If you’ve ever scrolled through Instagram in mid-August, chances are you’ve stumbled upon photos of glitter-smeared festival-goers dancing on a sunlit island in Budapest, hands up in the air, blissed out in a technicolor haze. That’s Sziget, Europe’s answer to Coachella, Tomorrowland and every other musical utopia rolled into one. In 2024, I decided it was finally time to live the dream. Alongside three close friends, we bought our full-week passes, packed our camping gear and naively believed we were prepared for the adventure of a lifetime. What followed was one of the most chaotic, eye-opening, exhausting, euphoric weeks I’ve ever experienced.

Here’s the full story: the good, the bad and, yes, the undeniably ugly of Sziget Festival.

Let me start with the positives, because Sziget truly is magical.

The music was phenomenal. It’s one of the few festivals in the world where you can watch Fred again… build emotional crescendos on the Main Stage under a stunning firework display, stumble across a Hungarian fire truck hosing the crowd in the midday heat and end your night at a rave in a dusty corner of the island all in one day. There were no dull moments. Every inch of the island buzzed with energy, diversity and a kind of boundless, chaotic creativity. It felt like the world had come to Budapest to forget itself.

The art installations and pop-up performances were a surreal joy. There were giant neon mushrooms, tightrope walkers, graffiti workshops, people in gold bodysuits offering hugs. One night, we found ourselves in the Bolt arena watching huge monkey heads bop up and down in time to the music and somehow, it made sense in that setting. For a moment, it truly felt like an alternate reality, suspended from time and stress.

And then there was the bonding. Something about sharing sweat, dust and chaos for a week breaks down social walls fast. My friends and I laughed harder than we had in years, screamed lyrics until we lost our voices and invented bizarre rituals to keep spirits up, 3am tent karaoke for example. Of course, it was only right that we found our fellow-Irish, as well as befriending people from all over the world we’ll probably never see again.

However, dear reader, it wasn’t all magic. Far from it.

For starters: camping at Sziget is not for the faint of heart. We thought we were clever for saving money and going “authentic” with our own tent. Huge mistake. The campsite by Day 3 looked like a post-apocalyptic refugee camp, minus the humanitarian aid. The stench, a mix of sweat, alcohol, mud and God-knows-what, hung in the air like a ghost that refused to leave. The ground was either too hard or too dusty, and we spent our first night trying to sleep through a neighbouring tent’s drunken sex noises.

Hygiene? Funny. The showers were a war zone. If you didn’t wake up at 6am to queue, your options were either freezing cold water, a pressure-less drizzle or just accepting that baby wipes were your new best friend. I personally chose the latter. The porta-potties were well maintained by the cleaning staff, but even those were a crime against humanity by Day 4. I have seen things. I have smelled things. Things that will haunt me forever.

We underestimated how exhausting it would be. A week is long. Your body breaks down, your sleep schedule turns to mush and you forget what “clean” feels like. There was a point where I woke up in a puddle, not of rain, but from condensation trapped in our tent from the sheer humidity of four unshowered bodies. The first thing I did when I reintroduced myself to humanity was take a shower and, despite having worn a bandana over my mouth and nose, I was coughing up dust for at least a week afterwards.

One night, one of my friends graced our ears with a totally deranged rendition of “Let It Grow” from Dr. Seuss. Another bought a pack of Haribos, only for it to melt in the sun, but she still ate it. Well, more like drank it… because everything is expensive. Water, food, drinks; you bleed money like you bleed sweat. I paid 9 euros for a burger that was 40% raw onion. And, you know what, on Day 5 it was the nicest thing I have ever eaten.

Now for the parts people don’t post about, even though they should.

There’s a darker edge to Sziget. The sheer volume of people, the heat and the sensory overload took a toll on our mental health. There was a day when we just couldn’t do it anymore. We snapped at each other over the silliest things. So, we sat silently under a tree trying to find some sort of peace. The vibe can turn from free-spirited to feral real fast. It’s like society dissolves a little more each day.

Nobody warns you about the ants.

And then there was the weather. In true European festival fashion, during the day we got scorched by the sun, bordering on heat-stroke at times. But, as darkness fell, there was no relief. The change in temperature from 35 degrees to 18 was so drastic, we were shivering at night. We slept in sweatpants and hoodies, yet still felt cold and we clung to towels for any semblance of heat. Naturally, in the morning it was 30 degrees again and the tent turned into a slow cooker, so our clothes, drenched in sweat, were peeled off desperately.

Would I Do It Again? Absolutely, but not like this.

Sziget was an experience. One I’m very glad I had. Once.

It taught me resilience. It stripped away all pretence. It gave me stories I’ll tell for years and a newfound appreciation for showers, walls and beds. If I ever go back, and I hope I will, I’m doing it differently. I’m booking an Airbnb and I’m bringing flip-flops that I can sacrifice to the festival gods. I’m not relying on the fantasy version of Sziget I saw online because I’ve met the real one now. It’s messy, raw, wild, loud and alive in the most unfiltered way possible. Sziget isn’t for everyone. But if you go in with open eyes, a strong will and decent earplugs, you might just come out the other side with a better understanding of what it means to be truly free – and filthy.