Across the legendary Vale of Avalon a myriad of tents were pitched as far as the eye could see, the neatly defined squares of pastoral fields descended into a chaos of colour. The vivid green of the grass could be seen peeking through gaps bordering the canvas, belying a density of people at urban levels. With the sun beating down and dust rising from the feet of thousands, the scene evoked images of our tribal, militaristic heritage: the hordes of Atilla and Genghis, the expansive camps of Crusaders and Redcoats.
It was immediately clear that, despite its name, Glastonbury Festival isn’t a festival. It’s a city, a pop-up metropolis, complete with districts, thoroughfares and markets. There are endless forms of entertainment running through all hours of the day, shopping markets, restaurants, bars, clubs and much more besides. It’s impossible to come to this place and not be taken aback by its scale. In existence for less than a week a year, its transience only serves to accentuate its immensity. It’s said you can’t describe Glastonbury to people who haven’t been there, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Nonetheless, there is an indescribable sense of connection, community and shared identity between those who attend, creating an elusive atmosphere where ‘you just have to be there’.
And that’s before the music has even started!
The music is, after all, what everyone’s here for. Young and old (and there were all ages) wanted to see one or the other of over 600 acts across 100 stages. Every genre was represented. I stood with 12 other people watching a folk-rock band in a tiny tent in Green Fields, and jumped among the throng of tens of thousands, voices chanting in unison at a man, his guitar, and his loop pedal.
That goosebump inducing feeling of the sound of a full-throated, spontaneous choir is powerful, as powerful as the greatest art, poetry or writing. This is what it feels like to be involved in something big. In a contact-less society, where your community is consigned to the infini-scroll imprisoned in your screen, to be surrounded by real people who are your peers and equals, who share your views, and who collectively embody such positivity, is a feeling like no other.
That communality extended throughout the whole festival, even to those activities normally considered mundane. This was brought home to me one night at 3am, just as the eastern sky was beginning to glow with the morning, when various revellers who had stumbled up the hill to return to the campsite proceeded to congregate around the watering hole and collectively clean their teeth. Complete strangers, swaying under the influence, brushing elbows as they brushed their teeth under the stars, just made me smile. Bringing activities usually reserved for the privacy of home into an open air public forum had an equalising effect for me, where class, beliefs, age, or any other discriminating factor diminished into nothing. We were all just humans doing human things.
Clive Lewis (incidentally my local MP) appeared on a panel in the Left Field tent (an area dedicated to political activism and debate) and called Glastonbury his favourite bubble. He’s not wrong. It’s a wonderful bubble to be in. Despite the number of people there, it feels safe: people are looking out for each other. It’s a bubble that believes in a better world of peace, sustainability and equality. For me, it was the ultimate antidote to the creeping conservatism of the world right now, and to Brexit. Everyone there was participating in Glastonbury’s vision, even if they didn’t share it.
Nonetheless, at some points during the week I did feel a sense of disquiet. When you have that many people crammed into a small area, it’s impossible not to notice consumption levels. When you see the scale of operations needed to provide food, services, and sewerage, it highlights in a very visual way the effect humans have on the planet. And the festival is undoubtedly hedonistic. Pleasure is sought through music, unrestrained freedom, drink, drugs, food, sex. It is the ultimate escapism from responsibility, like being in another world free from worry and pressure. This goes a long way in explaining its popularity, but it does also bring about problems.
The litter that was left strewn across the fields, or the sight of a man pissing in someone else’s tent, highlight the dangers of de-regulation in a Tragedy of the Commons-esque way, particularly when people can just walk away from the problem. The organisers are intensely self-aware of the paradox. The dystopian night-club area of Shangri-la was this year dedicated to the impact of waste, with a huge tower being constructed out of last year’s leftovers.
Self-awareness doesn’t necessarily lead to self-improvement, but the evidence of the guiding principles of Glastonbury eclipse any negatives. Food stalls can only give out biodegradable packaging and cutlery, and more than half the waste is recycled. There are mountains of choice for vegans and vegetarians (apparently a Glastonbury trope is to eat halloumi with every meal – something I was happily close to achieving!) with most of the food and goods ethically sourced or organic. The festival is powered by generators working off reclaimed cooking oil and campaigns to limit the impact of the festival on the land seem to be fairly successful.
For example, “Don’t pee on the land” is strictly enforced to protect the rivers and wildlife through the farm, and welly boots that are left are collected and donated overseas to those in need. And what’s more, every year Glastonbury donates significant amounts of money to Greenpeace, WaterAid and Oxfam, amongst a whole host of other charitable and worthy causes. The organisers really are giving a lesson in sustainability in the face of immense challenges.
So, for me, my first Glastonbury experience was eye-opening, life-affirming, invigorating, but above all a hell of a lot of fun. Most importantly, it showed me that, in a world filled with narcissism, selfishness, and consumerism, the ideals of peace, community, sustainability, and a love for each other and the planet still exist in a big way. And we could all perhaps do a little more of bringing these into the mainstream, in a way that only Glastonbury knows how.
Peace out dudes.