Blogabroad
by Mary Pinckney Waters

June 7, 2006 - RIP

By Monday morning, I felt like I was living in a landfill.

This weekend we attended Rock im Park, an MTV-sponsored music festival in Nuremburg (www.rockimpark.de). Among the more-than-100 bands performing were Metallica, Alice in Chains, Tool, Franz Ferdinand, Pharell, Taking Back Sunday and Depeche Mode. I know there are plenty of comparable weekend-long music festivals in the States, but this was my first time overnighting at a concert so the experience was foreign to me.

The concert started Friday midday, so my group of friends set off Thursday night for Nuremburg - a 45-minute train ride away - to claim a prime campsite, not too far from but definitely not too close to the Porto-Potties. I, however, the dedicated scholar that I am, did not want to miss my Friday class, a journalism course on weblogging - too interesting to pass up, even for Rock im Park. It is true; I am indeed this big of a dork.

So aside from my class being awesome Friday, I stuffed some blankets and plastic silverware in a bag and hopped a train to Nuremburg. As soon as I entered the main part of the train station, I identified my fellow Rock im Park-goers by a few distinguishing characteristics: dreadlocks, black eyeliner, steel-toed boots, camping gear and open beer bottles. And their occasionally screaming "Rock im Park!" didn't hurt either.

I made friends with some RIP veterans who led me on the right streetcar to the concert grounds, where I underwent the rite of passage for all music festivals: the fastening of a wristband that will remain on many arms for years to come. I had some spare time before I was to meet my friends, so I followed one of my new streetcar buddies to his spot for a Becks. None of his friends had bought the official concert wristbands, each a hefty 130 euros; they were just there for the party. They hadn't brought any tents, rather loaded mattresses and couches (ever-more-beat-up, ever-more-written-on) in the European equivalent of U-Haul, the large variation. Ahh, to be young.

After hanging with the Europcar kids for a few, I located my group's campsite and was introduced to everyone. The festival itself was a lot more organized than I'd imagined. In my head it had looked like nothing but spewing beer, mosh pits and lines for the bathroom - not that any of those failed to be present, just not the majority of the time.

Most people chilled at their campsites between seeing shows, cooking on three-euro aluminum grills or drinking beer from a Fass, essentially a mini-keg containing five liters of beer. The Porto-Potties were cleaned every day, and the only time the lines were long were, understandably, directly following the daily cleanings. Showers were available for two euros or sinks for 50 cents.

Food and beverage stands were set up at every turn: bratwurst buns, Chinese noodles, Döner (a Turkish gyro-type sandwich that is Germany's hamburger), pizza, crepes and three-euro cola and beer (thank God for those mini-kegs). Other merchandise stands offered band and festival T-shirts, jewelry and other accessories, "magic signs from the world of light," Lucky Strike cigarettes, piercings, tattoos and bungee jumping.

Perhaps the best part of the weekend was walking around the festival grounds and letting the randomness surprise the hell out of us. What we witnessed to and from concerts was just as memorable as the shows themselves. Hair of all shapes, sizes and colors. Dark eyes that could have only been achieved with an entire case of black shadow. Masks resembling pigs, goats and other farm animals. Trench coats, miniskirts, band T-shirts, "100% EVIL" shirts, no shirt, Pumas, military boots, wristbands from past years, spiked and chained jewelry, black, black, black *

Sometimes it felt like we were at an attention-grabbing contest rather than a music festival. We would be walking nonchalantly when suddenly someone would approach us and violently shake his hands a few inches from our faces. It was apparent that some attendees of the male persuasion had certain intentions in mind; plenty of tents had phrases such as "Kostenloser Sex" (free sex) scribbled across them. Another group of guys had tie-dye-blanketed a room-sized area between their two '70s VW buses and placed a large sign outside reading "After-Show Party Hier." One time as we were walking into the outside world to restock on supplies, we spotted/couldn't miss a group of five kids walking down the sidewalk covered so thick in some kind of heavy white foam that their features were barely distinguishable. Two concert security guards had followed them off festival grounds and were apparently on babysitting duty.

Another all-too-familiar festival sight was the passed-out partier, who could take drunken refuge in any nasty, alcohol-soaked plot of grass within toppling-over distance. A good 10% of our photos should end up being us posing with the unconscious, many of whom will never know how much they meant to us because they never woke up, and a few of whom will probably still never remember a thing even though they did.

As far as the music, I'm going to spare you the details because I would ramble far more than I already have, but let me just say this: If you've never seen Taking Back Sunday live, please go. The guys gave such an intense show - they owe it to their music, after all. The lead singer especially goes crazy, tossing the microphone 10 feet in all directions or letting it triple around his neck. During the last song, he climbed up the stage lights and dangled himself upside-down, screaming lyrics the entire time. I was on a rock 'n' roll high walking away from their performance.

Monday morning we tore down our tents, packed up our supplies and threw our leftover toilet paper into the trees. As I piled into the streetcar with all the other retreating concertgoers, I couldn't help but feel sorry for any helpless civilian forced to ride with hundreds of kids who hadn't showered in three days. Even the bums were holding their noses. I arrived back at my dorm around 1 p.m. yesterday, washed my hair three times in an hour-long shower and slept till 6 p.m. dreaming about freaky goat masks and how awesome TBS is.

Mary Pinckney Waters welcomes your comments and feedback: marypwaters@yahoo.com