By the evening of the day I left Ozora, I made it to a lake town called Siófok in Hungary. I found the only cheap hostel but was told there were no rooms available. I asked if I could at least use the washing machine and was told no worries. I pretty much set up a nest in the reception. Did some washing, charged my phone and camera, sorted out my gear and had a little lay down on the reception couch. I got talking to a Dutch family that was also staying at the hostel. They were really nice and let me use the shower and stash my stuff in their room while we went out for dinner. That night I ended up sleeping on a deck chair out the back of one of the buildings. It was comfy enough.
The next morning I caught the early train to Zagreb, Croatia. The train looked like a hippie mass grave site. There were so many doofers passed out on the seats and on top of each other on the floor. It's pretty cool when ya get a string of doofs in a row. It's like a pilgrimage of thousands of doofers overloading public transport systems, flooding small towns and buying out all the chai tea and incense from little shops. It was funny when we crossed the border into Croatia, the border control had to wake up all these zombies in the aisle to get passports. I'd say half of 'em didn't even remember getting on the train, judging by the confusion on their faces when they were woken up. It was a long wait at the border that day.
After 10 hours all up on trains, a few hours stop-over in Zagreb and a beautiful ride through the Croatian countryside, we arrived in Gracac, a small village in the south of Croatia about 5 km from the festival site. I found a little pub and went in to ask for directions to the festival. A local bloke who was drinking at the bar told me (through a translator) that he would drive me out to the site once he finished his drink. I was happy with that, so I bought a few rounds to keep the giving energy flowing. By the time we got to the site it was getting late. I found a free spot in the campsite and pitched my tent for the night.
The next morning I awoke to a big crew of Aussies that had moved in all around my tent during the night. They were all legends and it was good to have some mad doofers to connect with. I dunno what it is about the Australian way of doofing but it's very unique and awesome. You can aways pick out an Aussie at Euro bush doofs, they're the one dressed up like a lizard with a 10-metre doof-stick handing out drops of acid on the dance floor.
In the daylight I sussed out the site. High-vising it through the front gate was not an option as the campsite and festival area was separate with pretty tight security at the entry point, checking everyone's wristband every time you wanted to get in. So it was back to the old ninja mission through the bushes, and once you were in you'd stay as long as possible. Heading back to the campsite meant another ninja mission when you wanted back in, and of course, the less time you spend ninjaing, the less chance you have of getting pinched.
The way the security was set up made it a little more difficult, but also more exciting. On the second night on my way back in from the campsite I had a bit of fun. It was quite dark as the moon hadn't risen yet, which was good and bad. Good because it gave me better cover, but bad because it was harder to see where the security guards were. I snuck through the bushes to the fence line. There was a small wire fence then a 15 metre clearing before a row of markets stalls and the festival. If you can make it through the stalls and mix in with the crowd then you're away. It's the clearing between the bush and the stalls that's the trick. You can have as much ninja skills as you want, but there is always an element of chance that comes into these sorts of missions.
So I'm crouched in the bush looking into the clearing trying to spot any patrolling security. From where I was it looked clear. I'd picked my spot, and after a minute of psyching myself up, I picked my moment. I leapt out of the bush, over the fence and started the brisk walk towards the market stalls. You want to walk quickly through the clearing as to minimise your time there without crabbing yaself out with a full on sprint. At around the halfway mark a flashlight came on and started tracking me (fuck). Calmly, I slightly changed my heading towards the far side of a small tree. Once the flashlight caught the tree and cast a shadow over me I dropped down low, turned around and dashed along the long shadow of the tree back over the fence and into the scrub.
I gotta give it to 'em, I didn't expect to get chased around the bush for the next 45 minutes. Two blokes with flashies chased me all over the countryside, occasionally catching a glance of me diving behind some bushes... they were keen as. One good thing about growing up in Ipswich is that you learn how to run from the authorities, so I had that to my advantage. I was on the tail end of an LSD trip as well which added a new dimension of excitement to the chase, getting scared of the dark and catching glimpses of the shadow men in my peripheries. It wasn't the most epic of runners but it was still enough excitement for one night. Once I lost my pursuers I doubled back to the campsite to roll a jozza and have a rest. Better luck next time.
I had no such problems for the rest of the festival as I became more familiar with the site and refined my tactics. Lost Theory was a great party. 99.9% of the crew there were full of light and happiness with only a few characters that I found questionable. The day time music was fucking coota and the site was amazing. For the last 3 days of the party it pissed down rain turning the site into a sludge pit and brought out all the mud monsters! I'm usually a bit of a puss when it comes to being wet and cold but this time I got stuck into it. I stripped down to my boardies and stomped around in the mud and the rain, running back and forth between the fire and the dance floor/mud pit. Great music, awesome people, beautiful site and amazing vibe. I rated it. Cheering.
I met some real sic cunts at the party too. The Aussie crew at the campsite were bloody great value! In the same camp I met a doof pirate named Smiley, a young German fella with a great outlook on life. After the party he invited me back to his folks' place in the south of Germany to enjoy some comforts and have a space to recuperate. I've spent the past few days here in the small village of Seligenporten near Nürmberg just chillin' out, eating yummy home-cooked food, scrubbing all the mud and doof out of my gear and enjoying all the comforts of a family home.
I'm going to stay here a few more days then rejoin the doof pilgrimage. The plan is to head to the Netherlands to a festival called Psy-Fi and catch the last of the summer vibe up that end.