Well … there appears to be a crashed person sitting in this chair at 12:30 pm on Saturday.  Despite what I wrote yesterday, I did go dancing in De Bazaal last night.  Sweaty random whole-body twistings and turnings.  And now the music is only in my toes.  My feet, legs and arms haven’t got the memo yet.

Gosh I’m slow in the activities of daily living today.  The showers are excellent here.  I have my own cubicle to wash this, that and the other thing, and to shave.  Perhaps I’m not the only beardless male at Dour but it’s an open question.

Did I really take 45 minutes in my washing space, or is that my heat-addled brain talking?   One thing: long ago I experienced first hand the lingering itch of athlete’s foot.  Knowing I was coming to a festival full of thousands of sweaty feet, I brought my watershoes.  Who knew it would take so long to put them on, and then take them off?

Everything was performed in slo-mo, with nary a knock on my door.  No time limit!

***

I whiled away the afternoon hours lying in bed, watching the Tour de France on my phone.  Decadent.  No dancing.  Hardly any moving.

Now it’s evening.  Here are a few photos of Dour:

Voilà the entrance.  You go left or you go right.  What’s ahead are twelve back-and-forth lanes before you get to security.  Plenty of opportunities for silliness across the fences.  A guy and I came up with the names of countries as we kept passing each other … Uganda!  El Salvador!  Italy!

Inside the festival site as the evening crowd starts to build.  Two hours later there’s still green grass to walk on … but your choices are fewer.

It poured rain for half-an-hour but then the sun broke through.  Would you believe I’d just finished giving a speech to these fine folk?

No, I wouldn’t believe me either

***

And … I do believe that dancing is in my near future