The 9/11 anniversary weekend seems a good time to write about fallen buildings, memorials, remembering and celebrating those we have lost. This is my third essay about the wildly artistic and audacious Temple that is constructed annually at Burning Man (and designed to be burned in memoriam at the end of the festival week). Its design varies widely each year, and while the experience of a visit is much the same, I have found that my appreciation for it broadens and deepens with each year. [Text and photos below by Ron Reason] 

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[Black Rock City, Nevada, August 30, 2011] Surrounded by 250 to 300 tons of plywood, in the middle of the Nevada desert, artfully constructed into a compound of temples designed to be appreciated, and to vanish, within one week, I am awestruck by one thought: I’ve visited the Taj Mahal, the Great Pyramids, the Wailing (Western) Wall, and Ground Zero, the world’s most renowned monuments to loss, love and remembrance, spanning centuries. But none of those places aroused anywhere near the emotion that wells up for me at this temporary Temple each year, and in every recollection afterward. It sounds a bit absurd. How can this be?

Like the rest of Burning Man, it’s nearly impossible to really explain what the Temple experience is and how it works. As I’ve written here before, the Temple is a cornerstone of the festival experience (at least for me).

With this year’s Burning Man theme being “Rites of Passage,” and this Temple of Transition could not have been a better fit: A series of five 58-foot-high outer temples, and one 120-foot-high inner temple, connected by 60-foot-long walkways (designed, apparently, to be a little strange and tricky to traverse – like parts of life itself – but the rewards at either end, breathtaking). Basically, this place was architectural poetry. (This gorgeous, quick animated 3D fly-through on YouTube gives you a hint.)

The five smaller, outer towers represented Birth, Growth, Union, Decay and Death. The central tower, Gratitude. (I had to ask a volunteer early in the week what each building stood for – they seemed to make a point not to label them on site – interesting challenge, as in life, to come to these realizations on one’s own. Where are these rites of passage? How do I get to/through them?) Gratitude – the anchor of everything, what everything comes back to, even Decay and Death. A powerful meditation. In deciding where to leave my own private memorial, as if really mattered where, I chose this tower.

As is the case every year, festival attendees quickly fill up almost every square inch of real estate on the buildings with inscriptions, mementos, artwork, poetry. Some are simple and impromptu – magic marker, ball point pen, spur-of-the-moment thoughts by first-time visitors. Others are elaborate, well planned totems and shrines, prepared weeks before by veteran Burners who know the score – framed art, dioramas, articles of clothing, Japanese cranes, random photos, boxes of cremains. (I hate that word, but was there ever a word that got more to the point?) Most remembrances lie somewhere in between.

I was lucky to happen upon the place around 1 a.m. on Sunday night, just hours after it opened, and was able to wander around and appreciate it naked. (The place was naked, not me – not then anyway.) And, like to a magnet, I returned to it each day (a bit of a haul by bike from camp center), at day and/or at night. It’s so moving to watch the place evolve and come to life with the memories, tributes, poetry, rants, art, and nonsense contributed by visitors.

It’s not a static experience, just to be viewed as a museum. Beyond the memorials, the place breathes, hums, pulsates with life. Each year there are weddings, funerals (memorial services), impromptu outbursts of tears and laughter, jugglers, fire spinners, musical performances, meditations. A great joy this year was biking out on Thursday and happening upon a mass yoga session at sunset with hundreds of participants. The energy  was just incredible. Guided by a lovely lady on loud speaker, the session was more communion than workout, and was accompanied by the heavenly intonations of the Earth Harp, the world’s largest musical instrument, a series of giant strings attached to the central tower and projecting a powerful melody over the entire place. (You can view the Harp in concert at the Temple here http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150359056486944 and I hope to post my own video links later.) Also in the central tower, playing through the week: musical magic by The Gameletron, a collection of primitive cymbals and other instruments modeled after Balinese and Javanese orchestras. (Sample it quickly, and for free, here http://www.gamelatron.com/audio.php)

