German universities like to load their Arts Students with essays throughout the Vorlesungfreizeit. Ignoring the demands of the library and sick of Berlin's surprisingly damp summer, I booked a mitfahr to England. One week in quiet Devon, old friends, family, and everything pretty much in its place. It's a sunny place. I was lucky enough to dig out the glittery gold for a small taste of England's festival season at Womad. Countless coincidental encounters with people you know makes you realise how small the world really is, and how mine is shaped like a field full of pretty silk flags and ageing hippies.
From Plymouth I took a ferry to Roscoff, a cold night's sleep totally worth it for the night time Atlantik in your face. Roscoff early in the morning is grey and grim, and so I hitched out as quickly as my thumb would take me and arrived late afternoon at the beautiful Le Gurp, a place apparently only frequented by Germans. The beach was beautiful. The days long, the nights full of firesides musik and dancing in waves with some of my favourite people.
Post surfing, camping, everything french we drove an epic 20 hours back to Bielefeld. Exhausted wrecks of our former selves I felt very welcomed in this city (that does actually exist). N and I stayed at F's beautiful family house. His family are amazing. Unfortunately my camera battery died very quickly without any charger, and so the photos I have mainly chronicle France's frantic grey day packing and shifting sleepy eyed and coffee deprived.
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