We came, we saw, and we damned well conquered—or at least Splendour conquered us. For the thousands of people who were lucky enough to snag a ticket or two, the anticipation had been building for months. Finally, the day arrived. We packed the cars to breaking point with camping equipment, maxed out our credit cards and savings accounts with alcohol, cigarettes, and things that would be considered quite naughty by many, and began the three-hour journey to Woodfordia in the dazzling Sunshine Coast. Our recipe for an unforgettable four days went as follows:
Ingredients (otherwise known as what we arrived with):
- Three bottles of vodka, one bottle of bourbon, twenty cans of Jim Beam, three bottles of white wine, two bottles of red wine, two bottles of tequila, and a bucket (this is optional depending on how much of a lightweight some of your friends may be).
- One hundred cigarettes, forty Panadol.
- Camping equipment and plenty of changes of clothes.
- Boots that you will be willing to part with after the ordeal.
- And last but not least, plenty of great mates!
After the initial wait to enter the campground, we were set up and ready to let loose. People from all over the country became neighbours and friends within hours. One thing I did notice was how friendly everybody was. We had left behind the superficiality of Surfers Paradise and had arrived in a small country where everyone was his or her own person. Somewhere where freedom meant wearing whatever we wanted, singing as loudly and as proudly as we wanted when our favourite artists were performing, and where anyone was welcome.
Thursday kicked off with a sample of the world’s most talented DJs before Friday arrived with talent such as Angus & Julia Stone, Miami Horror, The Temper Trap, Scissor Sisters, Washington, Lisa Mitchell, and Ben Harper… The list went on. It became clear we would be spoiled for choice, and there was never a dull moment. Any spare time could be spent partying in the Smirnoff Nightlife Exchange, busting a move in Tipi Forest, learning to hula or use pois, or showing off your flexibility in the morning yoga workshops at the Temple Stage. The festival was a sensual feast for the body, mind, and soul.
It only got better as Saturday rolled around. The weather had decided to play nice, and as we made our way to the Amphitheatre (four shows early so we could be up front) for the pure magnificence that is Florence & The Machine, we decided to stop and play journalists at the Gold Bar. One drink turned into thirty, and before we knew it we had missed Operator Please and the beginning of Tame Impala! One quick leak before we headed off to our VIP viewing platform, which funnily enough had a bar but no toilets. Of course, that was no match for the desperate fans (myself included) who resorted to peeing in cans and bottles so as not to lose our spots. And of course, being in the state I was in, I managed to miss the bottle completely. Forget ‘You’ve Got The Love’; I had the love running down my leg. It didn’t matter… Florence belted out (as did I) all her best songs, and by the end of it, the pee was dry, the crowd was in awe, and I walked away with one of the best memories of my life to date (before sprinting back to the toilets and back to see the Strokes).
Signing off your splendour correspondent Joshua David Mccarthur