Beyond all this, what’s the essence of the place that moves me so? It’s the collective sharing of grief mostly, but also great doses of joy, wonder, outrage, hope, silliness – humanity, basically – in a tangible, immediate, ephemeral way, that says “we’re all connected, and we’re all in this together,” like absolutely nothing else I’ve experienced. Not the Taj Mahal, no church I’ve ever attended, nor even Facebook. (!) And all of it offered up with the intent to be sacrificed, burned along with the Temple itself, at week’s end. A collective acknowledgement that nothing is permanent, not even grief or loss. What stops anyone in his or her tracks while touring the place depends on who and where you are in life. A shrine to Elizabeth Taylor made me smile. Any tribute to a faithful dead pet chokes me up. Here are two other examples that were a bit more personal for me:

JEFF THE WANDERER: I was struck by the sense of pure joy projected in a couple of old snapshots of Jeff Wenner, “the wanderer,” along with a funeral remembrance and messages from friends he left behind. Is any moment better than catching a rainbow and holding it your hand? Other than maybe your friends remembering the moment, year after year in a place such as this. I’m a wanderer, big time, so this guy struck me as a kindred spirit. Apparently this wasn’t the first appearance for this memorial at the Temple – by end of week, strangers had scrawled things like: “I never met you but have been moved by seeing this memorial left by your friends in recent years. God Speed.” I love the idea of a living memorial that impacts strangers in such a way. I also love the comments of my Facebook friends who were moved by seeing the photo this week, even out of context of the Temple. (Said one: “Thanks for this. The positive energy is just what I needed today.”) These threads of connection are powerful stuff.

MOM ONE, CANCER ZERO: What a statement, posted early in the week, along with a cap apparently worn by a hairless mom, no longer needed, and nailed, in defiance, to the Temple wall. The walls here are otherwise posted with plenty of laments of loss from cancer (including my own) so to see a tale of victory like this, so simple and declarative, is so moving. Not everyone wins the Big C battle, and that can be so hard to accept, but messages like this, I think, make it easier for patients to move through the difficult weeks of treatment, and for their loved ones to keep moving forward as well, and maybe to appreciate the small moments of the days that any of us have left (which, for any of us, can’t be known). This little memorial took on a life of its own: next to it, I scrawled, simply, “my mom is fighting this battle right now. Wish her well.” The next day, a number of strangers did in fact write to wish her well. By the end of the week, much of that section of wall was filled with dozens of messages to, and about, moms with cancer all over the world. Along with a few general declarations that “cancer sucks!” there were plenty of victory statements as well.

It’s not all grief and tears. A pageant of merry folks dressed in white, included stilt walkers, greeted me one morning mid-week. Huzzah to them!

The notion of such a beautiful place being burned, ceremonially, at week’s end may make some sad, or even angry. But I loved this sentiment from its creators, among the forum comments at the end of a blog entry about the Temple burn:

“The Temple itself is just a canvass for our own souls. We create the Temple by using it, sharing it and experiencing it. And from out of this year’s ashes will rise a new Temple in 2012… Through us, the Temple shall live again. The Temple itself is not sacred: WE are sacred. Thank you, thank you, thank you all.  Always remember: WE ARE THE TEMPLE.”

Those sentiments reinforce my takeaway after this latest visit: The Temple is a one-of-a-kind magnet for human emotion and experience, a fluke of a space in the middle of nowhere, that collects all these powerful, personal stories and  condenses them into one small space. It clears my head, reawakens brain cells, and activates new ways of thinking about life, and yes, accepting death. These are the same stories that are shared by the people next to us on the bus, at the grocery store, the gym, the doctor’s office, the airport. When I look at these strangers back in the real world, I increasingly am aware: each of them has experienced immeasurable joy, sadness, silliness, love, and loss. Being more mindful of this can only make for a better outlook on life.

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More on the Temple and Burning Man in general:

The official Burning Man site, with a number of blog entries about the Temple: http://www.burningman.com/

A look at the conception and construction of this year’s Temple.

The official Temple of Transition site.

From the Temple Blog: a powerful essay on Gratitude and Grief.

