Before
I had wanted to go to Burning Man for 10 years. At least. Somehow it never happened. Family not too encouraging, friends unable to make it in the end, other plans getting in the way, the children too young. Most of all, my courage failed me. I love people and the more the merrier. But I am not an extreme extrovert. There is shyness below the banter and too much self-consciousness. Burning Man – was this not the place for artists, creative people, performers, exhibitionists? What did I have to contribute? No sculptures in the desert for sure. I felt too well-grounded in reasonability and sarcasm for just some touchy-feely new-age experience. Too restrained and middle-aged to just paint my body and dance naked under the desert stars. Too unused to and wary of anything stronger than alcohol to help the creative juices along.
And yet, I wanted the experience. I wanted to have been part of it. And not just as paying tourist at a spectacle. So the years passed until my 50th birthday was suddenly looming ahead. I heard the ticking of the hipness clock. When if not now?
Thus the decision was made: I would celebrate my half-century mark in the Black Rock Desert in Nevada. I would invite everybody I even remotely ever wanted to be there on that day. Most would not come. They might shake their head and delete the invitation, decline politely, get a smile out of it or even regret it deeply. But somebody would make the trip with me. And perhaps life would surprise me and there would be more. It beat cake and BBQ in any case.
The first one to sign on to the idea was my friend Samantha. Ten months before the event, we found ourselves discussing what would fit into the VW bus, whether a solar shower was a necessity or luxury, how much water to take, what to wear (of course). And whether we would last the entire week and how to participate. I filled in the volunteer form as soon as I had my ticket. This was also the time when I resolved to do what comes as second nature to me anyway: write a Burning Man diary, take lots of pictures and share it all afterwards. At that time, late last year, I read Martin Millar’s “Love and Peace with Melody Paradise” and imagined Burning Man to be like Melody’s festival: Hot desert instead of a damp English forest, but equally chaotic, exhausting, uncomfortable, exciting, weird, and utterly alive.
Over the months interest in the venture waxed and waned. In the end, I actually set out by myself for the first few days, Samantha, my husband Aaron, Samantha’s daughter Dominique and her friend Victoria following for the long weekend. But after all, there would be some 50,000 more people there to meet and make friends with and share in the celebration.
1st Day (August 30)
I missed the actual first day (August 29) because I met with German friends on vacation in South Lake Tahoe first. When I finally left for the desert, I was by far more anxious about the drive than anything else. I don’t like driving and had never done 280 miles by myself. But I managed and arrived around lunch time in white-out conditions, the wind blowing the fine desert dust so fiercely that I could hardly make out the car in front of me and the greeter station when it came up. There I was invited to hit a bell and proclaim “I am not a virgin anymore!” Well, that’s true after all.
Black Rock City has the shape of a not quite closed circle, with radial streets named after the clock hand positions, reaching from 2:00 to 10:00, and the ring roads named after rites of passage, which was the year’s theme. I was told to look for remaining camping spots around the I or K layer. But I had set my mind to living at Birthday street, the B ring, fitting the occasion. So I drove around a bit and lucked out, finding enough space to camp and later add two more cars at Birthday and 6:30. Center Camp is at 6:00, so I was about as centrally positioned as it gets. The neighbors on the right camped in luxury – air-conditioned RV, comfortable camp setup. They immediately helped setting up my little tent, and when I struggled to make a shade structure out of one pole and two tarps, they found an extra one in their truck for me to use. They were two very outgoing nude women from Nevada - one with the funny playa name Monkey Butt – and a couple and another guy from Campo Diablo in California. Chores done, they invited me for a beer and to sign Kathy’s T-shirt. At this point, I had thoroughly accepted the dust and the fact that I would be covered in it for the next 6 days. I handed out some excess jewelry I had brought along for gifting. The Nevada chicks offered me pot and when I explained that I had problems with forcing myself to inhale smoke, they decided I needed it blown then. I agreed, not knowing what to, and one of them inhaled mightily, then gave me kind of a smooch and blew the whole stuff straight into my lungs. That was a bit of a surprise. The effect was one of mellow happiness and relaxation. Not bad but I think I prefer the more energetic buzz of a good drink. Not too mention its flavor.
