Not Burning Man.

Sun and wind, dust, dust, everywhere, seeping in through the closed car windows, slipping down the glass. Cold night air and hot daylight, perfect in the shade. Powdery crusty earth underfoot. Fluttering tarps, bright costumes, fur boots, art cars, bizarre, confusing, beautiful displays of creativity, goggles, dry, dusty hair, criss-crossing tire lines, friends and friendly strangers, water water water, glow bracelets, inebriation, untz untz, what the hell is that huge thing people are climbing all over, big smiles, odd tan lines, poi, crowded slivers of shade under larger installations, topless and bottomless, fire barrels, drawn to the light and warmth, weird colorful stuff dangling off of bikes and cars and people.

This is where I am not. It seems like there’s a slight hush over the city since everyone left for the desert, but I’m sure I’m imagining it. I don’t know that many burners, so I wouldn’t be able to feel the lack of their presence the way that it seems like I do.

I’m not sad not to be there. It’s fun and all, but it’s a lot of hard work and it’s extremely expensive. It’s surprisingly comfortable for such an inhospitable place, but it is still often very hot, or very cold, and very windy/dusty which can be exhausting to constantly deal with. The fun is ehnanced when the weather turns from miserable to gorgeous and you can suddenly walk around comfortably.

I would need to share the experience with the right people to really enjoy it, if I were to go back to Burning Man. There won’t ever be anything like that first year with Skot and Preston. The way they showed me Black Rock City and could point me to delights I wouldn’t have been able to find on my own. They also discovered their own delights through me being new that they would have missed otherwise. Maybe every camp needs a resident virgin just for this purpose.

Not Burning Man.

Sun and wind, dust, dust, everywhere, seeping in through the closed car windows, slipping down the glass. Cold night air and hot daylight, perfect in the shade. Powdery crusty earth underfoot. Fluttering tarps, bright costumes, fur boots, art cars, bizarre, confusing, beautiful displays of creativity, goggles, dry, dusty hair, criss-crossing tire lines, friends and friendly strangers, water water water, glow bracelets, inebriation, untz untz, what the hell is that huge thing people are climbing all over, big smiles, odd tan lines, poi, crowded slivers of shade under larger installations, topless and bottomless, fire barrels, drawn to the light and warmth, weird colorful stuff dangling off of bikes and cars and people.

This is where I am not. It seems like there’s a slight hush over the city since everyone left for the desert, but I’m sure I’m imagining it. I don’t know that many burners, so I wouldn’t be able to feel the lack of their presence the way that it seems like I do.

I’m not sad not to be there. It’s fun and all, but it’s a lot of hard work and it’s extremely expensive. It’s surprisingly comfortable for such an inhospitable place, but it is still often very hot, or very cold, and very windy/dusty which can be exhausting to constantly deal with. The fun is ehnanced when the weather turns from miserable to gorgeous and you can suddenly walk around comfortably.

I would need to share the experience with the right people to really enjoy it, if I were to go back to Burning Man. There won’t ever be anything like that first year with Skot and Preston. The way they showed me Black Rock City and could point me to delights I wouldn’t have been able to find on my own. They also discovered their own delights through me being new that they would have missed otherwise. Maybe every camp needs a resident virgin just for this purpose.