Obviously one’s first reaction to hearing about the rain and mud at Burning Man this year was very similar to learning about the glitch that led to all those flights to and from British airports being cancelled last week: thank God I’m not there, that I’m here at home instead. But then that’s my feeling, increasingly, about being anywhere, namely that I’d rather be here. As you get older, any return journey from anything has an element of the retreat from Moscow about it. You get back from a concert in the evening or even an exhibition in the afternoon with a distinct feeling of relief. That’s the awful thing about Burning Man at the moment: there’s no realistic possibility of retreat from the rain and mud. All you can do is butch it out and hunker down. Returning Burners are greeted at the gates of the festival with the words, “Welcome home!” But now people are wishing they could leave this home and get… home.
Weather-wise, Burning Man is rarely a holiday. I went for the first time with my girlfriend in 1999. We’d been warned about the extreme heat in the day, had been told that it was best to take it easy in the afternoons, to relax in the shade in preparation for nocturnal adventures later. The day-time temperatures that year were lovely, in the mid-70s; the nights were freezing. After dark I wore everything I had (which didn’t include a pair of gloves, unfortunately).
The following year it was windy and even slightly rainy. Our bikes got briefly clogged with mud. Another year there were horrendous sandstorms. These sandstorms are part of Burning Man in that they are not only to be expected but are, to an extent, caused by the event: the winds are an unalterable fact of nature but the amount of dust blowing around is increased by all the traffic and activity. One way or another the weather is rarely perfect. You have to be prepared for it being too hot, too cold and everything else. The one thing you didn’t need to worry about is drenching rain. Except now you do.
I went to Burning Man for what I thought was the last time in 2005. I’d finished that phase of my life and was, in addition, glad to be free of the multiple hardships of Black Rock City. There was always something to contend with, often a minor thing that became a major source of discomfort like painfully cracked heels from the acidic dust of the playa. Or there was the time I took a stupid gulp of what I thought was water but was actually the paraffin my friend used for her fire-spinning. Another year my wife ended up on an IV drip because of extreme dehydration.
So I was long done with it when a friend who was directing a documentary about the festival invited me to go with him in 2018. I had visions of this being a rather luxurious return. He was in talks with the organisers who were offering some logistical support. I’d heard rumours of luxury camps that went against the spirit of Burning Man and I was, of course, strongly opposed to such things. Nevertheless I said to my friend that while he should avoid using the word “resort” in any discussions, if it were possible for us to have something as close as possible to a “resort experience”, that would be ideal.
It turned out to be far from ideal. But it did get better after the first night when my friend, the snoring film director, agreed to move out so I could have the decrepit trailer to myself. And on a couple of occasions other friends allowed us to sneak into their endowed camp and take a shower. So my experience was more luxurious than it had ever been and, overall, every bit as great as I remembered. It was still what it had been when I went that first time in 1999: a high-water mark of civilisation.
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Subscribe“The most influential cultural event on the planet”
Self-indulgent hippy tripe for a self-centred marginal hippy tribe. Hasn’t the world had enough of mindless Californian posturing? On Friday they’re radicals; on Monday they’re checking their share prices.
It won’t be long now before they start eating eachother. Those hipsters do like their pulled pork and maybe this was the plan all along. Get all the most annoying people on the planet in one place , tweak the conditions and watch as ˋcommunity’ turns into a feral dystopia of cannibalism and sex slavery.
Someone should tell this man that you don’t have to go to these places. But perhaps, for a certain type of person, you do. And perhaps it would be better for the rest of the world if, having gone, they didn’t bother coming back.
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Too true. Festivals are for wallies everywhere, but Burning Man is an international t0sser magnet.
It ill behoves me I know, but I must confess to a teeny tiny bit of schadenfreude. I’m a bad person.
Honestly, who cares?
If Edward Woodward were alive today, he’d be turning (and burning) in his grave.
Lest we forget:-
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eaAQsxAQYHg
“Unprecedented struggle”. I suffered more strife at an Allman Brothers concert at Colt Park when I was 14: Dickey Betts broke seven strings playing “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed”, and he was totally wasted.
I would pay a lot of money NOT to have to go to Burning Man.
this looks like clickbait for the high-tech haters…. and in this instance I’m with them. Burning man (main*) especially is a vehicle for wealthy wankers to show off; hypocrites dragging giant vehicles with AC into the desert and in contradiction to what’s said above leaving litter and mess and disturbance (according to the people of nearby city – see reports). 60- to 80,000 people FFS
They’ll know that there’s no real jeopardy as they can always have a helicopter rescue…
*I have been told that the regional burning man events can be welcome releases for young people trapped in small towns where they can’t have any ‘fun’ without everyone knowing about it. So maybe there’s something to be said for that… maybe.
God’s sake man, grow up.
Nothing said about the bottom-line allure of Burning Man, unlimited sex 24/7 if you are up to it. Or the real burning that comes in a week or so in a sensitive spot.
https://www.piratewires.com/p/rage-against-the-wooden-man And yet it seems to have all been a bit of a hum
I daresay it will take more than a drop of rain to stop this self-worshipping narcissist cosplay. Maybe locusts, boils, or death of the firstborn?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, get over yourself! Every year, millions of people go to festivals – many of them get rained out, which is why the standard kit includes wellies and a rain poncho. Except for the ‘clever’ people at BM, apparently!
Festivals are, usually, enjoyable for the attendees – music, dancing, getting off your head, getting laid. A break from the humdrum. It doesn’t suddenly become profound if you’re ‘the right sort’!
Please, it’s Raymond Williams with an S.