Burning Man: Come On In!

I’m walking down a dark residential street. It’s a black landing strip except for the intermittent bright white circles which are glaring from the industrial street lamps above. On either side of the road are sidewalks cracked by the roots of old magnolias. Through the leaves are peeks into seductive little nooks of warmth. Homes of all different colors, shapes and sizes emanating a familial spirit. I occasionally see someone cleaning up from their dinner; I’m hungry. A woman in her fifties is peacefully reading in one of those la-Z boy chairs that are so cushy they embrace you. These glimpses take me vicariously home, but when an unwelcome chill washes over me I remember I’m still standing on the roadside. These people are strangers and I’m not welcome.

I’m walking down a dark desert trail. It’s a black abyss except for the dome of stars overhead and the occasional campfire. Groups of newly made friends sit together roasting marshmallows, playing guitar and bonding over the heart-warming realization: everyone is welcome. Behind the campfires, rest the campsites. Like homes, they’re decorated with care. Like family, you make yourself comfortable without asking. At the wine bar, you help yourself to a glass of red or white and a cheese platter. Just hop in line at the midnight poutine for this freshly made Canadian specialty of crispy French fries, creamy brown gravy and cheese curds. After biking around the desert all day, you’ll be most appreciative for the endless supply of couches, hammocks and pillows people haul out to the festival in trailers. You’ll see people taking naps all over the playa. They’re sprawled out (and often passed out) in the makeshift living rooms of people they’ve never met. When they wake up, they’ll be greeted with a smile and a hello. At Burning Man, people don’t have to prove themselves worthy of friendship before receiving the benefits of it. Everyone is assumed to be a kind and giving person. Most of the time, the culture manifests this assumption into a reality. 

Burning Man: Life Is What Happens When You're Busy Planning Other Things

When you pass through the welcome gate and into Burning Man, one of the first things you'll receive is a guide detailing the events of the upcoming week. It will be your first real glimpse of what's to come and you'll likely peruse through it in disbelief. A margarita drinking party for clowns and kings wearing crowns, a channel your spirit animal yoga class at sunrise, a jazz jam session on top of a tie-dye double decker bus serving wine, glass blowing, fire throwing, a hiney hygiene station for your crack when it gets dusty (yes, someone will wipe it for you), an air-conditioned orgy dome in case voyeurism (and exhibitionism) are your thing, a chili cookin' competition...the list goes on. As you're reading through it, you'll start getting excited. "I gotta do that and that and that and ooo that!" To you I say, good luck. You'll learn quickly, the guide isn't intended to guide. More than anything, it's intended to inspire; to put the potential for exploration at the festival into perspective.

Like in Vegas, time doesn't exist at Burning Man. Distractions lead to other distractions; days melt into nights which melt into days. You'll inevitably get lost in the Playa and after a few days you'll realize that an agenda's not only futile, it's unnecessary. You'll find what you need most, when you need it most. Soon enough the idea of being anywhere other than where you are, or planning anything other than what flows spontaneously, will seem laughable. Cultivating presence has never been easier.

Burning Man: A Cathartic Culture

photo courtesy of: blog.gaiam.com

I've been waiting in line for over an hour directly beneath the blazing sun. I've been standing for so long I've forgotten, I'm butt naked. I'm in front and behind dozens of strangers of every shape and size. We're all in this together. 

Burner virgins tiptoe to the dressing area diffidently. They look around as if to rhetorically ask, "do I take off my clothes now?" They expect gawking, but everyone's just minding their own business. Soon enough, so do they. 

Finally, I get to the front of the line. I step out of the one-hundred degree weather into a tiny wooden dome that's even hotter: a makeshift steam room. It's about twelve feet from one side to the other and there's bodies, bodies, bodies crouched everywhere: squatting on the floor, sitting on the bench and stretching. It's hell, but when I get out the desert will feel like a freezer. 

Inside the dome, the dynamic between the bathers evolves. Sometimes, it's a spiritual environment with a unified chant or meditative ohm. Sometimes, there's massage trains or an impromptu yoga session. Often, everyone's just chatting, laughing and getting to know one another. 

It's a space of relaxation and rejuvenation. Like everywhere else on the Playa, you make it your own. 

A hose spraying cool mist is passed around the dark sauna. Eventually a kind voice turns to you and asks, "need a spritz?" It's a godsend and when you're handed the hose you return the favor without hesitancy. It's karma in its most simplistic form and the added element of vulnerability in the form of nakedness is what breeds this atmosphere of trust. 

