With the last remnants of a jetlag hanging in our skull like evaporating water droplets from a harbor fog, our brain was filled to capacity with impressions: We just came back from seeing orcas in the wild, more bald eagles than pigeons and rough-edged coasts and soft moss on millions of trees. In such a state, seeing a person dressed like a unicorn, on a field full of seagull shit, on an island – may it be as big as Belgium, the whole experience could have felt like a motorcycle race during a sandstorm outside of Las Vegas. In the end, attending the Great Canadian Beer Fest(ival) was very little gonzo, but very much fun.