About water – late bureau at the merger

“I was not at a festival and …” The wind blows the rest of the sentence. I fled with three people under a tree on the edge of the tent site when the downpour begins. “… kissed and … wanted to throw away my wedding ring …” behind me there are two women and a man in mid -30th. The man says: “Hmmh” and the second wife: “Sure.” Then the cloud cover tears, the rain denies. My girlfriend comes out of the bushes where the jetty begins.

I was always a late bloomer, caught up with my high school diploma, started studying in his mid -20s and got my son at the beginning of 30. Started swimming late and writing novels found, found to football. At almost 60 I am at the entrance of the Fusion – a space, a temporary utopia, as the makers formulate it. “We dance. Not out of flight, but out of defiance. Not for distraction, but as an answer. “

Among the 70,000 visitors to the festival, which offers music, talks, games, karaoke, yoga, a human washing system and thousands more from the last Juni Wednesday to Sunday, my girlfriend and I are on the road as artists. We tell history and stories about feminism and punkers, may arrive and depart by shuttle bus, become the hotel in Mirow Dangers and completely supplied.

Over water

private

Anne Hahn is the author of novels and non -fiction and swims through the waters of the world for »ND«.

On the first evening we walk through the orphaned place to the dark green lake, throw ourselves into the motorway closure, excitement and appear. Everything slides off. A boy throws a ball in the flat water in the flat water, a red kite circles over the church tower. The beach café closes, the lifeguard packs in, the wrought iron grille remains open. A Hansa Rostock towel blows in the wind, come. The fusion buzzes from the other bank, lights tunting into the clouds.

We drive back to the cultural cosmos and walk around the hangars, admire men in swimming suits, the girl with the cat ears, the St. Pauli fan with lightsaber, the bright umbrellas and jellyfish, the light spectacle of the night. Lizards, dragons, rockets. It is a lot, it’s magical. Everyone is lively, some sleep in the middle of it, others dance sore. Masked women of the Norwegian band roar in the air castle Witch Club Satan A few hundred people dizzy until the sweat drips from the ceiling.

When we stumble into the hotel at some point and stammer a number, the night porter pleases: “Finally someone who didn’t forget his room number!”

On Sunday afternoon the sky plays over Lärz Kabolz. To the open body coast or to the village pond? We stroll past the covered trance dance, about 100 people jump together to the “Hu-Hu-Hu” of their gurus. There is peace in the circus, there are long snakes at the cell phone charging station and the toilets, and a toothbrush is located on a tree trunk. Behind bushes a jetty protrudes into the artificial lake, a fish jumps up silver, my girlfriend is the first to swim. I blink in dark gray clouds and already climb into my swimsuit.