I ate the above every morning – a perfect no-cook nutrition-packed camping breakfast. From now on I will never travel without a spoon, a bowl, and bags of organic jumbo oats, dates, sunflower seeds, sultanas and pecan nuts. All dried so easy to store – just add water to bring them to life (plus a slice of apple or two).
I don’t know why people bother with expensive foreign holidays when they can go to a five-day long Buddhist festival in a Devon field. Its rigours test you, its strange culture intrigues while all around fellow festival go-ers are shaking off their everyday constraints.
Lots of interesting food to try such as the chapatti (above) cooked on an open fire and stuffed with homemade basil pesto and split-pea houmous (a must-try because quicker than soaking chickpeas).
And every cafe served fresh homemade chai, for me and the other two thousand people milling around in four fields.
Buddhafield cafe (above) was always busy, while other cafes such as the Organic Fallafel tent and the Indian Food tent did equally brisk business. As did Padma Pancakes which featured live music (including the unmissable The Wraithes who put classical poems to music).
Even the compost loos had their charms, with wooden steps as if unto a throne.
You could not do a thirtieth of what was on offer.
At night, there were live bands in every cafe, a cinema, DJs. A packed daily programme included talks on climate change, workshops in kung fu, lessons in Indian dancing, skilful flirting and sacred chanting. There were saunas in wooden huts, impromptu cabarets and Buddhist rituals with a butterfly on stilts (below).
And, just like the end of an exotic holiday, it was a culture-clash returning from Buddhafield to civvie street.