My previous essays on the power of the Burning Man Temples: 2008, Basura Sagrada, a sacred temple of garbage, and from 2010, a very different, dune-like Temple rises.

My photo albums of the Burning Man festivals – art, people, burning things, and more.

[Black Rock City, Nevada] I went on a trip. Or was it a dream? On this trip-dream, I pitched a small tent in the middle of a harsh desert. Suddenly, for one week only, 50,000 people appeared from nowhere, to join me. Some were in tents, others in RVs, and many more in elaborate, bedouin-style camps – strewn with couches, rugs, pillows, hammocks, a carpeted merry-go-round, trucked thousands of miles across the world for … what, exactly?

In huge circus tents, trapeze artists juggle flames. At midnight you stumble across a ballet stage where a troupe of 20 pirouettes around an open, arid Carnegie Hall. (Want some free ballet slippers? Try some on and take them home.) A pyrotechnic rock opera is staged on a Mayan pyramid. There’s a roller disco, a mini-golf course, costume shops – why not? You need a costume or two, right? Huge outdoor discos fill with revelers, seemingly round the clock; drinks are free to those who bring a cup, and they groove to world-class DJs, caring not that the floor might be just hard desert dust, or even the deck of a 3-story, animatronic, flame-throwing rubber ducky.

A Thunderdome appears, directly out of Mad Max. (Yes, fights take place at night, as  cheering crowds clamor atop the structure. I didn’t get the night shot I wanted but here’s a cool one I found on Flickr.) Like sets from the Mel Gibson trilogy, Black Rock City (the name of this place that appears only one week a year) is part ragtag kingdom, part psychedelic slum. You are momentarily on another planet. But it’s not just post-apocalypse Australia. Tattooine, maybe? Jabba’s sail barge or a landspeeder or a Jawa sand crawler could come gliding by at any moment and no one would bat an eye … a cantina band could strike up an alien tune. But this Star Wars is a galaxy far, far away, as guest-directed by Dr. Seuss, Felini, Cecil B DeMille, Deepak Chopra and Greenpeace. It’s Cirque du Soleil meets Outward Bound for a Macy’s parade at the Playboy mansion.

Thousands are on bikes, around the clock, but more exotic vehicles steal the show. Elaborate, colorful, customized scooters, cars, lawn mowers, buses, and semis are pimped out as fire-spouting dragons, ducks, sea anemones, spacecraft. Many of them double as party barges, some multi-level. A half-size replica of a 16th-century Spanish galleon comes cruising across the desert at night, floating, ghostly, illuminated, as does a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge. Want a further surprise? Open the door to one and a full-on jazz band is in full swing. They maneuver about the open desert outside the city proper,  touring dozens of art installations, including the six-story sculpture of the Burning Man, whose celebrated immolation will cap off the week on Saturday. Farther beyond, the Basura Sagrada, a wondrous, emotionally moving two-story temple to life and death is made entirely of recycled materials. It will burn the following night.

Miles out, someone has set up a neon-lit diner, where waiters appear to take your order for grilled cheese from sundown to sunrise. A first-time visitor wanders around this strange planet in a daze, exclaiming “what’s this?!” about every five minutes.

“What’s this” is not a dream, but a trip in every sense – it’s the Burning Man Festival, an annual experiment in community, art,  evolution and expression held in the middle of nowhere (3 hours north of Reno, to be more precise). It’s daunting if not impossible to describe the experience sufficiently/accurately – the Wikipedia entry (linked below) says it’s “a bit like trying to explain what a particular color looks like to someone who is blind” – though this desert adventure is no mirage as I found out in a last-minute trip just finished. I had read a bit about it, was a bit perplexed about the weird stew of camping and culture, and when opportunity arose, I said what the heck and dove in to find out for myself.

No cell phones, no texting, no email. A week of this would be a nightmare for some people I know; for many others like me, worn out by “the culture of the always-on,” it’s a fantasy come true. Imagine, actual interactions with human beings who are at the moment connected with you, curious about you, concerned about you, and not monitoring their doings with others, or eager to rush to do so, via the latest trendy gadget. (I’m as guilty of this as anyone, and now home, trying to curb it.) There’s no judgment, no hate, no prejudice, no ageism. Kooks are celebrated. Coloring – and living, dancing, being – outside the lines is encouraged. Generosity rules.

