “big return” is supposed to be after The Walk and I don’t want to spoil that moment! Hence I’m limiting myself to the bare minimum of friends contact over the long weekend I’m here before jetting off to Barcelona on Monday night.

Don’t expect any more posts until Monday after Download! In the meantime, a huge thank you to Lyse for being a wonderful hostess, who can make a cracking chicken curry!

Steeeeee-rike!

Nothing much to do today apart from pack, get picked up by the ever-helpful Noa, and drive to the airport. I was told to get there three hours before departure time by the travel agent and by Hen, who used to work there. But, we decided that was too soon and stopped for lunch on the way there. As you do.

Noa had forgotten to grab the tickets for the flight from her boyfriend (after I booked, ISSTA decided that I had to have two printouts otherwise they’d charge me an additional £25 reprint fee) so we had to get them redone at the ISSTA office at the airport.

Then the fun began. I’ve never been given so many questions on leaving a country before. I got all the usual. All of them. And more. They even made Noa go and get her ID card from the car so they could check she was… well.. I don’t know.

Did I pack my own bags?
Had anyone given me anything to carry for them?
Had my bags been secure since I packed them?
Had I stayed with Noa?
How long had I known her?
Where did I meet her?
How much time did we spend together in my two weeks and where did we go?
What did I do in Dubai when I was there?
Did I learn to read, write or speak any Hebrew while I was in Israel?

Excuse me? What the… Did I learn any Hebrew?! Is there an embargo on taking knowledge of a language out of a country now? Good grief.

My baggage was then completely dumped out, scanned, searched, swiped and repacked (badly so I couldn’t find half of my stuff) while I was metal-detected and rushed through the gates. Hen showed up at the last minute and was allowed to hand me a Hebrew copy of Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, so I managed to smuggle out some Hebrew! Bwahahaah! Take that, authority figures! And thank you for the book, Hen! Another for my collection.

All that to get to the gate which didn’t open until half an hour after the advertised time. At least Ben Gurion Airport has free wireless. Unfortunately, we sat on the tarmac for over ninety further minutes. As a result, a very nice person at the distant end who’d offered to collect me from the airport and put me up had to back out, as it would be far too late for him. Dave, I fully understand and thank you regardless for your offer.

Our 1755 flight started to taxi down the runway some time after 2000 and took off maybe ten minutes after that. It turned out that their was a partial strike underway whereby strikers were blocking transmissions between the aircraft and tower so that flights couldn’t make their “windows”. Thanks for that. I hate people who strike and disrupt my plans – how not to get my sympathy.

Another coincidence of note: the gentleman who was doing bizarre things with glass and pointy bits of metal in Tel Aviv was sat around four rows in front of me. I managed to chat to him for a few minutes and it turns out he just found out he would be performing at the Download Festival campsite the next night. The delay was causing him nightmares as he had to arrange collection of broken glass, a bed of nails, breeze blocks, a sledgehammer and a lawnmower (!?) from places around London before driving north.

Landing was a lot swifter except for passport control which took an age. And then I slept. On a concrete floor, due to my late arrival and Dave’s (fully understandable) inability to pick me up. Somehow I managed to sleep quite well. I guess I was more tired than I thought.

Holocaust denial is for fools

Today’s little trip was by no means a joyful one, but was certainly hugely educational and emotional. Noa took me to the Yad Vashem Holocaust History Museum, which contains more information than just about any person can comprehend about the culling of the Jews (and other religions, races and whatnot) that the Nazis decided the world would be better off without.

It really is a harrowing place, though for obvious reasons given its geographical location concentrates most heavily on the Jewish aspect. I learned a lot when I was there as the story doesn’t stop when the war ends. Unknown to me, courtesy of my lousy history education, Britain pretty much ruled the roost of Israel around 1945 and refused to allow Jews who’d fled Germany into the country. Most other countries also closed their doors to them when they tried to escape from Germany prior to the war beginning. Too many people turned their heads and looked away. Shameful.

The imagery using is pretty brutal and doesn’t pull any punches. Like the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, this place rightfully believes that you can’t appreciate the horror without seeing it at its worst. Photographs are on display of people being hanged, shot and buried. Details are available of the “living” conditions in the concentration camps and the sheer numbers of people killed, tortured, experimented on. Poems by 14 year olds are on walls… followed by the date those same children were slaughtered.

