Life of Elle.

Americans understand about having fun.  After a week of living in the Nevada desert with 50 000 of them this is now abundantly clear to me.  They have it and then they yank it by its chain and suck the marrow out of it till its bone dry and then they get a new bone.  In short: they crazy folk.

How do I go about describing my week in the desert. 

Close your eyes.  I want you to imagine Alice frolicking through Wonderland in her little blue outfit.  You know the scene right?  She has long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes and is just having the most wonderful time when suddenly she comes around a corner and finds Tankgirl panting away with her pants around her ankles getting orally gladdened by the Mad Hatter, the mouse and a few other bystanders.  Now imagine the look on little Alice's face.  That is the exact look I have right now, and it might stay with me for awhile.

Black Rock City exists for 1 week only each year in the Nevada desert on something that is called the "Playa" but should rather be called "hard nasty white powder that gets into everything including your orifices and eats away at your flesh".  Combine that with 40 degree (and up) temperatures in the day, dust storms that can last 24 hours, porta-loos used by all 50 000 participants and you have a basic idea of the challenging conditions you face at BRC.  I spent the entire week living on Granola bars and Oreos because food is the furthest thing from your mind.

NOW

Add lots of naked people on drugs and dress the others in tutus, gas masks and goggles.  Throw about a couple of art installations, a whole lot of art cars, neon lights and big, raging fires and BINGO.  The Burning Man Festival! 

It's traditional to have a Playa Name.  Some of the ones I encountered were:  Fruitloop, Crunchy, Beast, Mango, Cowboy, Pointer etc.  I arrived as Anel and when I got to the first "Anal" I became Elle.  So I spent my week as Elle and quite enjoyed being her.

Here is a brief rundown of my days in Black Rock City:

Day 1

Driver Mauricio is 4 hours late.  6 hour journey to Burning Man turns into a 9 hour journey.  Arrive BRC at 4am.  My nerves are shot because I hate driving at night.  Edgy and sleep deprived.  Drive around searching for camp.  Can't find camp.  Part ways with driver who loses keys to car.  Pass out in sleeping tent for a couple of hours till awoken by overwhelming thirst and a burnt face.  Find water.  Find camp around 4pm.  Start feeling the Happy.  Put up tent and cute little outift as the sun sets and the lights come out.  Run around the Playa getting drinks from naked old barmen with great sense of humor.  Watch fire show.  Meet random strangers.  Have the best friggin time ever and get drunk.  All is good.

Day 2

Wander around the Playa to see what there is to see.  Get free costumes from various costume shops.  Get coffee.  Drink lots of water.  Get a pee cup to avoid sitting on any loos.  Get my hair washed at the hair wash.  Consider getting my body washed at the Carcass wash by 6 strangers but decide against it.  (Spend a good amount of time observing other people getting washed though.)  Back to camp.  Meet crazy people.  Go out with Beast Fruitloop and Pointer.  They are all from Chicago and I really get on with them.  Pointer decides to wear humungous silver platform boots and falls down alot.  He falls, rolls and gets back up again all in one fluid motion.  I am impressed.  I also witness a threesome and another guy jerking off in the corner.  The Alice face begins.

Day 3

I get depressed.  Like super depressed.  I'm in the most amazingly decadent crazy place on the planet and all I can do is cry and cry.  Don't really know why.  Wander out to the Temple which will be burnt on Sunday night.  People write inscriptions to their loved ones on the walls - some go to great lengths to bring all kinds of memorabilia to leave at the temple to be burnt in remembrance of people, relationships and loved ones who have passed away.  Write a long inscription on the wall and cry uncontrollably.  Sob into the night and feel like a huge weight is being sobbed right out of my heart.  I can't stop the crying.

Day 4

I go to listen to some music at the main tent.  There is a woman playing the most beautiful music I have ever heard and so I sob some more.  Completely distraught by the fact that I am now entering my second day of sobbing at this amazing festival and hoping it will end soon.  I feel convinced that the second singer will be more upbeat but instead she sings the entire "Boys for Pele" album by Tori Amos which brings me almost to the edge.  By sunset I start feeling a sense of completion and I put my funky outfit on again.

Day 5

I really thought about it and I don't know about this day.  I just don't know.  Toothpaste.

Day 6

I cue for an hour to see the Tarot reader in the main tent.  He gives me the news I knew I had to hear.  My journey for now is only about me and not about anyone else.  I should stop looking for relationship right now.  It's not going to happen.  I feel strangely relieved to hear this news coming out of someone else's mouth and realise that it is really, really good advice.  This is my time, my rage, my walk.  I intend to shake my ass whilst I walk it.  Turning point for Alice.

Day 7

Sandstorm.  It doesn't stop.  Gets into everything and under everything.  My eyes keep watering and my nose bleeds from the Playa.  Hate the fucking sandstorm and wish it would stop.  By the time we burn the man I have completely forgotten about the storm and stand in absolute awe as it slowly dissolves into a fiery end.  There are fireworks and happy people everywhere.  I feel semi-lonely but really proud to be there and proud of my journey up to now.

Day 8

Have beautiful connection with Beast from Chicago and it means the world to me.  He gives me his Emergency Medical Team badge from back when he worked as a paramedic and my heart goes all mushy.  Pack up and ready to go by 12 but Cowboy only ready by 4pm.  Another night time drive.  Hate it big time.  Cowboy is a Italian-Jewish bachelor-lawyer in his forties with alot of brain and not so much social skills.  Stuff blow off the roof of the car twice.  He drives around for an hour trying to find his plastic forks on the Interstate.  I become somewhat concerned for his mental well being.  Convince him to sleep over in Reno and we share a bed at the Aloha Inn for $70.  Drive the rest of the way the next day.  Altogether it takes 12 hours to get back to SF.  I am dead on arrival.

THE END