Not that I was never there. I was. In 5753. And I think it was enough for my lifetime. All I remember is that after half an hour of dancing Bar Yochai and Omar Rabbi Akiva and davening Shacharis I was ready to go home. It was hot like Gehenom. There's only so much fruit punch you can drink. The carnival-like atmosphere didn't come from Chabad or from Brelslov, it came from the booths selling everything from Tzion Golan tapes to Michael Jordan t-shirts. Then there was no "derech MeHadrin."