From “Mint on the Pillow” to Compost Toilets

I've always fancied myself adventurous, but as I prepare to pack a small, carefully curated backpack and spend two weeks camping at Boom Festival in Portugal, even my inner 25-year-old – who still thinks she can sleep on a yoga mat – raises an eyebrow. 

For the uninitiated, Boom is not Burning Man. No desert, no Mad Max art cars, no Silicon Valley billionaires pretending to rough it. Instead, it's a lush lakeside festival a few hours inland from Lisbon, with a gentler spirit, a focus on sustainability, and an atmosphere that blends art, music, and collective curiosity.

Where Burning Man pulls nearly 80,000 people into a Nevada pop-up metropolis, Boom gathers about 40,000 participants along Portugal's Idanha-a-Nova Lake. It's one of Europe's largest electronic music gatherings – a sprawling psychedelic village that erupts every other summer.

From what I've heard and read, it's vast enough to feel like a utopian experiment, yet intimate enough that by day two, I'll probably know my neighbors by sight – or at least recognize their hula hoops. It sounds like the perfect, wildly dusty setting for a true Boom Festival Portugal reset. 

Prepping for a Boom Festival Portugal Reset

Thankfully, I'm not going in alone. I'm traveling with a much younger friend – a "hippy" by any other name – who has been to Boom four times and somehow knows exactly how to navigate this swirling festival universe without breaking a sweat. Because of their experience (along with a commitment to securing the perfect spot), we're heading out seven days before the festival starts to claim a prime lakeside patch for our van. The plan is to unpack early, find our footing, and ease into a gentle Boom Festival Meditation Reset before the massive waves of people arrive.

Apparently, if you want morning swims and a breeze to keep the dust from gluing itself to your face, you show up early and stake your claim with the zeal of a pioneer.

This is a far cry from my usual comforts. Ron, my helpful husband, likes to point out that I'm partial to a mint on the pillow. He wonders if I've fully grasped that I'm trading that for compost toilets, sporadic showers, and whatever level of cleanliness the lake decides to provide. I keep telling myself this will build character – or simply expose how soft I've become about basic comforts.  Either way, stepping this far away from my daily routine is bound to spark a powerful emotional reset.

The music alone could justify the trip. Stages called the Dance Temple and Sacred Fire host legendary DJs and live bands that play all night and well into sunrise. I've been advised to pack good earplugs – apparently sleep is more of a suggestion than a guarantee. But Boom is much more than a rave. It's also an open-air symposium on consciousness, creativity, and sustainability.

The Alchemy Circle offers workshops and talks on topics ranging from regenerative culture to alternative economies. The Liminal Village gathers thinkers and healers for discussions that drift between philosophy, activism, and the occasional, earnest lecture about how to save the planet. The Being Fields is devoted to yoga, meditation, sound healing, and a variety of other ways to remember you have a body after all that dancing (which is exactly where I'll be, using the downtime for deepening a daily meditation practice and tapping into the benefits of mindful meditation amidst the chaos).

Honestly, sneaking away to these quiet spaces feels like my personal survival strategy, a built-in Boom Festival Meditation Reset to keep my nervous system from completely short-circuiting.

Altered States, Intentions, and Going Offline

It wouldn't be Boom without at least a polite nod to psychedelics. While it's not exactly advertised on the festival map, there's an unspoken understanding that many people come here to explore altered states, whether through breathwork, spirit medicine, or simply the overwhelming sensation of 40,000 humans vibrating to the same bass line.

As someone who includes psilocybin in my own work supporting emotional growth and facilitating safe psychedelic integration, I appreciate the culture of intention that surrounds these experiences, even if I'm more likely to be found journaling under a tree than melting into the dance floor.

And then there's the total lack of mobile reception. For two weeks, my phone will be nothing more than an overpriced flashlight and occasional camera. No notifications, no scrolling, no late-night Googling "is this rash normal?" I'm already anticipating the stages of withdrawal:

1. Denial: Surely there must be a Wi-Fi hotspot if I just stand on my tippy toes.
2. Bargaining: If I can send one WhatsApp message, I'll guide three group meditations.
3. Acceptance: Fine. I'll actually talk to people and experience reality unfiltered.

Preparation has become my full-time hobby these last couple of weeks. My minimalist packing list includes a battery pack ("ET phone home"), a lantern, biodegradable toiletries, and a hat so enormous I look like a beekeeper on sabbatical. My friend insists that with the right spot and a little ingenuity, we'll build a setup worthy of seasoned Boomers. I'm fairly certain I'll be occupied just keeping my tent from folding in on itself.

If you're wondering why someone whose idea of "roughing it" usually involves a three-star hotel would sign up for this, the answer is simple. Boom isn't just a party. It's a laboratory for creativity, sustainability, and community. It's an experiment in what happens when you strip away convenience and Wi-Fi and lean fully into the unknown. It's a place to remember what it feels like to be a little uncomfortable – and fully alive.

When I finally emerge sunburned, sleep-deprived, and possibly in need of a chiropractor, I suspect I'll feel an odd mix of relief and longing. I see Boom as a rare blend of the ridiculous and the remarkable. If I'm lucky, I'll return with a few new friends, a fresher perspective, and a deeper appreciation for anyone who treats sunrise as the opening act of the afterparty.

So this is by way of telling you I'm on vacation and incommunicado until the end of the month. I'll pick up messages occasionally, but you probably won't hear from me until I rejoin the modern world – hopefully with all my limbs and my sense of humor intact.

Wish me luck pretty please! (in the comments section👇)

With Love,
Becca