Nudity is just one manifestation of this culture built around supporting people to explore and become comfortable with every facet of who they are. As a first-timer, it'll only take a few days for you to realize that no matter how square or strange you might be Burning Man loves you. It's a moment of disbelief and liberation simultaneously. What will you do then? Not even you can predict, but I can assure you that you'll find yourself in circumstances you couldn't have imagined in your wildest dreams. When the week's over, you'll return to your life changed forever. 

Burning Man: Absurdity On Wheels

Mr. Potato Head art car

I'm dragging my feet through the Black Rock Desert under the scorching summer sun. My skin is burnt and crusty; my entire body covered in a white layer of salty, dessicated powder. I'm reaching for the lasts of my warm electrolyte powder-filled water when I suddenly hear a parade of 1940s big band music. I turn around to see a flat wood platform on wheels with a five piece jazz band slowly rolling up behind me.

"Hop on!" they say as I continue to walk next to them. "Come on!" they urge enthusiastically. The saxophonist reaches out a hand and I jump onto the moving stage. Behind the drum kit, I see an old, fading brown couch; something someone's parents stuck in the garage for the kids to eat pizza and play video games on after the remodel. I sink in between the ripped, absorbent cushions. A wave of relief washes over me.

My weary legs are recuperating and a new friend aboard hands me an ice cold beer. We continue our journey. The band's jamming and I'm sprawled out in the back staring up at the blue sky. We aimlessly cruise around the festival, smiling and waving at appreciative passersby who do a little spin or dip as a nod to the live soundtrack. Just as I think it can't get better, two rods protrude from the center of the platform and starting showering me with cool mist. Once again, an art car to the rescue.

There are hundreds of these "mutant" vehicles driving around Burning Man each year.

They're made from cars, trucks, golf carts or any other kind of motor vehicle that's been converted to go no faster than five miles per hour and has been dressed up to look nothing like its original form. When out at the festival you'll see every shape and size of art car; big furry marine animals covered in LED lights, pirate ships, magic school buses, flaming dragons, genie bottles...you name it.

They all offer different amenities on board: cushy seating, DJs, full bars, stripper poles, dance floors and every other kind of bell and whistle you can imagine. At nighttime they transform the landscape; glowing mobile sculptures that trickle the horizon with a blinking neon rainbow.

Yes, that's a flaming octopus

They're a party on wheels and most have speakers so loud they vibrate the desert floor miles away. Day or night, classical music playing cupcake or bluegrass boot, they're a hitchhiker's dream and at Burning Man, everyone's welcome to a ride in style.

Burning Man: The Playa Will Provide

Nothing’s visible, but the small circle of ground in front of my tire as my aching thighs steadily push through thick sand.

Suddenly, a small light appears in the distance. It’s a dehydrated hitchhiker’s canteen, a glowing log cabin in a snowstorm, a home cooked meal for an upset stomach…without thought I pedal in its direction. As I approach with a desperate curiosity, I notice a Broadway like sign surrounded with Edison bulbs displaying show times: “12 a.m., 2 a.m. and 4 a.m.” It’s a small retro movie theater and one of the seemingly infinite surprises built in the middle of nowhere Nevada for Burning Man this year.

Inside there’s an intimate concessions area decorated with old movie posters. There’s a shiny glass case with neatly organized king size Snicker bars, Kit Kats, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and gummys. After three days of trail mix, it’s a salivating display.

A charismatic clown is happily gifting the snacks in exchange for a joke. Next to the entrance is a miniature rectangular opening cut into the wall.

I crouch through it; an inquisite Alice stepping into Wonderland. I find myself in a musky screening room with velvet seats reminiscent of an old Hollywood theater. At 4 a.m. it’s packed with familiar strangers sitting in aisles, cuddling on the floor in front of the first row and crowded in the back watching the 1940s American classic Citizen Kane.

I walk in and sit down. The milk chocolate satisfies my deprived taste buds like the most sentimental childhood dessert. As blood recirculates into my icy cheeks, I’m reminded of a favorite festival mantra, “the playa will provide.”

The playa, an endearing name for the piece of land Burning Man lives on each year, always manages in the most unbelievable of ways to give you what you need most, when you need it most. It’s a magic that can’t be fully understood until you’re dying of thirst and someone hands you a popsicle, you’ve been walking miles in the heat and you stumble upon a misting dome with couches or you’re feeling achy and a professional masseuse offers you a two hour long Swedish massage. It’s the beauty that’s born out of a community in which people invest themselves fully and expect nothing in return, but a thank you.