Reykjavík Grapevine - 31.07.2009, Síða 33

Mammút. I walk a considerable
distance to have a shot of Stoli. On
the way back to the tent Swords of
Chaos give me some moonshine.
20:56 I share a joint and take a
piss. The fog nestles against the
mountain. My spit dangles off a tree
leaf in a hypnotizing way.
21:44 and there’s two beers left in
the tent. I may just be able to catch
Tyrant if I drink fast. I just overheard
one half of a phone conversation.
“HAM were so brilliant last night.”
“When they started playing Party
Town, it was just amazing.”
“Could you do me a favour? Could
you check my account, because I
can’t believe I’ve spent that much
money.”
Sunday, july 12th
It’s 02:43 and I watch someone
steal a beer. Everyone is shrouded
by smoke as people on the campsite
burn everything f lammable.
2:51 and everyone cheers as
the Israeli f lag, pilfered by some
anarchist I don’t know, burns
beautifully in the permanent dusk
of the midnight sun. Someone puts
Vangelis on. I drink more beer.
3:39 I go to the tent to find more
beer but the girl sleeping in the tent
is snoring in such a relaxing way that
I almost fall asleep. I am drunk
9:48 I awaken to the sound of the
tent being buffetted by gale-force
winds. I blow my nose and go back to
sleep.
My phone battery has died, and
so has everyone else’s, leaving me
with no way to tell the time, but it’s
probably around noon. Random
thoughts as the festival draws to a
close:
1) How bizarre it is that this festival
has become a staple event in this
town.
2) Whether the senior citizens of
Neskaupstaður just refer to it as the
“the festival,” or is they actually say
“Flight of the Testicles is coming
next week, did you remember to buy
extra garbage bin liners?”
3) What an unsubtle metaphor this
fierce wind is.
4) Where the hell the car is.
There is a surprising variety of food
being left behind. Something is still
smoking under a plastic bag.
On Tour | Grapevine Goes Eistnaflug Rock Festival – Part Two
21
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 11 — 2009
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