The motorcade advances a few meters on the country road, then stops again. This has been going on for almost two hours – and the gate to the festival site is still not in sight. Impatience? Restlessness? Aggravation? No trace of it. Especially not with Heidi. The Dresden woman with her reddish-brown curls and polka-dotted pinafore dress has every reason to be at least a little tense: every time she turns the ignition key, her pink-orange VW Bulli rattles as if it were taking its last breath. There’s some problem starting it, says Heidi, shrugging her shoulders and smiling the most relaxed smile in stop-and-go history.
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