24 Hours At Burning Man

Part II: Night

Part I: Day is here

Returning from our impromptu dinner across the street, Greg, Michael, and I joined the rest of our campmates under our shade structure. It was around 6:00 pm. We lounged around and recharged, throwing out suggestions for the night to come. Some of the virgins wanted to see the Thunderdome. Greg wanted to meet up with his silent date from earlier. Michael mentioned a hidden club in a shipping container that was notoriously hard to get into. It all sounded good. I changed into my evening wear as it got dark. Jeans, a casual button up shirt, and a faux fur vest. It wouldn’t get too cold, but you would at least want some layers. We switched on the colorful lights of our backpacks and bikes. Now visible, we set off for the busiest and innermost street of the city - Esplanade.

The first stop was a familiar one, Hardly’s whiskey bar at 5:00 and Esplanade. We passed it frequently throughout the week, coming and going from camp. We parked our bikes and walked into the dusty, dimly lit saloon. Greg posed with a pay phone in the corner. I snapped a picture with my iPhone. “I didn’t give consent for that”, Greg joked. Two other voices said something about no photography, and their fingers pointed to a sign on the wall which said as much. I put my phone away, and came back into the moment. The bartenders called us up, gesturing to a wooden ski on the bartop. There were four big holes drilled along its length, each holding a shot glass that was being filled with whiskey. We broke up into two groups and knocked back the shot skis, being careful to raise them in unison with our partners. 

Feeling the alcohol a little, we turned to climb a ladder ten feet up to the second story. From there we grabbed the metal handrails on either side, and walked the short distance across the single file wooden beam catwalk to the small saloon balcony. Although we weren’t up incredibly high, the view from Esplanade is always amazing. The scene was all neon lights and puffs of flame. The Man visible far in the distance, in the very center of inner playa. Art cars crawled by slowly, as hundreds of bikers streamed past. We mingled with another group on the balcony. Sabrina and I shared a sappy moment. She thanked me for bringing her to the event. I told her I was glad that she was interested. We hugged and said I love yous. At home in the default world we might spend a couple hours together every week or so. The full seven days of Burning Man is a big change from that.   

We made our way down from the balcony, and walked the short distance over to the Thunderdome. It’s a metal pipe geodesic dome, twenty feet high. There was a crowd encircling it, five bodies deep. People who arrived early were perched high on the structure itself, sitting or holding onto the metal frame, watching the show below. Inside, two combatants were strapped into harnesses that hung from the ceiling and given padded swords. The MC announced their back story over a megaphone; “Our fighters today are sisters! There’s nothing like a good sibling rivalry...”. Stage hands grabbed the girls, and pulled them back to opposite sides of the dome, before releasing them to swing towards each other, swords slashing. 

Our group had been split up, each of us jockeying for a view of the fight. Greg and I walked a circle around the dome, picking up our companions as they appeared. Without cell service, if you get separated, you’re on your own for the rest of that night. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sabrina said she wanted to see the cover band at Crossroads perform, so she went out alone. Ali chose to hang around and explore on foot. The long miles biking each day were taking their toll on him. Greg, Michael, Jon, and I would be the squad for the rest of the night. Together, we walked back to our bikes before we could see the conclusion of the battle. 

That covered everything we wanted to do on our side of town. Our next destination was across the playa, around 8:00 and A. Camp “I Need An Adult”, where Greg’s date from earlier was staying. We gauged the angle by eye and set off in a straight line towards 8:00, cutting across inner playa. You could take the curving Esplanade the whole way, but it’s longer and there is much more traffic. 

We pedaled along, dodging the mini sand dunes that are more common in this windswept part of the city. Arriving at the corner of 8&A, we found the camp without searching too much. Their shade structure was two stories, and made of wood. The ground level was fully shaded with a bar, a chill area with seating cushions, and an enclosed room on the side. Up top was an open air balcony, spanning the whole area of the structure. Just outside, there was a DJ booth and a small dance floor. A few people were dancing and enjoying the tunes. 

