This is not a city in the conventional sense. For starters it only exists for five days of the year. This is Black Rock City – the temporary community that emerges out of the dust of the Nevada desert by forty thousand odd travellers looking for a very different type of city break.
I have arrived at the Burning Man festival; an event so called for the burning of an effigy, that often appears in such lists as: “101 things to do before you die”. It is not a festival in the traditional sense, as it has no organised music or installations - instead it runs on a policy of ‘gifting’, where ‘burners’ bring and exchange artistic gifts in whatever way they see fit.
“That’s a bit hardcore for you!” was the damming response of a friend upon hearing that I would be travelling to Burning Man with my somewhat worldlier sister. I could not help think of these words as we wound down our window to meet our official ‘greater’ who was clad in little more then a leather thong.
This larger then life lady directed us to our camp on 10 and Detroit (the city comes complete with street names) and we made our way across the ‘playa’ in our shaky RV (caravan to you and me) approaching some indeterminate objects appearing out of a cloud of dust.
The sun went down as we set up camp and on seeing the stunning horizontal landscape with its red hues; I knew we were a long way from the muddy festivals of England.
The size of Black Rock City means that bicycles are essential for moving around easily – we had decorated ours with ribbon and flowers and, so that they may be seen at night, a copious amount of UV sticks. The first time we voyaged out at night out measly efforts were put to shame. Here is but a short collection of the sights that greeted us in the middle of the desert: a large mobile neon yacht filled with revellers (just one of the many so-called ‘mutant vehicles’); 50 foot flame throwers; a fully working grand piano; a plethora of stadium-sized sound systems and stages satisfying the hedonists; towering sculptures of silver dancing women; a phone box; and many economically dressed people.
And so for a week this surreal place became our home. At night we danced and were beguiled by the many spectacles of light and sound; at day we wondered the streets of Black Rock getting a massage at a holistic camp or becoming shiny at ‘glitter’ camp. It seemed as if there was a place to satisfy every craving and desire. By the end of the week I had been transformed- albeit temporarily- from a retiring wallflower into a free spirited ‘burner’.
Looking in the wing mirror as we drove away on our final day, dust had filled the sky and the mirage of Black Rock City was no more.
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