Over 25 years as an arts journalist in Australia, I;ve been to just about every festival that anyone;s thought of putting on.
Not enough of the small music festivals that are proliferating in wineries, perhaps %26ndash; Coriole in the McLaren Vales, for instance, or Rochford Wines in the Yarra.
But certainly to all the majors in the state capitals plus Darwin and Canberra, with its National Folk Festival at Easter and its one-time Australian Theatre Festival.
I actually live in Sydney and it;s almost impossible to do a festival properly in your home town, because you;ve got silly things like the washing up to do, friends to visit and possibly even a job.
This hasn;t stopped me enjoying Sydney;s summer fun for 25 years, and encouraging others to come to a festival that;s gone from entertainment designed to keep Sydneysiders from heading up the coast to being a serious international player.
But a festival is all about intensity, a single-minded pursuit of the best, the most talked-about shows, whether they;re at 11 in the morning or after midnight the next day.
And though I retain a fondness for Perth, Australia;s oldest international arts festival which continues to inspire our remotest city, I simply have to report from the front in Adelaide.
For this biennial event %26ndash; the next is February/March 2010 %26ndash; has the arrogance to believe it;s the Australian arts festival, though deep down it knows it;s based on that epitome of Europeanness, the Edinburgh Festival.
Nevertheless, artists pour in in their thousands, the Aussie arts world gathers there to play and learn, and the planes are packed with visitors who are guaranteed all day long stimulation from not one, not two but about a dozen different festivals that never actually seem to come to blows.
For the main Adelaide Bank Festival of the Arts is but a big name, two-week backdrop. Think international operas, theatre companies and dancers for an almost four-week Fringe with at least 550 different acts, a Writers; Week that;s almost as famous as its parent, an Artists; Week for the visual arts, Womadelaide the exotic, an International Buskers Festival and a Fuse Festival which seemed to be more about the business of music than its performance.
And as the Writers; Week tents are packed with ardent listeners in straw hats from 10 in the morning %26ndash; it;s always sunny at Festival time, by the way and this year came up with a two-week heatwave hitting 40 degrees %26ndash; and there;s sure to be something starting at 11pm in the Garden of Unearthly Delights, a tented area for Fringe performance and snacks in the Eastern parks, you never need to get bored.
But you do have to plan. In my case that;s mostly to make sure I get fed between events, for only the Writers; Week is thoughtful enough to allow you to munch on a roll and drain a cold Cooper;s while listening to Geraldine Brooks, Germaine Greer or Ian McEwan.
And in my case, an empty stomach is a serious distraction to an alert mind.
Luckily Adelaide is filled with more cafes, bars and restaurants than could possibly be peopled during the 100 weeks between festivals so it;s usually possible to sustain the inner man, though never enough time to drink an excess of alcohol that would send me to sleep in the next show.
In fact, you really need to plan one night of to take advantage of one of the top-end restaurants and several of the top-end local wines then, talking to fellow diners, you;ll discover all the sensational mustn;t-miss events that you have missed.
Possibly even before the food, planning needs to start with the accommodation, which gets over-booked during this time of Adelaide mayhem. It does need to be near the action, not up in the Hills or down by the sea.
You just haven;t got time for that much travel, and the trains stop at midnight.
But even in the centre %26ndash; and Adelaide;s blocks are surprisingly large when you;re tramping them at both midday and midnight %26ndash; it;s worth hiring a bike to sail to the next glorious event. The city is nothing if not dead flat.
And then there;s the artistry. While you;re sitting around at home with a month or so to go, that;s the time to salivate over the official festival program and pick out the shows that are going to make you feel grand, you hope.
Remember that a festival is not like your usual theatre or ballet season %26ndash; runs can be as short as one night, and, by definition, not all the goodies are available at the same time.
But in five days at this year;s Adelaide Festival, I picked up on a last tour by the 77-year-old Ornette Coleman, his fingers flying and his lungs blowing like a 20-year-old;s; a soaring choral Miserere in the cathedral; the Germans adding sex and spice to an old favourite play like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; and the Brits getting all post-colonial with an entirely Indian Midsummer Night;s Dream.
But having chosen and spread out your Big Shows, it;s vital to pick some possible losers as well.
Losers, you complain? Well I can assure you on the basis of this year;s festival, the Indian Dream was a loser for me because the poor old Poms don;t really understand physical theatre as many Australian directors do.
And The Word (a vital source of information) was that Goering;s Defence %26ndash; an unlikely show hearing why Goering was only trying to do the right thing during the War %26ndash; and The Window %26ndash; a beautiful play about, well, a window %26ndash; were much better nights in the theatre. Which is why you;ve left gaps in your schedule, to take advantage of hot stuff.
By now, too, you;ve picked up your Artists; and Writers; Week brochures and eagerly marked off the names of people you want to hear talk and tried to fit the times into your diary.
What have detective writer Peter Corris and Doris (Rabbit Proof Fence) Pilkington got in common? You could have found out in the East Tent at 2.15 on Monday; and chosen which one;s signature you;d queue for afterwards.
What are all those blank-faced blond Russian kids doing killing each other time after time in the video hit of the Venice Biennale now showing 10 to 5 daily in an Adelaide gallery?
Perhaps it would be safer to stick with the brilliantly explained Ngurrara Canvas at the SA Museum %26ndash; Aboriginal art as both land and land claim.
Which just leaves time to wind down in the deep cushions at the Persian Garden late night club, where, theoretically, everyone comes to report on their day and plan the next while nibbling Middle Eastern sweetmeats and trying to talk over the band.
I have to admit the club;s not worked for me since the brilliant Red Square was so good it became yet another festival in itself. Even better was being invited on to the Director;s table during David Blenkinsop;s long reign in Perth %26ndash; all the goss, the artists you;d just seen unwinding beside you and a sense of being at the beating heart of this diverse event.
And finding that heart is why concentrated cultural events %26ndash; think an operatic Ring Cycle or almost any one of Australia;s amazing 1300 festivals %26ndash; are increasingly challenging one-off gutsers like Formula 1 races or an endless parade of one-day cricket mis-matches for the mature tourist dollar.
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