Complete strangers make you delicious French crepes in the morning, serve you snow-cones or margaritas to beat the mid-day heat, and one night invite you to a gourmet sirloin dinner. No payment accepted or expected. You have something to swap? Okay, sure.

You notice a distraught woman in the dark near your tent; you say honey, you look like you need a beer. She tells of a big fight with her boyfriend, something about a punctured air mattress and the prospect of sleeping on hard ground for the week. Your camp-mates give her their spare mattress. The next morning she glides by on her bike, with her boyfriend, thanking you for possibly saving the relationship. She later gives you each a sweet hand-carved Burning Man necklace. Bling!

Wanna practice exotic forms of yoga or massage? Join a band? Volunteer? Take a drawing class? Learn survival skills or circus talents? Hundreds of workshops, lectures, parties take place throughout the week. You can sample them with gusto, or sit and do nothing. You can wander around and chat up strangers or steal away and meditate on it all. Artists, photographers and fans enjoy dozens of mind-blowing installations, many interactive, out on “the playa” (the deep desert where art appears like random ghost towns).

Like life, Burning Man is what you make it, and hard to pigeonhole, label, define, or limit. Not for the faint of heart, it’s described as “a week of radical self-reliance,” and the fact that wimps are weeded out builds camaraderie among those who make it in. You are thoroughly prepped to bring all your own food and 1.5 gallons of water per day, as well as proper clothing and gear for extreme heat and cold, and … sandstorms.

As promised, there were sandstorms. A big whiteout on Monday delayed our entry into the festival for six hours as we, and thousands of others, sat in our cars and stewed, eager to set up camp late at night. Then came Tuesday – sunny, 70-ish (though probably hotter, the lack of humidity made it bearable), breezy. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday too. Huzzah, we lucked into the perfect week!

Then Saturday, mid-day, dust devils appeared in the desert. Sorta cool, in a way. Onward we marched through an impromptu biking tour of the art. We find an outsider-ish sculpture of old drums, cymbals, urns and trashcan lids inviting passersby to stop and join in for an impromptu jam session – which occasionally sounded quite tuneful! There’s a dreamy, 2-story metal birdcage to climb into if (if only that topless woman would get off the swing). In the distance, the amazing Basura Sagrada temple – worth a third visit of the week, to see tens of thousands of more inscriptions and mementos to lost loved ones … so moving. (See my separate blog entry on that.) And then … the big whiteout hits.

We trek back to the tents to make sure they’re not gone with the wind. They aren’t, but things are getting messy. Our cheap tents in no way seal out the fine, relentless sand. We need a rest and though it’s windy, it’s hot as heck; sweat mixing with this fine silicate dust turns to clay-like mud on my sleeping bag. It’s gross and annoying and one wonders, if it keeps up or intensifies, could it be life-threatening?

We pack up the tents and consider bailing one night early, but just in case, chill out with our neighbors Brian and Aaron for a bit. (They have two hammocks and five chairs!) Before sunset, the storms mostly clear. We are excited (with 50,000 others) to gather in mid-playa for the “big burn” and watch the six-story Man fall in a blaze of fireworks and controlled explosions. We are told an artist connected with the event who had recently died was being cremated in the structure as well. (Imagine the laws that must have been dealt with, or skirted, to make this happen.) Overall it’s a solemn, amazing, experience. An international crowd at the world’s biggest bonfire celebrates this weird Halloween, New Year’s Eve and 4th of July … on Mars.

What if real life were more like this? Not the sandstorms (please!) but the generosity, the curiosity, the spontaneity, the involvement and connection of a place not ruled by technology, ego, exclusion, class and race divisions, big government, bureaucracy? People picking up after themselves, being responsible for their survival, not putting foreign objects in the toilet?

