24 Hours At Burning Man

Part I: Day

October 2019

This year was my eighth at Burning Man, but it was my first being part of a theme camp. A theme camp is an interactive camp. They plan events, serve drinks, provide communal space, or bring out art pieces. My campmates and I planned a common hang out area under our shade structure, where we would have a bar offering drinks both alcoholic and non. Six of us made up the camp. Half were first timers, or virgins; Ali, Michael, and Jon - all close friends of mine. Then there was Sabrina, my older sister, and Greg, a close friend and colleague. With Jon’s car and a rented box truck, we drove the 13 hours from Phoenix to the Black Rock Desert, the alkali flats in northern Nevada where the festival is held. 

We called ourselves Anonymous Club, which turned out to be an unfortunate name for a camp. It turns out there was a camp nearby called Anonymous Village, which supported people following twelve step programs. Folks found us in the guide book and thought we were affiliated with AA as well. We greeted a few of them throughout the week, and explained that we were “just anonymous”, as they glanced with confusion at the fully stocked bar in the front of our camp. 

By mid-festival on Wednesday, we hit our stride as a group. Our neighbors across the street were throwing a saké party, so our little section of the neighborhood was busier than normal. We hosted a few groups of overflow saké party visitors in our camp, serving them tea and warm tequila shots under our shade structure. It felt good to be acting together, as an institution.

Then it was Thursday. My morning started the same as always. I put on my cutoffs and a T-shirt, exited the hexayurt, and stepped into my sandals. I found my stainless steel mug, filled it with water, and took a seat under the shade structure. Nearby, the rest of the campmates were carrying on with their morning routines. It was 10:30am. Ali and Greg were still half asleep on the couches which doubled as their beds. I chomped on a pop tart, Michael drank his extra strong coffee, Jon thumbed through the Who/What/Where/When book, that listed all the happenings each day around the city. Sabrina had been awake for hours, and was back at camp relaxing after an early morning adventure. 

Our plans for the day were loose. I knew we needed to replace the ice in our coolers. Michael said something about his bike chain creaking loudly. Greg wanted to meet some girls. Jon spoke up, pointing to the small booklet in his hand, “Silent speed dating, 12:00pm, 4 o’ clock and C”. The city at Burning Man is laid out on a clock grid system; 4 & C is an address. We had actually heard of the event before. An acquaintance we met earlier in the week told us that he went to it last year - he had even gotten laid. Greg was really into the idea, and I was feeling confident, ready to do something outside of my comfort zone. Last minute, Sabrina decided to come too. I finished getting ready for the day by taking a baby wipe shower and putting on clean clothes: my classic daytime jean cutoffs, a gray sleeveless hoodie, and a fresh bandana to keep the sun off my neck. Feeling sufficiently cute, the three of us jumped on our bikes and began the ride over. It was only a few blocks from our camp on 4:45 and F.

Rolling up to the corner of 4:00 & C, it was clear we were in the right place. There was a crowded shade structure, and a large mass of parked bikes. A few singles were milling about outside, unsure whether to go inside or not. I could feel the anxious energy. We locked up our bikes and walked inside. 

The guests were mostly seated, awaiting instructions. The open room was almost full, but I found a spot to sit beside the bar. The crowd was young and beautiful, their outfits nothing like what you would see in the default world. Many of the men had open shirts, or were shirtless. Women wore expressive dresses and crop tops. Almost everyone had on jewelry, many of the pieces surely given as gifts throughout the week. A young man at the front of the room began to address us over a loudspeaker, “Good afternoon! You all look so lovely. We’re going to start today with a few warm ups”. 

We all rose to our feet. Our first instructions were to mill about the room, and organize ourselves into groups of people with the same length of hair without talking. There was lots of eye contact, smiling, and gestures of appraisal. After a minute, I found myself surrounded by a group of similarly short haired men and women. We nodded and smiled at each other as we scanned the rest of the room. Next, we shuffled around some more, and had to organize ourselves by eye color. A little more intimate now. It took a few seconds of eye gazing to accurately judge your partner’s color. I started to feel more comfortable in the large crowd. For our last warm up, we were to find a partner, and silently time a synchronized jump into the air together. People counted down with fingers, or used eye contact cues. There was lots of quiet laughter as we all jumped around, and then moved on to find the next partner.