But duty first – I left a public message on the camp directory computer system about my new address so that Aaron and the others would eventually be able to find me. Cell phone reception is officially non-existing, though occasionally some people get a message out on one bar. That accomplished I went exploring the playa, the big center space in the middle of Black Rock City where all the big art is. And the Man in the center. And the beautiful Temple of Transition farther out. With its chimes playing some ethereal music, full of people resting, dreaming, meditating, all the personal messages and mementos in it, it made me feel suddenly happy in a very fundamental, simple and relaxed way. I climbed on top of the Man, admired the floating whales, the house of doors (when you open one, another one will close and vice versa – very obvious symbolism), the painfully hot and still tempting iron hammock and much more. And all the fantastic mutant vehicles driving through it all. Then left the rest of the art for another time – the playa was much bigger than I had expected and I had gone out there without water and felt parched. The whole experience was somewhat surreal, not the least because of the strong wind, which kept veiling and unveiling different aspects of the playa behind the dust curtain.
On my way back I stumbled into homebrew camp where a group of brewers shared their excellent products. A daily changing variety of beers, cider, mead and odder things like a fermented sweet pea drink. I would come back there almost every day, my favorite watering hole in the desert. The brewers gave away 500 gallons of delicious drinks, a major gift to the city’s thirsty population.
On this first visit, I met and talked for a long time with Scott Monkey from Wisconsin, who has Swiss roots and still spoke the Swiss German of his grandmother’s village. He ran the Speed-Dating Camp with some friends.
Next I looked for the Lamplighters’ camp. After all, I had offered to volunteer there many months ago. They all dress up in white and flame-colored robes and walk the city in solemn procession to hang up kerosene lamps for the night. I was a few minutes late, just saw them leaving. And then somehow never managed again to be around their camp at sunset, too many distractions from my perceived civil duties. Instead I decided to check out the Speed-Dating Camp at 6:30 and Esplanade and got lost for a while. Somehow I had forgotten that Esplanade is not the E street (that one is called Engagement) but the main promenade at the inner edge to the playa. So of course I ended up chatting with other people. There was the guy in the diving suit that looked like a Star Trek uniform (and very hot in the uncomfortable, sweaty sense of the word). Oliver, a German from Hamburg, in the USA since 1980 and now home in Chicago. He belonged to the Department of Mobility Assistance, helping handicapped people to get around the city. The camp was marked by an alien campfire party, all the alien sculptures disturbingly gnawed on. When I finally found Speed Dating, my Wisconsin acquaintance was not there, just 3 guys waiting to be speed-dated. Unfortunately none of them looking like I would want to date them for even the required 2 minutes. So I wandered into the night along the Esplanade, admiring glowing art in the dark, soaking in music from all sides. I hung out at the Gherkin Lounge where they serve martinis with gherkins. Not being a friend of anything pickled, I could still appreciate the martini part. I met some people who ran the Golden Café, a classy bar with live music in the afternoons and actual glass glasses. Closed at night, so I sat with them in their dark bar, sipping an excellent port and observing the riotous street party of neighboring Frenchtown. There were three tuba players in the street band, one of them with a fire-spitting instrument.
I determined to visit the Golden Café some afternoon – of course never got around to it. This night, I entered an inflatable turned over gumball machine art piece filled with small balloons to play around with. Then finished the night with an hour or two of dancing, my dancing wings and blinking medusa hair being much complimented. Feeling tired, I hitched a ride on an art car resembling a cake, which took a bunch of people to Couch Burners, an international camp of couch surfers. Only the car ran out of gas, leaving me stranded at 5:30 and Funeral. Walking home, I came across a Western town style saloon, rock music blasting from it. So I went in, naturally. It was the bar of the DPW (Department of Public Works), the people who build the BRC’s infrastructure and clean up after everybody in the end. They had been in the desert for a month or even more and were running a bit low on the liquid supplies. I liked this place a lot so promised the bartender with the memorable playa name Sissy Bitch to bring some of mine the next day. The playa provides, as they all say here. Also, the playa knows best. It is an attitude to go with the flow and trust that it will take you where you need to be.
2nd Day (August 31)
After 4 hours of sleep, the need for a walk to the potties drove me out of my tent. The toilets are definitely my least favorite place here, even though the sanitation people are really working hard, pumping the whole mess out probably 4 times a day. Pretty though, the city at sunrise. Its streets empty but the music of the rave parties still going on in different places filling it like a heartbeat. Which makes it impossible to go back to sleep once one has recovered from the point of absolute exhaustion. So 4 hours became the standard, except for the two nights when I somehow just stayed up till sunrise all together.