It’s all food for serious thought, as is the underlying message of non-attachment and impermanence. Over seven days, life appears from nowhere. Magic takes place. Then it all vanishes with the dust and wind – in some cases, purposely destroyed by its creators. Why? To heighten our appreciation of wonder while it exists … to make room for more great fun in the future … to leave at least a small patch of earth as we found it … and to wipe clean the big metaphorical canvas that anyone attending can imagine putting their own stamp on.

Such is my attempt to describe the undescribable. After hearing some of this, a big question from my friends seems to be: Would I do it again? God! This must be like asking a woman whose given birth if she wants another one. Wait a little bit before you force me to answer! In the meantime, if you have any other questions about this weird week, feel free to toss them at me. Leave them in the comments section (I have to moderate to screen out the spam) and it might make for a fun followup post. And thanks for checking in with the blog!

Burning Man links:

My blog entry on visiting the fabulous Basura Sagrada temple

Considering going? My blog entry with thoughts for first-timers

My Flickr photo album – Burning Man People and Places

My Flickr photo album – Favorite Burning Man Art

My Flickr album – Burning Man’s Basura Sagrada Temple

The Burning Man official site (with beginner’s guide, history, etc)

A Burning Man guide to some of this year’s art (with links to previous years)

A recent New York Times article and slide show on the preparations of an NYC collective headed to the playa

Extremely thorough Wikipedia entry about Burning Man.

Fascinating lecture by founder Larry Harvey,  “A History of Burning Man.”

[Black Rock City, Nevada] Among my favorite sights and sensations of Burning Man 2008 was one of the showpiece art installations, the Basura Sagrada temple. Each year at Burning Man, a temple is constructed as a work of art and architecture and memorial, where the festival participants (or “citizens,” now numbering about 50,000) leave inscriptions and mementos of loved ones lost. The temple, as with all of the art on display in this vast desert, comes and vanishes in a week. This spectacle, like the Burning Man itself, goes down in a blaze of glory and solemnity at week’s end.

Hard to imagine that this construction of recycled tin cans, bottle caps, wood and cardboard and wire can move one to tears (NOT attractive or comfortable while wearing swim goggles and face mask to ward off sandstorms!). But that’s exactly what this place did – much more moving, in its odd way, than the Taj Mahal that I visited exactly a year ago in Agra, India. Perhaps it’s the rawness, the immediacy, the wonder of it coming and going within the week, the instant and furious creation of community and its planned immolation?

We stumble on the site on Tuesday evening while still under construction – cranes lifted workers high in the air, doggedly putting on the finishing touches. We hear sandstorms earlier in the week had delayed things; but by Thursday, a second daytime visit finds the place complete and in full swing. Swarming with “burners,” as festival-goers are called, the structure had within 48 hours been filled with tens of thousands of heartfelt (and a few silly) inscriptions in marker, pencil and pen, and many mementos of loss, love, recovery, regret, covering every banister, stairstep, even the flapping wind chimes.

A few shrines have cropped up; photos are duct-taped to the wall; the odd stuffed animal is here or there. You take it all in as you wander, just as you would Cinderella’s Castle or any attraction at DisneyLand, but this place has meaning.  What do you do? Collapse from the collective impact of 20,000 expressions of grief? Or marvel at the contributions, the beauty, the legacy of all these friends and family who are remembered?

I leave an inscription, then sort of speechless, pause to meditate in one of the vestibules (not sure if that’s the right word but let’s go with it). There I meet and chat with Sergio, an Argentine, maybe 40 years old, who has traveled here for the week, to be moved by this place, take it all in, leave something behind. We each have come thousands of miles, we briefly connect (I share observations about the three months I lived in Buenos Aires, among other things), then we say goodbye and trek off across the desert, and eventually, back to the real world. Ah, life. People come and go so quickly here.

I visit a third time, biking across the plain on Saturday with my travel companion Tom, to find the place a bit more crowded, with visitors as well as remembrance. Again the place is alive. Then the winds pick up. Visibility at times becomes difficult. Even up close, the elaborate and beautiful recycled wind chimes become hazy and start to vanish in the sandstorm, and at times they whip wildly and create a magical, frenetic, industrial sort of song. Though you are standing on solid wood, the place does give off the vibes of a mirage, and the sound of the wind whipping through the silence of the visitors is magnetic.

