Being there was great. It was another world from Tokyo. The fauna was prehistoric - I found a six-inch long poisonous centipede. In the bath. A moth that looked like a fat bird. A lizard that was fat and shiny. The coast was jagged and the greenery jungle lush.
There was plenty of great food, like Brazilian pastels, Italian sausage, and Turkish kebabs. A lovely coffee roaster guy was grinding his beans to order and brewing individual cups of coffee that were worth waiting 20 minutes in line for.
The social media coverage thing went pretty well. Turns out that people who come out to camp and chill out on the beach with an acoustic guitar aren't necessarily into tweeting every second of their day. Weird, right? But there were people watching our reports from Hong Kong, England and the US.
As much as I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, I didn't fall under the spell of the festival like all of my friends who get that faraway look in their eyes when they talk about EC. I think that level of intoxication probably demands late-night beach parties, intense and doomed three-day love affairs and, well, intoxication. As staff, we stayed in a beautiful tatami-matted building that was near all the action - it had a kitchen, nearby onsen and kept us snug despite the rain, but there were no bonfires or parties.
My phone shut down on the last day. Kaput. I lost all the photos I had taken that I hadn't posted online. Luckily, Jim brought his camera along and got some nice shots.
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