It was fun getting my blood flowing, moving around, and interacting with the other guests. Even though none of us had spoken, we had all been introduced. Our host addressed us again, and explained the speed dating structure. To begin we would each raise a hand in the air, walk around the room, and stop to match hands with a person we found interesting. Once everyone had their hands down, we would have one minute of silent eye contact. 

This was the part that I was anxious about. I had never tried holding prolonged eye contact with strangers before. I walked around the room with my hand raised, waiting for someone to catch my eye. There were more men at the event than women, maybe a 2:1 ratio. After a short time, I found myself matching hands with a handsome man wearing nothing but a light, open robe. The one minute began. We held eye contact, he flashed me some flirty looks. I smiled and laughed with my eyes, straightly. The minute ended, I hugged him, butt out just a little, and raised my hand again. 

We did four or five more rounds. I matched with a few women and a couple more men. At one point I looked over and saw Greg matching hands with a pretty Asian woman and spinning her around in place. 

The eye contact was easy, it felt natural and fun. It was in stark contrast to the anxiety I felt earlier, where I imagined each second of the clock ticking down in agony, as I stared at someone I didn’t know, unsure of what to do. We were all in the same boat here, doing something vulnerable. I reassured the person across from me each moment with my eyes, and in my anxiety I failed to account for the fact that they would be doing the same for me.

The final person I matched with was a man standing against one of the tarp walls of the open room. Almost everyone else had their hands down already. I walked up to him and touched his hand. During the minute looking into his eyes, it felt like he wanted to be somewhere else. I don't know exactly what he was feeling, but I assumed he was hoping to match with a woman. I know a lot of us were thinking that, but I was having a good time making due under the circumstances so far. It made me feel unwelcome. If the event was going to be competing to find a scarce woman or failing and matching with an unenthusiastic man, I didn’t want to be a part of it. After all of the lovely people I had spent time with so far, this was surely an over reaction. But I decided to leave early, before the final part where we could all mingle and finally speak. I stepped out of the shade structure, collected my bike, and began the ride back to camp.

Riding up 4:00 and turning right onto F, I saw a small gathering at a bar and a sign that said “Green Tea and Whiskey”. I stopped and walked up to the bartenders. They informed me that I was at Scar Bar. I had to tell them about a scar in order to get a drink. I grossed them out by showing them the place on my lower back where I was sliced open years ago when a friend crashed into me snowboarding. I handed over my mug, and they poured me some iced green tea. Music was playing, and there were a few small groups of people engaged in conversation. I saw a tall man standing by himself, so I went over and said hello. He was French, but had been living in New York for twenty years. We were both wearing Goodr sunglasses, so I asked him about endurance sports. He said he competed in triathlons. I told him about my experience running the BM Ultramarathon. I asked him where he was camped before I departed, in case I was ever in the neighborhood.

Back on my bike, it was just a couple minutes to camp. Everyone was home, except Greg. Sabrina told me she left the speed dating event early as well. She met a guy earlier in the week that she was interested in, and she didn’t feel comfortable moving on from that. After some time, Greg showed up, smiling. He told us he had met a few interesting women, and had a good conversation with one of them afterwards. She was camped across the Playa, at 8:00 and A. Before settling in too much, I convinced him to go on an ice run with me. That meant the others had the exciting job of draining the ice melt from the coolers. 

We set off on our bikes towards the nearest of the three Arctica igloos, 3:00 and C. At Burning Man you can buy coffee at Center Camp, and ice at the igloos - that’s it. It was a five minute ride. I complained that there were too many dudes at the speed dating. Greg said it would have been better if the expectation of dating wasn’t there - it should have been billed as something more neutral like “soul gazing”. We didn’t exactly get any dates, but we decided the event gave us good social momentum anyways. We arrived at the big Arctica dome, waited in line, chatted with the friendly ice slingers, and bought six 7-lb bags of crushed ice. We divided the bags up, balanced them over our handlebars, and made the trip back to camp.