I leave two more inscriptions, “we love you and miss you,” for Maria and Jose. Why not? I make one last stop on the second floor balcony to look out on an awesome scene. Against logic, sand striking me and my digital camera from all directions, I take photos of some of these irresistible and unearthly scenes. In particular, the view of the Burning Man “faithful” arriving to experience this temple strikes me as wondrous – people, bikes, portions of the site installation come in and out of view with the storm. “Please let this one photo turn out!” I think – just seconds before the lens freezes in place. Dammit! Though shooting is sacrificed for the remainder of the trip, the photo (below) did turn out, and I was able to un-jam the camera once home. Little miracles out of a place of harshness and wonder!

I flew home Sunday, in time to watch the streaming webcast of the ceremonial burning of the temple. A tiny, low-res, choppy video provides a ghostly final image of a place that briefly moved thousands, one last flickering glimpse of my first Burning Man experience.

Why create such a thing? I close this post with the philosophy of the creators of the temple, from their website (linked below):

“We build art out of trash for many reasons. Our goal is to make something amazing and exotic out of materials deemed unworthy, the stuff we throw away everyday. And while it is obvious that making something beautiful out of refuse is a political act, the question we hope to answer with this project is whether it can also be a spiritual act. We believe that it can.

“Basura Sagrada is a temple constructed entirely from burnable trash, recycled materials, and the tossed-off detritus of American society. Meticulously detailed, the temple will be a precious space created from non-precious materials. By replacing the gold and marble surfaces of traditional temples with aluminum can adornments and cardboard spires, we hope to inspire others to see everyday trash as beautiful, to save everyday trash and use it—not because it is responsible or right or necessary to recycle (although that is certainly important), but because people are excited about the materials and medium.

“We believe that the material itself has an inherent value that can be unlocked in the right hands. We will attempt to unlock unprecedented levels of beauty, and do it on a scale that will blow people’s minds and function as a sufficient vessel for the hopes, dreams, memories, and losses of our community. We welcome intrepid visitors to this space to be a part of this grand experiment in trash alchemy.”

Thanks to the amazing creators of this structure for their hard work and vision! Meanwhile, if you had the good luck to visit this place and have an impression or experience you want to share, please do it in the comments section below – thanks!

Links:
My Flickr photo set – Basura Sagrada.
The Basura Sagrada official site.
The official Burning Man site.

[Note: the above is not my sentiment, thank God,
but if I were in this state and able, I'd do it too!]

As someone who decided only 3 days before the event to attend Burning Man 2008, I feel wholly unqualified to offer advice to future first-timers. So, here you go:

