Advertisement
Advertisement
When we weren't body painting at the Assembly Rooms, we'd be up the Tor, the giant mystic hill of Somerset. Even the most spiritually skeptical cannot help but feel alive once they've reached its roofless ancient tower. Part of you is probably thinking: It's just a big hill. How can it be that good? But the Tor is an inexplicable form of hypnotic catnip to the alternative mind: It's difficult to explain the feeling you have at the top. As you soak in the horizon of endless fields, you start feeling transcendental. And before you know it, you are one of them, wearing tie-dye and sitting in a drum circle, telling everybody how you're going to buy a camper van and head to Goa just as soon as your bank aligns its chakras and extends your overdraft again.The day we arrived, the local newspaper headline was "Know Your Onions." The same week, the mayor's goat opened the town's first supermarket, naturally sporting a ceremonial sash.
Advertisement