The site doesn’t just contain the museum, but also a reference library detailing every single Jew killed during and around the war. People are invited to submit information on friends or relatives not yet included. There is a memorial hall, a garden of remembrance, trees planted and dedicated to non-Jews who helped save lives and a separate monument to the children killed – in excess of one million.

This is the one that really got to me. Inside this small structure is a darkened room with mirrored walls and a handful of lights which are reflected myriad times. Each light representing a child’s life. A light extinguished like a worthless candle by the Nazi war machine. As you stand in the near darkness, a voice reads out a different name and age every few seconds. It only takes a minute for the whole weight of the numbers to settle on your shoulders and make you realise how awful a place the world can be.

I congratulate the people who have set this site up for keeping attention focussed on one of the worst massacres in human history, and for not missing out a single detail. For not shying away from pointing a finger of blame at any country which refused to lift a finger, or delayed in doing so. And for presenting it so well. It’s truly a beautifully designed “attraction” and worth a visit… no, demands a visit from any visitor to Jerusalem.

Besides the historical perspective, anyone interested in architecture will be fascinated by the fairly recently opened prism-like building which houses the majority of the exhibits.

Leaving the museum at closing time, Noa drove me to her house where I met her brothers and mother (at last!). We decided that Jewish mothers are pretty much like Scottish grandmothers in that they will not allow you to leave their house without eating at least a certain amount of food. After forcing me to eat far too much fresh fruit (I protested so much), Noa took clippers to my head and readied my hair for Download. I’m sure she nicked my scalp on purpose.

And then back to the hostel for my last night on the roof. I was really going to miss this place. And the free wireless.

Lord of the flies…

…and mosquitoes. The 6-legged flying evil things are a lot more prevalent in Eilat than they are in Jerusalem. Despite the heat, I had to wrap myself in a blanket to limit their access overnight. The mosquitoes drilled for blood like a continent full of sheikhs who have just realised their wells are running dry. At around 5am, they were replaced by flies trying to suck up moisture from the only available source (my face) the way a fleet of Chelsea tractors drinks fuel. Oh, and some muppet decided to water the trees (and therefore, inadvertently, myself) at 1:30am.

After I woke, I went for a quick and fruitless search for a bakery to get a strudel or something. On my way I located an open-air market being set up. It just stocked the usual stuff you see at any market – cheap underwear, cheaper sunglasses, even cheaper electronic goods. The entry was blocked by a row of “Police” barriers with two gaps where bags were being searched and metal detectors run over bodies.

You don’t realise how serious the security is here until you see a granny’s handbag being rifled through and checked for Semtex. Airports, markets, bars, restaurants, bus stations, malls… Everywhere. And I’ve yet to see a single person moan or complain about the inconvenience. The probably remember all-too-recent incidents where such security has stopped more serious injury, or where it could have had it been in place. I just wish more people at airports worldwide would recognise this fact.

Well, I settled on fruit for breakfast before I was picked up shortly after 9am by another staffer from Lucky Dive and introduced to Roni (I hope I spelled that right) who looked a hell of a lot better in a wetsuit than Alan. No offense to Alan, mind. Roni’s one of these lucky people who gets paid to do her favourite hobby. If she wasn’t working showing people like me great dive sites, she’d be out there anyway diving for free courtesy of the company. I let her pick the sites for the day as she definitely knew the good ones.

Three dives followed – the Satil wreck and two from the Reserve, which incurred an extra 23NIS charge for entry. All three were superb with even better visibility than the day before. Roni was great company and it was heartening to be complimented on my diving when I’m relatively inexperienced. A shame I left my camera in the van as I could have got some great snaps on the last dive, which was fairly shallow.

With time left before my bus when I got back to the dive shop, I took advantage of their internet and allowed Israel’s friendliest cat to curl up on my lap for a while. A final falafel called my name, and a short walk around the block killed the rest of the time before catching the last coach of the day back to Jerusalem.

The route back was quiet and the bus pulled in shortly after 9pm. I gave up waiting for a local bus and walked back to the hostel via my now-regular New City shawarma shop.

Fed up and dived out, I slept like the proverbial on my rooftop perch.

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