Laundry, Lessons & the Elbtunnel Curse
Like our arrival, our departure is surprisingly smooth.
The campground clears out without drama. The roads are calmer than expected. Wacken logistics still slaying.
And then — the Elbtunnel.
Three lanes become one. It's the middle of the night. There’s hardly any traffic. Still: gridlock.
Our satnav, fully possessed by a demon, suggests a detour through Hamburg. We obediently follow.
Big mistake.
We get stuck in inner-city traffic, where the lights let exactly two cars through per cycle. The on-ramp we’re supposed to take? Closed. The satnav insists we take it anyway. We lose 90 minutes to pure navigational spite.
We roll into our driveway at 3 AM. Marie, having dropped off JH on another route, has been waiting for us in the car for nearly an hour.
The house is silent. Kids, cats, grandparents — all asleep.
We collapse into bed, unconscious in seconds.
The night ends at 7 AM.
Because the cats do not care about Wacken.
Cats, Brass & Re-Entry Trauma
I wake up to feline outrage. Apparently, being gone for five days is unforgivable.
I shower — my first real one in a week—and yes, it is glorious.
And because some rituals deserve closure, I wake Marie one final time with Bavarian brass music.
You’re welcome, Marie.
Coffee, Chaos & Intergenerational Trauma
Three coffees in, the house wakes up. The kids are thrilled to have us back and immediately demand attention.
The grandparents—look like they’ve just returned from Wacken themselves.
I’m torn between feeling relieved—finally, they get what I deal with—and mildly ashamed. Have I raised two chaos demons? Apparently yes.
After breakfast, Marie heroically takes the little one to the playground (saint) and even finds him a playdate (double saint).
I stay home. With the wreckage. And the laundry. And one last can of chilli sin carne.
It’s not a meal. It’s a closing ritual.
I sit in silence. Metal jetlag. Full force.
The Ten-Day Haze & Metal Jetlag
As I write this, ten days have passed since Wacken. We didn’t buy tickets for 2025. We still could. They’re not sold out. Which is—weird.
Why?
Is it the price tag (€333 + €33 Access Pass)?
Is it Papa Roach?
Is it the weird alien theme?
Is it because KKR is absorbing Superstruct and everyone’s getting twitchy?
Or maybe—maybe the COVID-era need to prove you’re alive and free and outside is just over.
We’ll never know.
The Verdict: Bucket List, Met & Done
The summary? Positive.
The crew was perfect. Marie, Chris, Jan-Hendrik—we laughed, we wandered, we functioned without bickering. If plans didn’t match? No drama.
The campground (Residenz Evil)? Excellent choice.
The camp beds? Glamping gold.
The boots? Absolutely not. Should’ve been burned.
Fresh tattoos and sleeveless shirts? Rookie mistake.
Wacken was on my bucket list. I’ve been. I’ve done it.
And now I know: I don’t have to do it again.
The Wacken spirit? Real.
Peaceful, joyful, weirdly clean. (Except the toilets. For the love of God, more toilets.)
It felt great to walk among thousands of like-minded people.
But at the end of the day—it’s about the music for me.
The rest is—fine. Something I endure for the music. But not the reason to go.
FOMO, Screens & the Spirit of Smaller Shows
The real issue? Wacken gives you too much of everything.
Too many bands I don’t care about.
The ones I do want to see? Often overlap. Or I'm too tired. Or they’re halfway across the grounds.
It’s a festival of compromises. Constant FOMO.
Then there’s the size.
You can hear and see everything from the back. The screens and sound are excellent.
But the atmosphere is flat. It’s public viewing with basslines.
No connection. No immersion. Just pockets of people sipping beer and nodding vaguely at the LED wall.
It’s fine. But it’s not mine.
So here’s what I’ve learned:
I’m a girl for smaller venues. For sweaty intimacy. For loud, up-close, chaotic music that punches you in the ribs.
I want the scream, not the spectacle.
Next Up: Wini Macken & A Cave Full of Doom
On that note - next week is Wini Macken! 15 years of Full Metal Jetlag. In 2009 Ela and Jens from Handeloh felt exactly like I did last Sunday and they decided to launch their own festival in their garden. 15 years later, the festival has grown considerably in size and popularity. I love that. This year, I’m helping organise it. Press, socials, enquiries—and yes, camera in hand. I’ll write about it too. Obviously.
Then, two weeks later: Prophecy Fest in Balve Cave. Only 1400 people. My kind of crowd. Atmosphere over size. Sound over scale. There will be photography. There will be tears. There will be black metal echoing off ancient cave walls.
I. Cannot. Wait.
Also on the horizon: Uada, The 69 Eyes (again), Kreator, Anthrax & Testament, Lemmyversary with Motörizer and Ozzyfied.
So no, things won’t be boring.
Wacken may be done.
But the riffs keep coming.
Stay tuned.