Go dancing in the rain

This one came out of nowhere—like literally, rain from the sky level of unexpected.

I was supposed to go to a pool party. Cute bikini, good vibes, sunshine… you know, summer things. But I live in Belgium, where planning outdoor activities is basically gambling with the weather gods. Spoiler alert: they weren’t feeling generous. It poured. Pool party: cancelled. Bikini: betrayed.

But I wasn’t about to spend my Saturday sulking under a blanket (even though that also sounded tempting).Then came the twist—one of my friends, also dumped by the weather, got her hands on two free tickets to Dance D-Vision, an outdoor festival. So we snagged a third ticket, threw together some fire outfits, and convinced ourselves it wouldn’t rain that much.

Optimism: 100%Weather forecast: irrelevant.Rain jackets: absolutely not. I mean… they're so not fashion.

The drive was about an hour, and the entire way there we clung to the hope that the rain would stop the moment we arrived.It didn’t.

But hey, it was just drizzling when we parked, and the festival energy was already buzzing. People were dressed more practically—think ponchos, boots, hiking shoes. Meanwhile, we were dressed like Coachella came to Europe. The fashion was fab, the practicality… not so much.

We got our drinks, found a semi-dry patch of land, and started dancing.

Then the Sky Opened

Like, really opened. Biblical level.It went from “a little drizzle” to full-blown downpour.

We panicked briefly, grabbed those thin plastic ponchos that are basically glorified trash bags, and then—We just leaned in.We danced.We laughed.We embraced the absolute wet chaos.

Most people ran for the tents. Not us. We stayed outside with the other dancefloor warriors, letting the rain soak us and the music move us. It was messy and wild and so freeing.

After a couple hours, the ground stopped being “wet grass” and officially became mud soup. You could feel it squishing in your shoes. Some people embraced it hard—dancing, jumping, sliding around like it was a rave-themed mud spa.

We accepted our muddy fate. At that point, the goal was no longer to stay clean, it was just to survive in style.

By midnight, the cold started winning and our festival spirit slightly froze over. So we called it. Drenched, chilled, and exhausted, we drove home. Straight to long, hot showers, a feast of ovenhapjes, and the embrace of our warm, glorious beds.

Final Thoughts: Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely.

When I picture festivals, I think of sunglasses, shorts, tanning, and drinks in hand. But this rainy, muddy, soggy disaster of a day? It had a special kind of charm. You’re forced to let go of expectations, stop caring about appearances, and just feel the music.

So if you ever get the chance to go to a festival in the rain—take it.Ruin your shoes. Dance like a maniac. Let your inner mess out.