We walked up to the bar and were greeted by two young women. The camp was quiet, but they were having a good time. I ordered a rum and coke. Greg asked about the girl - they hadn’t heard of her. This is more common than you would think. Their camp had 20-40 people in it, and many would be meeting this week for the first time. We hung around and sipped our drinks, unsure of what to do next. 

A man in his 40s approached us and introduced himself. His name was Justin. He was shirtless, wearing an open jacket and had long, curly brown hair. We learned that he was one of the organizers of the camp. He was super friendly, and having a great night. “Would you like to play a game of Dinko?” Our new friend pointed to the outer railing of the balcony above us. Hanging there was a coffee table sized board, covered Plinko style with a grid of average sized neon colored dildos, glowing from the blacklight backing. The idea was to climb up to the balcony and feed an air hockey puck through the phallic rungs. Random chance decided where the puck would land, and a prize would be waiting at the bottom in each separate slot. Justin fanned through the different prizes, scribbled on pieces of paper. “Win a new car”, “Flash the DJ”, “Kiss a stranger”, and so on. 

We were all laughing pretty hard at this point, and we couldn’t back out after such a great introduction. Greg and I took the puck, and made our way up the ladder at the back of the camp. As I hung over the balcony railing and positioned the glowing disc, I wasn’t sure which prize I wanted to land on. I released the puck and watched it zig zag its way down, finally settling in the leftmost slot. My comfort zone would stay intact for at least a little while longer - I won the new car. Greg landed on “Kiss a stranger”. Laughing some more, we made our way back to the group in front of the camp. Justin ran off to a back room. He came back, and produced a blue BMW 3 series - Hot Wheels of course. The same model I drive in the default world. Nice. Greg pondered where he would find someone to kiss, but before he could come up with a plan, Justin was in the street, asking a biker passing by if she would be so kind as to kiss our friend. It worked on the first try. Greg walked over and gave the girl a quick kiss as she straddled her bicycle. Justin was a hell of a wingman, and I told him as much.  

We were near Burnhain, the shipping container club inspired by Berlin’s Berghain, known for its choosy doormen and sexually deviant clientele. Michael had heard about it earlier in the week, and we wanted to find out if the club lived up to the reputation of its default world counterpart. We knew the name of the camp it was located in, so we said goodbye to Justin, and headed over on our bikes. I thought it would be hard to find, but it didn’t take long. We locked up at a bike rack outside the sand colored shipping container. BURNHAIN was spelled out in string lights along its side. A man and woman stood behind a podium out front. There was no line. Greg and I walked up to greet the bouncers. They asked us how many there were in our party, and if we knew what the club was. I said there were four of us, and I thought it would be a good place to dance. “Why would you want to come in if you don’t even know what the club is about?” I made up some bullshit about their no phone policy and the Burning Man principle of immediacy. That turned out to be good enough. Michael and Jon came up, and we handed over our phones. Our cameras, front facing and back, were taped over with little green stickers. They handed the phones back and led us inside. 

We walked through the front of the shipping container. Inside there was a small couch and a rack with hangers for coats. A bit further in was the long, narrow dance floor, with a DJ booth at the very back. The space was filled with fog, and the walls were covered in mirror finished film. Techno music was playing. We danced and chatted up a couple other patrons, but the place was dead. We all agreed the concept was well executed. I joked with the guys about bringing a girl back here later, trying to see if I could get a rise out of Greg. We left to explore some more, telling each other it was early. It was 10:00pm now. 

Still on the 8 o'clock side of town, it was just a few blocks to Esplanade. We rode down to 8&Esp and turned left towards 9. We knew a couple of the bigger sound camps in the area; Slutgarden, and Crossroads, the place Sabrina went to earlier. Cruising along, an ornate two story Chinese tea house caught our eye on inner playa. It was visually stunning with its glowing lanterns and intricately tiled roof, whose tips curled up towards the sky. Jon and Greg decided to go in and hang out at a table. Michael and I continued on to Crossroads, telling the guys we would be back shortly. 