Back at camp, our coolers were refreshed. My cache of frozen burritos would last a couple more days now, and we could serve iced tea at the bar again. As a group our energy was high. Someone shouted out another entry from the book, “Taylor Swift dance party, 2:00-6:00pm, 7:30 and D”. It sounded fun to me. I prefer smaller gatherings at the burn, that strike the right balance between excitement and intimacy. I would rather go to a party of 75 people than see the biggest DJ playing that day among a throng of 500. Greg and Michael were into the idea, so we set off once again.

On our bikes, we were reminded that Michael’s chain was badly in need of lube. Mine was pretty sketchy too - it would fall off any time I stood up and pedaled hard. So we took a long route, hoping to find a bike shop on the way. We rode over to 5:00, and hung a right, making our way towards inner playa; D was two streets down. We would ride that street all the way to 7:30, our final destination. I hadn’t been down this way yet, and it was fun taking it all in. The RVs, geodesic domes, shade structures, and art pieces. Each camp with its own unique personality. 

Somewhere around 6:30, we spotted two men working on an upturned bike, and a small sign, “Bike Shop - Self Service”. There was a fold up table with some wrenches, rags, and a small container of chain lube. I flipped my bike onto its seat, applied the lube to a rag and pedaled my bike by hand, running the chain through the greased rag. I showed the guys how to do it themselves, before we rode off again. Faster now, we enjoyed the smoothness of the ride that we didn’t know we were missing out on. We hooted and hollered, basking in our good fortune. We pressed onwards one more block. 

We followed our ears, and quickly found the party. It was in full swing. Inside the large shade structure, people danced and sang along to our queen for the day, Ms. Swift. A group of people hovered around the bar, where three bartenders served vodka lavender cocktails from Igloo sport coolers. You could order a shot of whiskey on the side for the full “Shake It Off” experience. Outside, partygoers clumsily climbed a small two story wooden structure, and hung out in the hammock netting floor at the top. 

We went to the bar for drinks. I had forgotten my I.D, so I had to send my cup up with Greg. I can’t say I’d heard of a vodka lavender before, but it was just right. The energy at the party was amazing, there was an infectious happiness. We hung out on the edge of the dance floor, making small talk and taking it all in. There was a pair of girls next to us that looked like they were having fun, so I went over and introduced myself. “How are you? Do you like Taylor Swift? Have you been to the burn before? Where are you camped?” We made small talk and danced in place. Their names were Katrina and Jenny. Greg and Michael joined our circle. I had a short conversation with Katrina. She was friendly, and I loved hearing her talk about her history with the burn and what it meant to her. 

Suddenly, as if she had just remembered something, Katrina turned to say something to Jenny. They both smiled excitedly. Katrina turned around so Jenny could reach into her backpack, where she produced a double sided, laminated sheet of paper. The heading read “QUESTIONS OF LIFE!!!”. She handed me the sheet, and we all looked through the questions together. Katrina and Jenny were best friends, and they had spent the weeks leading up to the burn assembling this list of no-bullshit questions, meant to break past small talk. “Would you have sex with your clone?” Greg and I said no. Michael deliberated. “What is something that you think is inherently morally wrong?” Michael said murder. I said hitting “skip” on any Taylor Swift song. The girls told us that the most controversial of the fifty questions was “How many people have you had sex with?”. Katrina told me that the list was a gift, so I stashed it away in my Camelbak. 

The girls had somewhere to be, so we all hugged and said goodbye. Stepping away, Katrina looked at me and said, “Just so you know, you’re really beautiful”. It caught me off guard, and I had to embrace her again. My heart felt full, it was so nice to make a connection with someone like that without the anxiety that comes from expectations of something more. The girls left, and shortly after, so did we. 

Back on my bike again, I was flying high. But it had been a long day, and we were starting to get hungry. We arrived back at camp, and sat down on the couches to weigh our options. We found ourselves in one of the classic struggles; knowing you need sustenance for the rest of the night, but being too wiped out to do anything more than pick at snacks. 

I was getting close to summoning the strength to fire up the camp stove when Ali and Jon walked over carrying plates of food. “Space Hole roasted a whole pig, you guys want any?” That got our attention, we made our way across the street immediately. Our neighbors were at the end of their meal, and they generously offered us the meat and sides they had left. We thanked them profusely between bites. It wasn’t the first time they gifted us food this week. Food always tastes better when it arrives magically and at the perfect time, but it was some of the best, juiciest pork I had ever had.

Continue reading: Part II: Night