Morning cleansing takes longer than at home – thorough use of baby wipes from head to toe, lathering on ample amounts of moisturizer, followed by sunscreen, followed by some body glitter. I cooked some oatmeal, which turned out fine even though the package insisted it could be prepared by microwaving only. Goes to show that ignoring instructions can be a good thing. A neighbor came by in search of soap and gave me a joint in gratitude. Good deal, but I felt it was more than I could handle on my own and put it aside to share later. Then I finally opened the program guide I had received at the greeter station. Almost threw it away in exasperation an hour later. There was just too much. Every hour could be filled with 4 or 5 activities I would have liked. And that still leaves out about 60% of the offerings that I would never consider, all the explicit sex – I don’t feel really comfortable with the concept of public masturbation or anal probing exercises – as well as all the yoga and exercise classes (too lazy) and meditation-related stuff and serious lectures. Being a good German list maker, I reigned in the frustration and jotted down my favorites. Then walked off to the first of them: Singing for Scaredycats. Teaching singing to people who, like me, can’t, have been told all their life they can’t, think of themselves as tone-deaf etc. That was seriously stretching myself. I love to sing but a lifetime of bad reviews has left me with a serious aversion to doing it in public. Encouraging 90 minutes followed. The teacher, a professional classically trained singer, had us sing scales, harmonies, chords in no time. Just 8 people, so I definitely could not hide my voice in a big choir. And it all sounded just fine and was so joyful. I learned several things: 1. I am not tone-deaf. 2. I can sing much better and at pitch if I do it loudly and confidently. If I half-whisper, I can’t get the higher notes out. 3. My brain reaches its limits when I am ask to do singing, snapping to beats 2 and 4, and dance steps at the same time. For a truly musical person, this is probably all connected. For me, these are 3 different processes that all need my full attention – I tense up.
Still humming, I walked along Esplanade on my way to an absinth tasting. I came across the Playa Name Booth where they help you to find your playa name if you don’t have one yet. I thought it would be more of a gag, the two guys in the booth just randomly assigning nicknames. But no, they took their jobs seriously. Which made for a long but rewarding wait. They talked to everybody at length to get a sense of their personality. So before it was my turn, a newly minted Spring, Green, Unity, Walker and Sky High walked away. Then Roof, the Frenchman from Lille who was my name giver, interviewed me for about 20 minutes, going over biography, interests, what makes me smile, first impressions and expectation of Burning Man, consulting the Goddess cards. I picked the one with my favorite colors and it was Eve. It was a perfect match. All the symbolic meanings listed on the card resonated with me. I had all the Eve-related symbols on me somewhere except for the wolf. So I became “Eve in Search of a Wolf”, or “Eve” for short. Unexpectedly, this little naming was no joke at all but a powerful moment. I could immediately imagine Aaron rolling his eyes at the thought that this French amateur psychologist with a penchant for symbolism would uncover my true name after a chat at the playa (got to see exactly that eye-roll two days later). And I do not necessarily believe that there is such a thing as a true name. But there it was – the name felt right and like a discovery. There is something liberating in picking a new name. Not that I was o-so-terribly oppressed before, but now I was Eve on the playa, cut off from the Ilka life, untethered. Which does not mean that I suddenly wanted to do the Tantra Sensuality Play, the Naked Pub Crawl, Shamanic Anal Pleasure, or the Slut Olympics (“Bring your knee pads and leave the prudes back at camp.”). I had become Eve after all and not Lilith.
So Eve proceeded to the absinth tasting, which was already in full swing. Homemade and strong. The recipe is to infuse a mixture of vodka and Everclear with wormwood (from some herbal store) and let it sit for 5 to 10 days. Their sign said it would not cause hallucinations. But I don’t know – it was 2:30 p.m. by then, hot, I had not eaten since the early-morning oatmeal, and I suddenly seemed to float a foot over the road and the dust. Not an unpleasant feeling, but perhaps a bit early in the day for it. So I pulled myself back to the ground with some beef jerky and fig bars. Looked like the more serious food items that require cooking would go back home, they just seemed like such a waste of time.
Now I went to take a bottle of brandy to the DPW saloon, stopping on the way to have my black and white portrait taken. A guy came by and handed out otter pops for the people waiting in line. But the wait still got boring. So I just asked the people in front of me to take a nice picture of me with my own camera. Can always turn it into black and white via photo processing later if I want to. They in turn had me take their picture – and we managed to cut the line down quite a bit this way. I passed the Mountain Rescue Camp, which sports a huge picture of Spock as their logo for no apparent reason. Then again, they also don’t do mountain rescues. Instead they offered hyperwhiskey. Being assured that Spock loves it, I had to give it a try. Whiskey mixed with guacamole and unidentified other substances. It smelled a lot like Icy Hot.
