We snaked into Ostrava with a symphony of screeching and hissing from the hydraulics. The doors open and we more or less spill out. The Tower had disappeared from view but I could still sense it was there somewhere, beyond the buildings of the town.
I had read somewhere that Ostrava was one of the largest centres in the entire region for mining and ironworks. I could feel that it was the case the moment I arrived. The way the roads swerved and the buildings tilted, it was almost as if everything was bending towards the gravity of that steel heart at the centre of the town. Pipes would emerge from God know's where, fly through the sky and in the general direction of that place. That place where I think the festival had to be.
We jump on the tram like the rest of the people. We just laughed. It was actually happening. Here we were on the borderlands of the Czech Republic, swerving through a maze of buildings blackened by smoke and time, like reckless kids. Yeah, we were doing it. It was at that moment that I felt that this was what travelling was actually about.