Light was just beginning to spill across the sprawling festival fields as Denise and her friends sat huddled together for warmth, their teeth chattering in unusually low December temperatures on the outskirts of the Thai city of Pattaya.
After nights of booze-fuelled raves, the group was planning to watch the sunrise on the final day of Wonderfruit, the Thai lifestyle and music festival dubbed the “Burning Man of Asia.” But the morning, meant to be a picturesque end to the festival, would suddenly take a dark turn.
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“As we sat out on the slope, two of my friends started going cold, turning pale, and eventually became unresponsive,” the 29-year-old told VICE World News, requesting a pseudonym out of fear that going public with her experience could result in legal action from festival organizers. “[They] were only able to say ‘yes’ to needing medical care.”
Distressed about her friends’ mysterious conditions—which they later learned was likely a result of dehydration and hypothermia—Denise ran to get help.
When a medical buggy came for them 10 minutes later, the medic site they were brought to turned out to be just a poorly equipped shipping container. The medics, Denise recalled, ignored her requests for treatment and blankets. As Denise looked over at her friends, who were pale and barely conscious, she noticed that their toes had turned blue.
“I didn’t know what my friends needed, and I felt like I had to be resigned to the fact that if something was to happen to them, that would be it,” she said.
Denise’s experience echoes broader safety concerns that have overshadowed Wonderfruit 2022, as participants told VICE World News about a myriad of problems they encountered, from poor medical support to water shortages, and falling structures. These complaints come after this year’s event was rocked by two deaths—the causes of both still unclear—but with at least one of them suspected to be drug-related.
From Dec. 15 to Dec. 18, Wonderfruit welcomed some 25,000 people to its sprawling festival grounds, adorned with dozens of art installations and stage structures designed by famed architects and artists. Since its inception in 2014, the festival has gained popularity as a bohemian mecca in Southeast Asia with its offerings of wellness workshops and regional music acts—all undergirded by an eco-conscious ethos.
But sitting at the forefront of a burgeoning festival culture in the region, Wonderfruit now also finds itself part of a larger conversation about the importance of festival care.
Denise’s friends emerged from the ordeal largely unscathed after getting IV drips administered—this was done, however, at a booth offering wellness services by an independent vendor who was not part of the festival’s medical team. But others were not so lucky.
On Dec. 17, Denise witnessed someone administering CPR on an unconscious man as he lay shirtless on the ground near one of the festival’s stages. Medics later came and hoisted him onto their buggy.
Denise didn’t know it at the time, but she had just seen the failed resuscitation attempt on Guillaume Wyss, a Bangkok DJ who went by the stage name DJ Boogie G. He was one of the two people who passed away at Wonderfruit last month.
“It wasn’t until I saw the news report and his picture that I realized that it was him,” Denise said. “I burst into tears because I realized what I had witnessed.”
At 5 a.m., Wyss was taken to Bangkok Pattaya Hospital, a 20-minute drive away from the festival grounds, where he was pronounced dead.
“We’re devastated by the loss of our husband, father, son, brother and friend Guillaume Wyss aka Boogie G,” Wyss’ wife wrote on Facebook. “He was loved and he loved you all.”
She did not respond immediately to VICE World News’ request for comment via Facebook.
The other reported fatality was Indonesian wakeboarder Kimo Rusna, who witnesses saw toppling to the ground from a platform. He was pronounced dead at Pattaya Memorial Hospital around midnight on Dec. 17.
Rusna’s family told VICE World News that they are still very much in grief, and they think that Wonderfruit has not been fully transparent with them when it came to releasing details about Rusna’s death.
“We know that he was under their care. We would like to have a clear understanding of the incident and what steps they took to ensure the safety of the people who were attending, including medical safety,” they said.
“We would have appreciated a little more clarity on what really happened, but there’s just not much clarity.”
As investigators await forensic results from the two men to determine their causes of death, their preliminary findings suggested that Wyss died of suffocation, Coconuts reported. Rusna, authorities said, exhibited signs of overdose.
Yet Rusna’s wife told VICE World News that her husband passed away from suffocation, contradicting previous statements reported by local media.
“Due to [the] circumstances around the cause of Kimo’s death, suspected suffocation, under the assumed care of Wonderfruit security and medical team, this may initiate a private investigation on behalf of the family,” she said.
“In Asia, these substances that are very dangerous, like fentanyl for instance, are coming. And unfortunately, I can’t see a situation where these things don’t cause more harm in the future.”
Despite its bohemian reputation, the festival has an explicit no-drugs policy where, according to the Wonderfruit website, attendees found “carrying or consuming drugs” may be “ejected” from the festival grounds. This policy, implemented when the festival was started in 2014, remained in place even with the recent legalization of weed in Thailand, Wonderfruit told VICE World News via email, adding that organizers rejected the applications from over 20 cannabis vendors due to “potential health and safety concerns.”
But reality on the ground contrasted with the seemingly firm no-drugs stance. Interviewees told VICE World News that many drugs that were potentially dangerous if taken in high doses were openly consumed.
While drugs are known to go hand in hand with music festivals—often smuggled in by festival goers themselves—the amount being sold at Wonderfruit was still concerning, said a member of the Wonderfruit organizing team, who spoke to VICE World News on the condition of anonymity for fear of repercussions from their colleagues.