After finally delivering the brandy, I went to the Euro Burn Meet and Greet where I met Axel, the German Burning Man coordinator. Also some heavily pierced Brits, an Austrian woman named Doris and no less than 8 Swiss. The Swiss are out in force here apparently. Since I yearned for music, I moved on to the German Sparkle party. Which was unfortunately devoid of Germans or sparkle but named after a popular techno song. Not my sound, so after two half-hearted dances, I crossed over to the Wet Spot, a bar playing good old rock and roll, though not a dance place. Their special was a mix of vodka, light beer and lemon juice concentrate, quite refreshing. Their other specialty was to randomly douse their guests with cold water from time to time, closest to a shower I got in the first 3 days.
On I went to visit Oliver and his camp mate Gary, who has one startling blue and one brown eye, is wheel-chair bound and had an IPad that happened to kind of work at the moment. So I was able to send Aaron an email with my camp location. The people from the topless seesaw camp next door (a huge attraction) invited us over for grilled sausages, dinner was thus taken care of.
I tried to invite Scott Monkey to an AC/DC dance party but he was busy organizing the speed-dating. Instead I acquired an escort from among the guys waiting there. A Dutch sailor named Michel who handed out wooden tulips to the ladies. There I had a bit of a disconnect. The kid was probably younger than my daughter. I involuntarily started wondering whether my kids had done their homework looking at him. So somehow it did not occur to me that he was not in it just for the dancing. Naïve perhaps. I did not have enough cougar woman in me to enjoy that and since he seemed full of youthful optimism and incredulity about the rejection, I eventually just walked off. But only after “Highway to Hell”. Right around the corner I came across the performance of John Craigie, folk singer/songwriter from San Francisco and great fun to listen to. I added my name to his e-mail list, hope to catch one of his more local performances some day. Then dropped by at my favorite DPW saloon for a margarita, some talk and to watch an apprentice fire dancer practicing. They closed at midnight. Walking home, a guy asked me for a bar recommendation. So I invited him for a glass of wine at my camp – the bottles had to be opened at some point. Alex in the jester cap was from Houston, at Burning Man for the 6th time and recently back from Germany. We ended up discussing the Euro and European politics. Then the Raver kids from the left side of my tent dropped by for a bit, handed out little Buddha statues before heading off to the next party while I went to bed a the decent hour of 1:30 a.m.
3rd Day (September 1)
I had been warned off “playa feet”, the result of the alkaline dust eating into one’s skin and causing deep cracks. Which is why so many people wear boots despite the heat. Well, I hadn’t any with me and only one little blister so far but gave the feet a real nice soaking and slathered on even more lotion everywhere just in case. Aside from that, my nose bleeds all the time here, dried out and irritated by the dust. Minor inconveniences of course. Breakfast was a big bowl of chicken noodle soup, that should fortify me for most of the day.
Time to pick out the day’s program, Eve. First I helped to build the puzzle of life, a rather complex evolution-themed painting with about a 1000 pieces. Of the other four persons in the tent, two were from Berlin. There must be something about jigsaw puzzles that attracts Germans. I did my share by putting together the caterpillar and the butterfly – a small but pretty corner. Then I visited Camp Sparkle for a DNA extraction, which could then be worn as a necklace. Just in case somebody has the urge to clone me.
On the way I came across this big Happy 50th camp, festively decorated. Some 20 people had come together there to celebrate their friend David’s 50th. They let me sit in the chair of honor for a while and admire how such an event should be properly handled. Take that, lame friends of mine! No, no, I don’t mean it, you’ll all come next year, right. Right?
Now I watched some pole-fighting on a balance beam, with spectators betting wooden tokens on the outcome. And found a camp that served mojitos (at 1 p.m. – my standards are slipping) and where I was able to create a colorful braid out of various wool strands. I clipped it to my tie-dye bandana – my hippification continuing. The bandana had become a necessity, it was becoming impossible to brush through the dust-caked hair.
Lunch break at the tent and then off to a Stones party where they played anything classic rock but the Rolling Stones, unfortunately all mixed with a techno beat. But the limonata with vodka was well done. I took a picture of this weird S&M bunny – all black leather, spikes and a big cross on the top, a posing pouch for the bottom half, a whip – and pink bunny ears and white gloves. Had to allow him to mildly spank me in return. Another kind of titillation I don’t get at all, but o well, it made him happy.
