So it’s been an epic season of festival shenanigans comprising planes, trains and automobiles of the truck, van, car, tank, bus, banana, horse box variety.

Hungarian taxi driver is belting it through country lanes in top gear, at high speed and to rib-cage busting baslines at 3 in the morning. Adrenalin is pumping a bit. Hearts racing. The dude has never heard this kind of dark, deep, heavy, rocking, window shaking sound before. Elettra played the set. We were sitting in the back of the car in hysterics at his antics as he shifted gear and the speed kicked in to match the BPM. Oh fuck. Should we say shit? Elettra is indeed a super sonic selectress: a quirky little Italian pixie with beautiul dreads and a stunning smile. It was her fault for exciting the driver. The music was maybe too much for the other passengers who stared sternly ahead in silence while we, like a pair of witches, tried to contain our cackles.

We were enroute to Croatia for the Momento Demento Festival, starting, apparently, as we were meant to go on…

But it was a rather strange sensation. We had been the final ones to leave Ozora. Tornados swept through the barren, soul-less land and an empty apocalyptic feeling gushed through me as I heard the ghostly echo of voices and laughter that days earlier had filled this space with so much life. Love really did not live here anymore… 

But it did the day I looked for Alex Grey because it was everywhere… I didn’t find him that particular day. I did find something else though…

It was a big group of Hungarian belly dancers that had fallen in love with the music of Dubsahara, aka Greg Hunter… So memories of Ozora were deep-seated and beautiful and we carried them with us until they were buried away into the subconscious of our minds and until they came rushing back to be re-lived again. But this was my very first Ozora and I was happy to be part of the experience. More on Mr Hunter and the Hungarian gypsy belly dancers later. Stay tuned.  


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