I have something of a strange relationship with Burning Man.

On the one hand, the weeklong bacchanal out on the salt flats of the Nevada desert holds strong appeal — evoking paganism, Native American peyote-tinged personal journeys of discovery, and the myriad of music festivals common in the U.K. I first heard about it from a co-worker in Southern California some twelve years back — it transformed him from a somewhat uptight, opinionated sort to a mellower version of himself — and have yearned to go ever since.

And every year come Labor Day (it happens on the week leading up to it, ending tonight for 2010) I’m not there. One year it was my sister’s wedding; another couple of years saw me in mid-relocation; and several more were spent with the health-challenged boyfriend who was understandably loathe to place himself at a seven-day party hundreds of miles from civilization and the nearest hospital (given his penchant for overdoing things, this might have been a wise choice on his part.)

Finally I said “fuck it” and bought my ticket, booked an RV, and planned to go some two years back; in fact I planned to make it the first chapter of my round-the-world adventure… until the shit hit the fan with fights and recriminations (unrelated to Burning Man, alas; this is some of the backstory to Wander the Rainbow), making a pagan party in the desert the absolute last thing I wanted to attend. Plus it proved difficult to rustle up people to share in the pricey RV rental; a number of folks who expressed interest in January dropped out as the winter, spring and summer wore on.

Which brings up the logistical side of it: the festival is conceived as a “leave no trace” event, a quasi-ecological notion in fact driven by the locale. It’s on U.S. Department of the Interior Bureau of Land Management territory, and their stipulation is that the place look as empty, barren and arid as it did the moment before Black Rock City (as the annually-erected venue is known) is built. Since it’s far out in the middle of nothingness (a reminder of how much empty space remains between America’s two coasts, particularly in the West), a foray to the Burn becomes as much an experiment in self-sustainability as it is a party or hippie commune. Everything you need must either be brought with you or gifted/traded (the place has a “gift” economy where practically no money changes hands and nothing is for sale); all refuse must likewise be carted away by the participants.

It’s a noble gesture, but the somewhat princess-ier parts of me yearn for someone to start up a hotel and complimentary shuttle service in a nearby town (Gerlach, NV for the curious). Oh, I know, it’s not what the festival’s about… but it sure would be nice. My seven months overseas convinced me even more that many of us crave even a modicum of creature comforts; the radical self-reliance thing is a nice gesture… but I’ll take air-conditioning and a hot shower instead, thank you very much.

Finally, there’s a more intangible issue that gives me pause: as with any event with a rabid following and a party vibe, Burning Man gives off something of a cultish feel from some of its practitioners; I sometimes joke that every tech startup here in San Francisco (where the Burning Man aura blazes strongest, as it began here) is assigned one of the faithful — that person who’s a multi-year veteran, who seems to spend the entire year planning for this proverbial Christmas On The Playa. You can see the signs: a certain scruffiness; a vibe that I can only describe as “extremely uptight about being laid back”; and — sometimes — an odd clannishness about an event that’s supposed to be inclusive and communitarian. One of these people, upon hearing I’d planned to go, insisted “talk to everyone you know who’s going to make sure you’re wearing the right costumes.” Huh? Is this a free-spirited party or a cotillion? Perhaps it’s an inevitable human trend, but whenever something becomes “insanely great” it spawns its own legion of devotees — just look at Steve Jobs and Apple.

All that said, the festival continues to enchant. And I do know a number of splendid people who attend. So who knows, maybe next year…

Tags: 2 Comments