I tried to find the Star Wars Jedi Appreciation Party but did not. Perhaps there were not enough Jedi fans around. Instead met the margarita mobile – a golf cart crossed with a big blender. In the operator’s mind, the handle bars of the mixer also work as vibrator but he must have had some midget women in mind. My legs are way too long for that.
Then I participated in some sword fighting at the playa, near the Man. Three battles, about 4-500 people with foam-covered swords whacking at each other. What fun! The rules were simple: If you are hit on an arm or leg, you can’t use this limb anymore. If you are hit on the head or torso, you are dead and have to sit/lie in the dirt. Unfortunately, one tough woman whacked me hard enough to severe my wristband, and afterwards I only found the half without the watch attached in the dust. I looked for a long time, tried Lost and Found later, no luck. Being timeless is rather annoying to me and not liberating at all.
I witnessed the carrot demonstration – carrot-dressed folks with signs proclaiming “Carrots Are People, Too!” –, then the gathering for the bunny parade. Later on, the bunnies would fight the carrots. There was also a kazoo band and a parade of people in red dresses – these were the Burner Runners. As they explained to me, they run to be able to have a drink afterwards and then run again to sober up. I see a bit of a vicious cycle here. I had May Bock and a beer named WIT at the home brewers, then visited Oliver and Gary to see whether Aaron might have replied to my mail. He hadn’t but I got to know hyperactive Eddie who invited me to take a tour in their art car at 10 p.m. So I had to take the otherwise useless cell phone along to be able to check the time. Bother. Next to the Mobility camp, a woman had her book stand. She “releases books into the wild”, leaving them in public places like park benches, public transportation etc. All stamped with her email address, so she often is able to track a book’s course through the world. People in many countries participate. The table also offered various stamps for body decoration. I choose one saying “I am totally naked under my clothes”.
The program book promised 4 hours of Rock at Revo (for RevoFuckinLution Camp), and this was awesome. I danced like someone possessed with my wings for free Jägermeister and a very nice Burning Man pendant. Mostly with a cute bunny named Rob, until his girlfriend marshaled him out onto the playa.
The art car turned out to be the tour for handicapped Burners, 2-3 hours through the desert. Only it was by far the coldest night yet, and I was not dressed for sitting still that long, also not in the mood. So I hopped over to a different art car. A bridal party with skeleton groom and bride, two stories high and the dance floor made of a trampoline. That was more like it. I left the ride when I came across a cool indie rock band, migrated back to Rock at Revo, then to my camp at midnight. In the course of the day, I had casually invited several people for wine, so thought it would be the polite thing to be home. Of course, nobody showed up. Instead I served the wine to Noam from Tel Aviv from three tents away until he went off in search off a dub step party and I considered going to sleep. But then again, it was only 0:45 a.m. and my last night as Eve on the playa. Might as well have some more fun. Wrapped in the cloak I had borrowed from my son, I stepped onto the cold playa and made my round mostly to the fire sculptures for both beauty and warmth. Still, I totally missed that they already burned down 20 wooden sculptures that night. I talked to a guy from Seattle – about Starbucks no less. Eventually arrived at the Fandango dance bar across the playa (at 4:00 and Esplanade) for another drink and a lot more dancing and meeting and talking and hugs and general good feelings. With some resting on the mattresses of the Temple of Reemergence nearby, I made it all through the night. If Eve had found her wolf tonight, she surely would tell, but Ilka only remembers coming home in the glorious morning sun and catching two hours of sleep before it got too hot and noisy.
4th Day (September 2)
Felt sluggish and needed a long time to get cleaned and dressed and the camp organized and have a very half-hearted breakfast. My feet had finally acquired the deep playa feet cracks and fissures and hurt like hell. Neighbor Monkey Butt was helpful once more, superglued the cracks and gave me some foot balm. I started to expect Aaron and the others any moment now but eventually got bored of waiting and went to Lost and Found once more. No watch, but I had an interesting conversation with a real veteran Burner who had participated every year since 1995. Bemoaning the loss of the good old days without roads and law enforcement and with the freedom to drive off into the desert at night a bit. But apparently still enjoying it enough. I checked the public messages to see whether there might be one from Aaron. No, but the tech aide there was a German from Münster named Jan-Berndt who had wanted to visit Leipzig for a while. So we exchanged e-mail info. I love making connections.
