Humans seem to struggle between their need for peace and for action. Very few of us can lead a solitary monastic life and just as few can cope for long stretches totally devoid of silent moments. Jesus, after his resurrection, greeted his disciples not with action and commandments, but by wishing them peace.
July's dawn is the tail end of the festival season here, the street artists are at their peak, the heat has started to drive those with air conditioning indoors and those without down to the waters edge.
Then the city is invaded. 'Exit' festivals attendance is roughly 20 thousand, that's around the same size as Glastonbury. The peace is shattered. The hot days have a strange feel, either you are in the action or missing out, and the evening air is peppered with artificial heartbeats that carry far across the cityscape until dawn breaks.
At first this is portrayed as the crowning glory, the claim to fame, the event to see and be part of. As the years turn it's an inconvenience, a reminder of poverty, a chance for exploitation, and a social segregation. While some actively join in, a quick glance shows the wristbands are not hugely prevent within the local population.
So, they either escape the city, feign apathy or feed off the dregs, the heightened atmosphere and practised buskers. This year Exit teemed up with a second festival 2 days later, located by the sea. The resulting exodus was massive, sudden and haunting. Then came the peace, hitting the city like a tsunami.
It's this peace that we soak in now, a peace that is more appreciated because it was preceded by such activity. As it sinks in it refreshes, refuels, and energises me. It pushes me to appreciate it, to stop for a moment and listen, to ponder a line, a verse, a prayer. Perhaps the city may seem to be 20 thousand faces poorer, but their very absence clears the view.