“There were three guys selling any drug you wanted very openly in [a] tent,” the anonymous organizer said. Wonderfruit responded that they had “no record of a tent [or] structure used for anything illegal in nature.”
The growing popularity of festivals like Wonderfruit comes with necessary conversations about ensuring drugs-related safety at these events, said Chris Shearmon, a Singapore-based music event organizer who attended Wonderfruit last month. He’s the co-founder of Wild Pearl, a music production studio that also hosts small-scale parties in Singapore.
“I don’t think Wonderfruit is doing a bad job. I think the whole landscape is changing,” he said. “In Asia, these substances that are very dangerous, like fentanyl for instance, are coming. And unfortunately, I can’t see a situation where these things don’t cause more harm in the future.”
“So people need to be prepared.”
While drug use may be an inevitable part of music festival culture, partygoers have pointed to basic health and safety failings by festival organizers.
In the lead-up to its first post-pandemic festival, Wonderfruit organizers knew that they would be receiving their biggest crowds yet. With a 40 percent increase in attendees last month compared to its last iteration in 2019, the Wonderfruit team told VICE World News that the festival had scaled up its medical and security staffing in anticipation of larger crowds, with 398 medical and security personnel as well as four on-site ambulances.
The medical team had “successfully managed several medical incidents and emergencies that arose,” organizers said. But attendees explained that the problem wasn’t that medics couldn’t be found at the festival—the difficulty was getting these medics to render help.
Rachel, a 30-year-old Singaporean, told VICE World News that her friend had fainted momentarily while waiting in line for the restroom, as a concerned crowd formed over her. She said that her friend was not under the influence of drugs when she fainted at the festival, but Rachel requested anonymity out of concern for Singapore’s harsh drug laws and the festival’s association with illegal substances.
When Rachel’s group approached nearby staff for help to get back to their camping site, she said she was met with annoyance and indifference. At least two buggy drivers she approached—one even marked with a red cross used by medics—allegedly ignored their pleas for help.
“My friend basically fainted and there was no one there except for other people queuing up for the toilet,” Rachel said.
Many attendees say that organizers have largely ignored their complaints, including when the festival was hit with water supply issues on the first day.
Despite being surrounded by bars, festival-goers at times had difficulty securing drinking water after some of its free refill stations stopped working. Many people resorted to purchasing disposable aluminum cans of water for 60 baht ($1.80).
Attendees urged organizers to fix the water supply on social media, but most were met with piercing silence.
“If you don’t say anything, then it is very human for people to fill in the lack of communication with the fact that someone doesn’t care,” said Shearmon, the music production studio owner.
Wonderfruit said that they supplied free water at points across the entire festival, but acknowledged they “encountered issues with refill stations” and “didn’t have enough signage,” in certain areas.
But water shortages weren’t the only health hazard facing partiers, as those at Wonderfruit were caught off guard by unexpectedly strong winds sweeping across Thailand.
On the night of Dec. 17, Bella and her friends were dancing at Polygon Live, a large dome featuring a geometric web of bamboo that served as one of the festival’s main stages. Basking in ethereal lighting and electronic music, Bella told VICE World News that they didn’t notice a tall bamboo structure nearby until it collapsed on them.
“It was super windy that night and all of a sudden, all of us felt something hit our heads,” said Bella, who also requested a pseudonym for fear of legal reprisals from organizers in Thailand.
“We looked up and saw that the structure was collapsing. We just got out of the way immediately, and after that the rest of the structure came down,” she added. “I think if a person was maybe not as sober as us and just not as aware of their surroundings they could have possibly gotten injured.”
The Wonderfruit team said that after learning about the strong winds, their security team cordoned off the Polygon and another venue out of concerns for attendees’ safety.
But even before she was struck by falling bamboo, Bella knew it was probably the last time she would attend Wonderfruit, having enjoyed the festival previously in 2017 and 2019. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, she said, though it may have had something to do with the larger crowd size and a diminished sense of community that first drew her to Wonderfruit years ago.
“I think this is what happens when a small boutique festival gains fame,” she said. “It’s that fine balance between having that energy that people came to you for, and also making money. They need to get that balance right.”
Since its inception in 2014, Wonderfruit’s brand of eco-spirituality has resonated with a growing audience in the region, including thousands who make their yearly pilgrimage to Pattaya. But amid allegations of poor festival planning, industry insiders see this as a wake-up call to kickstart a conversation about the importance of festival safety.
This process of reflection has seemingly begun, as Wonderfruit sent its attendees an email on Wednesday with a post-event survey looking for “honest thoughts.”
“As with any of our iterations, we acknowledge that there are areas of improvement,” Wonderfruit told VICE World News. “We have already begun collating feedback from our attendees and communicating with our extended community.”
“With any festival, after each year you sit down and address what needs to be improved,” the anonymous Wonderfruit organizing team member said. “No festival is perfect. And I think they did a great job.”
Even as most attendees walked away from the festival with a positive experience, some like Denise are still trying to reconcile with their unsettling encounters at the event.
“The whole thing about Wonderfruit is that it’s supposed to prioritize wellness, spirituality, and all these things that are supposed to be enhancing human life,” Denise said.
“And I felt that, the moment I realized how much shit we were in, that [the festival’s philosophy] was so, so fake.”
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This article has been updated to reflect comment provided to VICE World News by Rusna’s wife after publication.