I hopped onto an old-style bus art car going very slowly while playing “Life in the Fast Lane”, admired an art car in the shape of Terry Pratchett’s disc world – turtle carrying 4 elephants carrying the world. Still was back at camp in time. Samantha, Dominique and Victoria arrived at 1 p.m., Aaron half an hour later, having stopped at the cabin for firewood. Our camp got larger and much better equipped. I started to chafe a bit at all that unnecessary – well, in my eyes – sophistication. The pros and cons of adding company. Your camp is livelier and more comfortable, there was even birthday cake and ice cream, you have people you like around you to share your impressions with. But everybody immediately pulls into slightly different directions, no more aimless coming and going and floating on the currents of chance through Black Rock City for me. Yet I was so eager to show them all around my hometown. This is when I realized that it really had become home for me, that the greeting “Welcome Home” I found a bit silly at the beginning suddenly made total sense to me. I was as proud of this place as if I had built it. Looking at my photo output, I also realize that I took the greatest number of pictures on the first day. Then I was still the observer, gawking and documenting. Now it all felt so familiar. A remarkably accelerated acclimation.
All 5 of us decided to give the Party of the Century a chance, playing songs from 1901 to 2011. But first the two young women had to teach us old timers how to use a bong. Well, that was a pretty giggly affair in the tent. Aaron remained outside and smoked the saved joint in quiet and dignity. When we finally got to the century music, they had just reached the 50s, of which none of us was a big fan. Now we followed the girls on a long march in search of the cool dance place they had noticed during their first exploratory bike ride. When we found it, the afternoon dance was long over and the current program less promising. We tried various other places for a bit – Aussie night at RevoFuckinLution, a pole dance stage, a bonfire at the playa where we talked to some Coloradans. Got separated, with Aaron and me watching an amazing firework ending in huge propane gas explosion fireballs, then found each other again gathered around the Trojan Horse, which was to be burned that night. It was huge – one could go inside, climb around on ladders. Now it had been dragged out onto the playa and people dressed as Greek gods and goddesses started shooting fiery arrows at it. The horse had been filled with fireworks and in no time we had this grandiose spectacle of fire and fireworks, going on for a long time.
I moved from tent to VW camper that night and got a solid citizen’s night rest, from about 1:30 a.m. to 7: 30 a.m.
5th Day (September 3)
The day started with an actual shower. Aaron had brought enough water in the bus water tank, and the neighbors to the left had offered use of their shower tent. It felt great, but my feet had deteriorated from the previous day. Deep cracks, a bleeding chafed spot at the heel, blisters on top of two toes from wearing the closed shoes the day before, and another toe turning blue from where a guy jumping from the top of an art car had landed on it. From that time on, I wore socks with the feet inside almost squishing around in lotion. Which enabled me to participate in the planned long desert walk with Oliver and his friend Chris, a BM ranger. There was also Larry, but we lost him right at the beginning to the bar car. I also used the opportunity to put lotion on the heavily peeling shoulders of hyperactive funny guy Eddie. Somehow this man brings out my maternal feelings.
We walked all the way to the perimeter fence. Even out there a guy still had installed his projects – a collage of license plates and the respective state’s symbols attached to 50 of the fence posts. There is even a complete functioning movie theater out there at the edge of nowhere, showing classic films at midnight, 2 and 4 a.m. And more remotely located artwork I had not seen previously. Samantha and I also danced on an art car way out there – Samantha especially itching to get some dancing in.
After lunch and some more foot pampering, I was ready to go exploring again but nobody else. So I did one more tour in my favorite mode of operation, going to a destination by way of 5 different unscheduled stops. The destination was a champagne tasting way out at 3:00 and Graduation. First there was this cheerful woman who chased me with a stuffed shark and offered me a wooden handmade magnet. Then I stopped at the Couch Burners who had great music but were all lazing around in their hammocks. Next into the DPW saloon one more time to find out whether they wanted our food and drink donations there. Sissy Bitch said yes, then went on break. The replacement bartender said no, just take it to the donation collection station when exiting. O well, at least I got a nice mojito out of it. Then I came across a boutique giving away clothes and found a top matching my flame skirt and much more fitting than my current one. That is, tighter, skimpier and more see-through. And now there was a forest of direction signs and these people from Ontario who wanted me to take their picture under the Toronto sign. Finally the champagne. Classy affair – champagne flutes to drink from and the vintages coming from Napa Valley and France. The people running this are from Napa and from Placerville, practically neighbors. I enjoyed three glasses while talking to a New Yorker who encouraged me to go all the way to the walk-in campground part to see the beautiful jigsaw pyramid there. And to a very gay guy in glittering purple who knows our Los Angeles cousin’s in-laws and their furniture business on Maui. And an older couple from the VW camp that Aaron had planned to visit. Ah, those connections again.
