I do apologize for my last entry, written while stone drunk in the middle of the night. I will try to make this better. I make no promises.

As may have been gathered from my last post, I am not in Röskilde after all. The city is full of refugees like us. You can see them everywhere. You sit at the bar and see a hint of mud on a shoe, a bracelet flashing underneath a sleeve, a sad haunted look. So you start talking. Everyone had their own personal tragedy. A hole in the tent turning it into a huge water baloon overnight. Friends in Denmark coming to save your soggy ass. 4 hours waiting in line for the buses.

Oh, there is still a hard core remaining there, I am sure. Out of the 100,000 (!) who came to festival, I’m sure there are still enough left to dwarf any concert seen in Israel, save perhaps the Roger Waters extravagance. But for us it was just too much. So for the past two days we’ve been doing the standard tourist gig. Churches and tourist-traps and Christiania and the sights of Copenhagen. It’s a hell of a lot more expensive than we planned, but it beats drowning in the mud.

There’s a jazz festival in town, so we’re going to look for some music tonight. Returning flight is as planned, on Tuesday morning. Today we managed to get some laundry done, so I’m back in decent clothing. 
We’re considering making a t-shirt, but I can’t decide between “I Survived Röskilde 2007” and “I went to Röskilde 2007 and all I got was this lousy pneumonia”.