BIG UP YOUSELF MON!
ROTOTOM REGGAE SUNSPLASH!
As I write this, about 25,000 people, many being French and Italian, are really enjoying themselves at this year's Reggae Festival in Benicassim, so what could I possibly find to complain about? Well, plenty, actually, although in the spirit of Jah-Love Rasta Mon, my complaints are already sounding in my head more like simple comments.
The problem was that I had never attended a mega-concert in Benicassim before, and had only driven through the town, so I didn't know the lay of the land. I had read of people who had attended events at SunBeach and Harmony Beach, so that is where I assumed the concerts take place. I drove into the town, expecting large signs pointing the way to the concert grounds. Nothing!
I arrived on the 15th, the day before the event because I really wasn't sure that I wanted to be a part of the first day's crowd on the 16th. I'm not at all good with masses of people, but on the 15th there was going to be some free music. I thought this would have been rehearsal-type things going on, so I drove the two hours from my house and accidentally parked very near to where I should have been for what would be on offer.
I decided that I had better pay a visit to the Tourist Info office. I followed the signs, but the trouble is that while you are in your car you will likely drive past that office without even seeing it because of the need to watch the traffic. Finally, I asked a policeman who pointed me in the right direction,but he said that he thought they might have been closed due to the public holiday.
Shit! I got back in my car and went to find the beach venues, expecting to see major staging. I drove round and around, and finally found the beach road and added myself to the congestion along that route, but couldn't find anywhere that looked like a major event was in preparation. That was not surprising as what takes place along the beaches is recorded music and games and live radio shows. So where the hell is this mega concert supposed to take place?
I drove back up into the city centre and parked the car in the original car park, and set out on foot, this time I accidentally came upon the Tourist Info office. It was open! Oh joy, now I could at least get some proper information and a friggin map. The major concert site, although in Benicassim, is in reality across the N-340 on the inland side, and so far removed from where people actually live that it might as well be in the next county. It is across the road from Aquarama. But still I'm wondering, where is the bloody entrance? Still no great big sign directing newcomers to the parking lot.
Well, I figured at least let me get on the other side of the N-340, that would be a start. So, I'm now driving in the direction towards Valencia, and I'm not getting any help, when my thoughts turn towards just keep going. In two hours I'll be back home. Suddenly I find myself in a line of stopped cars that appear to be going into the Repsol gas station. Well, I did need fuel, so I stayed in line, only to find that this was the line of cars entering the parking lot for the concert. Bloody hell!
So far, I had encountered absolutely no organisation at all. I don't know if the FIB concerts are as badly organised. They take place on the same site, and the thing is that these people have been doing these concerts for so long they could be forgiven for not realising that not everybody knows exactly where everything is.
I get parked and realise I have to stand in line to get my arm band to permit me entrance. So, I stand in the appropriate line, and after a very long, patience draining wait, I get to the ticket window and announce that I am a retired person and am there to receive my free entrance arm band. The young girl took my passport and started entering info in her computer, and the more she tried the more confused she became. Her supervisor came over and looked at my data, then she asked whether my age was accredited? Only by my passport, my driver's license and my Residencia, all of which they had.
The young guy standing next to me said he thought that what they were really saying was that they didn't believeI was still up at that hour of the night. Do you mean that they can't believe that I'm still vertically up? Much laughter! Seems I was the only retired person, and at 73 I didn't seem to be that old, and why would I have wanted to attend a reggae concert that runs all through the night anyway?
Finally the supervisor went and found an armband that stated "Over 65" and invited me to come every night, with their compliments. But on that night, there would not be anything taking place in the main stage area. For the free taster concert I had to go back over the N-340 into the town where the concert was happening. So, I tried to get out of the car park. The buggers didn't even have a SALIDA sign up, so I made several wrong turns. By this time these people were really playing with me head, Mon!
When I got back in the centre of the city the car park where I had previously parked twice was jammed. I drove around and around, and while looking for some place on a back street I turned into a street and drove to the top of the hill and found a vacant spot in a strange area, but what the hell, I could finally get rid of the car. I walked to the Plaza de la Constitución and enjoyed the concert in motion until midniht at which time it came to an end. However, at one time I was standing near to the stage under an area with a roof, and the smell of marijuana smoke was so powerful it was giving me a contact high. There were also several children there and something was definately wrong with them as well. I started to feel dizzy; I had a headache, and I was hungry, so I went and had something to eat, then thought about either having a sleep in my car, or starting the long drive home.
I went to retrieve my car, only to realise I had parked in the parking lot of the Ayuntamiento, apparently in the mayor's place. Forget sleeping in the car! I headed home at 1:30am, knowing that no matter how tired I was I had to stay alert. Hint: it worked out O.K., but in spite of wearing my armband until Saturday night, I never actually went back to Rototom.
Perhaps next year!
RASTAFARI !
Copyright (c) 2012 Eugene Carmichael