I saw the recommended pyramid from the distance and skipped back along the Esplanade on a champagne buzz. Even without watch, I was back pretty much exactly at 7 p.m. as promised. After dinner we all headed out to the playa for the big burn – the burning of the Man. A walk interrupted by running into two Swiss guys with a Swiss cheese mutant vehicle. Interesting: The one I talked to most had moved to the Bay Area as a child but still identified himself as Swiss from Zurich and had the Swiss German accent to prove it.
We found a decent viewing spot in the circle around the Man, and then the fun began. A long and elaborate fire dance show and then fireworks, fireworks, fireworks shooting from all over the scaffolding until the Man finally burst into flame. To help the inferno along, there were some giant gas explosions. We sat on the wind side and had to watch out for all the burning pieces and sparks raining down on us. Big sand twisters could be seen in the fire. And when it had deemed to have burned down enough, the perimeter was opened and people rushed to the remaining enormous fire. I with them, wanting photos and to throw in the wish token somebody had given me. I got crushed and thrown around and lost the entire skin of yet another toe but succeeded. People were running around the fire widdershins, many naked. Some remained frozen in place, prostrate or arms raised, praying to the Man or perhaps the fire. It all had a spirit of primitive, tribal fire worship and sacrifice. Some of that a bit too cult-like for me, but for most people it was just revelry and the prelude to a night-long party. Of course, I lost Aaron and Samantha in the crowd. Then they spent the next two hours looking for me and I the next two hours looking for them. Apparently at the same places, just not at the same time. In the end I left a message at camp and went to Reverbia stage where a band from the Bay Area called Antioquia played, and they were quite good and ranged from trippy rock to Latin-inspired rock to tribal drums to quieter ballads. Ten minutes later, Aaron and Samantha arrived there. No, they had not read my message, they just had felt attracted to the same music. So Samantha and I got our dance night in after all, even though my foot was bleeding. Samantha won the last beer of the night as best dancer.
6th Day (September 4)
I needed to borrow more from the neighbor’s first aid kit today to bandage up my feet. I need tougher feet for this. On this hot Sunday morning, Samantha and the girls were packing. They wanted to leave late at night, right after the temple burn. So did Aaron. I had no intention to drive at night, rather thought to sleep as long as possible on Monday, pack up and leave. There would be a huge exodus line no matter what, why stress about it.
The feeling of things coming to an end hung over all of the city. There was little going on in terms of announced activities, and what there was contained a lot of spiritual stuff – worship services, meditations and the like.
Aaron and I went to Arctica to buy ice. The ice truck is supposed to come at noon, we were told. That left 40 minutes, so I went to retrieve my lotion from the mobility camp while Aaron headed back to our camp. Of course, I ended up chatting a bit, decided to fill in the census form, got a cider from the homebrew place. I also received two nails from the Burning Man as mementos. Funny, I was asked whether I wanted a nail and said, why would I, I have enough nails at home. But it was from the Man. Well, then… Like some holy relic. Perhaps I find somebody to twist mine into a pendant.
The ice line was getting longer, time to get my money. When I arrived at camp, Aaron was gone. For good. The others told me he decided to leave because he felt bored. Apparently he had some sort of conversation about it with the girls. None I overheard, though. And not even a goodbye? I was between mystified and angry. Then decidedly angry after I realized – in the middle of Samantha giving me a face painting at the Body Paint tent – that my car keys were still in the bus. I had moved them there for safekeeping after Samantha moved into my tent. Fortunately, we had Burner friends now. I managed to get a text message and a voice mail out via Gary’s IPhone before service went away. Aaron was either outside the service zone or had his phone turned off. Since I did not know when he might get the message, I activated Plan B – go to Playa Info and call for the locksmith. He was supposed to show up in 2-3 hours and make me a new Subaru key. Also a free gift. Cool, only we were supposed to hang out near the car because his schedule was uncertain. Samantha and I grabbed a beer first, then waited and talked. Leading to the decision that Dom and Virginia could very well drive Samantha’s Prius home on their own and she could come with me on Monday. Next a young woman in search of a ride to the Bay Area came by. So the new plan turned out to be, Dom and Victoria driving with Daria to SF right after the temple burn, spending half a day in SF with her, then returning to Camino where Samantha and I would arrive and Samantha could then pick up her car and continue home. Complex but doable.
