Burning Man
I’m not sure it’s possible to recap Burning Man in just a few words. (But I’ll try.) It’s a
giant concerted effort to build a city in the desert, to live in it for one week, and then to dismantle it again
until it’s gone without a trace. It’s an exercise in radical desert survival and community. It’s a week-long party that
builds and builds until the massive explosive finales. It’s a chance to relax the bounds of social convention
and let it all hang out, frequently quite literally. It’s just this thing, you know?
For my first few days in Black Rock City, I felt badly out-of-place. I felt like I was
surrounded by dedicated hippies, comfortable in their random nudity and exuberant in their sexuality. The use of
drugs and alcohol was relaxed and matter-of-course, which I’ve always had real trouble with. And many people seemed
to know each other, or at least recognize some common thread of lackadaisical desert savvy that I just didn’t have.
But after a few days, after I’d helped out with building the lounge (the LampLighters’ lounge, a large tent structure
with internal bar, pole-dancing stage and waterfall) and carried the lamps a few times to light the city, I began to
feel more accepted and like I was making a real contribution to Black Rock. By the end of the week I felt like I was a
part of this bizarre technicolor community; if not a core member, then at least a welcomed visitor.
In the first image (taken on Tuesday, about 36 hours after we’d arrived ) I’m wearing a hat, ski goggles, bandana,
sensible shirt, sensible pants, thick socks, solid shoes. By the end of the week when the second shot was taken,
I was down to a pair of PJs--but I kept the hat and the shoes.
Lest there be any question as to what the biggest challenge at Burning Man is, it's easy: the dust.
God, the dust! It gets in everywhere, it gets into everything, it seeps into places that no fine powder should ever seep.
It clogs your lungs, it fills the air, it blots out the sun(*), it gets into your tent, your bags, your hair. When
a dust storm kicks up it can get so thick that you can't see the end of your arm; goggles and a gas mask are essential;
if there's a vent anywhere on your tent, you can expect to come home to a sleeping bag that looks more like a sand dune.
Best part is, the dust is slightly basic (as in the opposite of acidic, but with similiar effects) so it eats into your skin;
"playa foot" is an affliction shared by everybody in town, and vinegar footbaths are prized above all others. Showering
only serves to remind you of how clean you aren't, and you're filthy again an hour later. Beware the dust! BEWARE!
(*) "Since the dawn of time, mankind has yearned to blot out the sun." -M. Burns