1. So you’re an art groupie or fan of oddball vacations in desolate locations. Great. If you think you can handle the daytime heat, nighttime chill, and most of all, sandstorms, proceed … with caution.
2. Take care to read EVERY bit of advice on the first-timers guide available on the Burning Man site. The 2008 version, at least, is here.
3. Don’t overpack. I stressed about it too much in the several days preceding and in the end, didn’t use half the clothes or costumes I took with. Think one or two outfits for potential nighttime chill (though we had very mild evenings -never cold) and really, not much for daytime. Like, a sarong or two could last you most of the week – seriously. And at least four camps had costume shops that passed out wacky clothes for free (which you WILL want – don’t show up in GAP khakis and white tees or you will feel totally out of place). And they accepted drop-offs when done.
4. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.
5. Sunscreen.
6. While the program for the week had hundreds of workshops, lectures, and other group activities, don’t fret about not having time for all you want to do. You won’t. And half the activities I tried to sample never came off (instructor didn’t show, mutant bus never appeared to take us on an art tour). No biggie. You go with the flow and head for Plan B. Improvising is totally fun here.
7. Be social. Say hi to people for no reason. Ask them how they are doing, what’s the highlight, etc. I’ve never seen a place with friendlier people.
8. Do what you can to obtain a bike. Black Rock City has grown so big. My friend Tom went last year without a bike and said the constant trekking was a chore. This year we attempted to buy used bikes in Reno but were a bit too late to the game; by mid-day Monday all were gone. Check around to see if you can reserve in advance. Around 4 oclock we checked out Wal-Mart, which had a decent $99 mountain bike. We got 2 24-inchers, took the wheels off, and crammed them in the back of the compact rental car. Knowing we’d probably not want to haul them back out, we made friends with people who drove a large Ryder rental truck who were happy to take them off our hands. Not a bad investment for about $20 a day, easy transportation. (If I lived within driving distance I might take my bike, but keep in mind, the dessert will chew it up. May want to consider buying a cheapie.) The Kiwanis in Reno, we heard, also take donations at the end of the week, but you have to haul it to Reno when done.
9. We let our trash pile up and despite eating all the food, ended up with more to take home than we brought in. Not sure how this happened, but, they do allow you to burn paper trash on site at BRC, and they have a recycling center that accepts clean aluminum cans. This would have made for a less cluttered car on the way out (though in the end, it wasn’t a big deal to toss it in the Dumpster of the one of the many discount motels that refused us accommodation in Reno late Saturday night!)
10. Think about getting involved with a regional group before attending. If nothing else you can chat with people online or on the phone to get more advice; and who knows, you may be able to share a ride or even join up with a large tent camp. For an additional fee paid to the camp, you may get sleeping accommodations, couches to lounge on, water shipped in, food prepared throughout the day, cleanup afterward. You’ll probably have to pitch in but this is part of the fun. I may consider this in a future visit. Camps can be large and communal – 50 people or more – or they can be small and private. The photo above was from a realistic and fun Louisiana bayou shack that some former New Orleaners created; they had rugs, couches, a sturdy wooden structure (on 3 sides anyway), a porch, and a slamming screen door. Sweet! (Thanks again guys for inviting us in for a beer and some chat.)
11. Think about gifting. If you are handy, you might make cheap bead bracelets or necklaces or buttons or temporary tattoos to share with people. Something with the Burning Man logo is extra cool. (It looks a little like an X with a diamond for the head – you can find it on the top of the BM home page and probably elsewhere.) People gave me magnets, small paintings, a necklace, sunglasses, a page from a completed novel with instructions about where to download the rest. The advice is not to give out crap that you yourself would not want to receive – things that can be used on the playa and contribute to the community spirit seemed to be most welcomed.
12. There are many other ways of giving also. People read tarot cards, predicted fortunes, offered up free advice, performed marriage and divorce ceremonies (permanent and temporary), sang or played instruments or danced, and cooked meals and dispensed free drinks. To LOTS of people. We were offered crepes, coffee, margaritas, beers, bacon and bloody marys, sirloin steak dinners. The generosity is truly impressive. You can also volunteer to sell coffee or ice (the only 2 things sold here) or patrol the playa for pickup of litter (aka MOOP – Matter Out Of Place). Give back!
13. Cameras: This is the best and worst of photo ops. Great content everywhere you look. But, also dust like you wouldn’t believe. Some people put gaffe tape over every crack or opening of their camera they could think of; others tried to tape a plastic bag over everything but the lens. I don’t know how the pros survive this environment but saw some people shooting with some major gear. I had one cheap digital camera jam on me during the final stretch of the trip (obliterating use of that camera), and my nice camera, I was skittish about using after that. (Just shipped it off for a MAJOR cleanup today.) People had disposable underwater cameras, you might consider that. Some people found cases that coulid make a small digital almost airtight. Do some research to protect your gear, but do plan to take pictures of some sort! (Note: video requires filling out paperwork promising not to use it for commercial gain. See this page for more info.)
14. Burning Man is all about the lights at night. If you have a bike or a vehicle, light it up to the max. Same for your person. Something called EL wire was all the rage, and you can peruse that, and other light effects, at this link. Shop before you get there.

That’s it for now. If you have other suggestions, just use the comments section below. I have to moderate but would love to see other first-timers contribute here!