In the end, Aaron arrived back before the locksmith. We had a talk and parted in peace. After which Samantha and I walked the entire length of Black Rock City, taking in its diminishing dimensions. There were other people leaving in the night, many camps packing up, the playa almost emptied of art. Still, not all had closed down yet. At a trailer camp, they handed out free beer of the brand “Blanca Basura” – White Trash. Nice touch. It is worse than Bud Light (if that is possible) and is sold in a six pack consisting of 5 beer and a bottle of whiskey. The Fandango Bar was still going strong, and we met Oliver, Larry and other guys from their group there. Afternoon dance and merriment until we got invited for Indian dinner provided by Daddy O from the same camp.
On the way to dinner, a full and unopened bottle of wine suddenly rolled in front of my feet. I looked around – nobody nearby. Seemed like we were bringing the dinner drink. The playa provides. Sometimes it takes away in the same mysterious way. You drop something and it is gone, all searching fruitless. I can only assume that such items are on their way to where they are supposed to be. The Indian food hit the spot. Then we all headed out together to the Temple of Transition, admired it one more time under the moon light before it, too, went up in flames. This burn was a much quieter, contemplative affair. Still, no reason not to enjoy the last night of Burning Man 2011. Oliver took us to an Irish pub at 2:30 and Esplanade, then back to Fandango. We found more music and company once more and somehow this last night passed pretty much sleepless.
7th Day (September 5)
Tired but unable to sleep amidst the dissolving city, we broke down camp, said goodbye to our friends with a last e-mail exchange and left at 9:30 a.m. Though when we actually left the Black Rock Desert, it was already 3:50 p.m. This is how long the exodus wait can get. I heard rumors about a law enforcement car stolen and recovered the night before and that a laptop with valuable police data was missing from it and the police wanted it and searched all the cars. Perhaps it was just a rumor, we were not searched in the end. We picked up a New Zealander among the people waiting for a ride. He needed to go to San Francisco to catch a plane to Zurich in two days to study electrical engineering there. So he would have to come to Camino, then switch there with Samantha to her car, no problem. PJ had a mandolin and for a while, he played for us, and Samantha and I danced in the desert. The people from the car before blew bubbles. Others came around with water, snacks, some flew kites or used the wait to catch up on sleep. There was no impatience or anger in the air, just making the best of what could not be changed anyway. With an Indian taco stop, a gas and Dairy Queen stop in Fernley, a sobriety test station in Carson City and Burning Man and Labor Day traffic, we finally arrived in Camino at 10 p.m. Samantha and PJ got some coffee and tea and a snack, stuff was repacked, and then the said their goodbyes and I was home and it was all over.
After
Days later, I still wander the playa in very intense dreams and feel a bit disconnected during the days. People have talked about Burning Man as a life-altering experience, and I had taken that for hype mostly. But there is something to it. I finally found the kind of community I would love to live in year round. And when I go next year, I will say “Welcome Home” to everybody. It houses a remarkable mixture of people from all walks of life, ages, races, income levels, gender orientation, political beliefs etc. What brings them together? For one, a strong streak of libertarianism I think. There is remarkable tolerance and acceptance for whatever you decide to do there as well as no pressure to do anything. A place to experiment, be creative and curious, try out new things without fear of being judged. It is not a paradise, and people don’t turn into little hippie angels once they get to Black Rock City. Bikes get stolen. Chris the Ranger talked about lost children, domestic and other violence, rape. Just like in any other city. But people choose not to dwell on it, not to be ruled by their fears, to lower their defenses and engage each other. The harsh conditions help, you will need your neighbors and be happy to help in return. The generosity is amazing. When I thanked my neighbor for the shade structure on the first day, he said, no, he had to thank me for giving him the opportunity to help, it made him happy. That is the key to the gift economy I think. It is not a trading of niceties so you can expect something back when needed. But like stretching out this great feeling you get when you found the perfect Christmas gift for somebody over a whole week and many people. Of course, Burning Man is a utopia and not sustainable in the long run in this form. The money not spend there was spent before on all the things shared. Work and the more tedious chores and pressures of life don’t get in the way. But perhaps it’s possible to salvage a bit of the spirit of the place and its joy for the “real world”. I can understand now why people go to re-entry and decompression parties in the weeks after. If I find one close enough, i.e. Placerville or South Lake Tahoe, I’ll certainly go. Meanwhile, I’ll try to retain a bit of Eve on the playa in me till next year.
Impressum
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 11.02.2012
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