It was one more minute by bike to Crossroads. We parked our bikes and walked through the camp. They have a big stage where the Crossroads band plays nightly from Wednesday through Friday. They put on a fantastic show, playing a wide range of rock, funk, and pop covers, often having ten or more musicians on stage at once. 

 It looked like the show had just ended, but there were still throngs of people hanging out. We weren’t going to stop drinking at this point, so we made our way to the bar for a refill. We looked for Sabrina in the crowd for a minute, but our hopes weren’t very high - she could be anywhere by now. We didn’t have any luck. Drinks in hand, we walked back towards our bikes. Next door to Crossroads, we saw a line of people 30 deep, standing under a sign that read “Moon Cheese”. The camp serves grilled cheese sandwiches all night, by the light of the moon. I despise standing in line at Burning Man, where there is always another thing to do. But it looked like it was moving fast, and grilled cheese sounded amazing. We waited in line; it was only five minutes. “Told you it would be worth it,'' said Michael as we bit into the sandwiches, fresh off the press.

We made our way back to the tea house and climbed the stairs to a wide catwalk that lead into the main structure. The house was on stilts. We found Jon and Greg at a table in the corner, and joined them by filling in the two empty seats. It felt good to be off my feet. The space was beautifully decorated. It felt like being in an authentic restaurant. As a group our energy was low, but the mood was light and fun. It felt like everything had been working itself out, falling into place exactly as it should. We stayed for a while and talked, until we were ready for our next move. 

On this side of town, when in doubt, we usually ended up at Slutgarden - which happened to be one block over. We started the short ride down Esplanade, but we were almost immediately stopped by a young man in formal wear. “You guys want some champagne? We’re having a birthday party upstairs.” It wasn’t a tough sell. He pointed us across the street, towards a structure in the style of a Victorian row house. We walked around the back and went up a flight of stairs. The room we spilled out into was small, but uncrowded. A bar stood at one end, and opposite were two openings to a small balcony. A table on the side wall was decorated with trinkets: a plasma globe, a candelabra, and an antique telephone. We met the birthday boy, and one of the orbiting servers poured us champagne.

Always a sucker for a view, I broke away from the group and made my way through one of the balcony openings. I put my hands on the metal grated railing, and breathed in the cold, fresh air. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” I turned to see a woman next to me, sitting on an ottoman cube, with her back against the wall of the building. We started a conversation, and I eventually sat down on the floor beside her. Her name was Nora. She was from Ireland, but had been living in the Bay Area for the last five years. It was her first burn. She had tagged along with her younger sister’s camp. I could tell she was feeling like the odd one out, her campmates were all 5-10 years younger. She said that she couldn’t keep up with her sister, who could stay out drinking until 4am and be fine the next day. I told her that I was struggling in a similar way, feeling FOMO when my campmates were out without me. I need to have a good amount of time to myself, and I had spent a couple afternoons so far in camp, reading. She told me that she was recently divorced, and that she was beginning to see the world in new ways. No stranger to breakups myself, I understood that transition period well. It’s lonely, but you can make rapid, positive change. We bonded over that silver lining. 

I stood up. “I was going to go dance at Slutgarden, do you want to come?”. She said that she did. We walked back into the main room, and down the stairs. My friends were gone. We retrieved our bikes, and made the short ride over. 

Slutgarden is a sound camp, and sound camps on Esplanade are massive. The stage had a DJ booth in the middle, flanked by three stories of pink lighted shadow boxes on either side. The dark silhouettes of the dancers within swayed away on their fronts. The crowd was hundreds strong. Nora and I joined in at the edge of the dance floor. I’m not a particularly adept dancer, but she made us both look good. El Pulpo Mechanico, a steampunk style giant metal octopus art car, was directly behind us. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck each time the crew set off one of its tentacle flamethrowers. It was a magical moment, but it didn’t last long. I took Nora’s hand, and we set off for Burnhain. 

I had mentioned the club to her earlier on the balcony. She said that she had been to the one in Berlin, but only to the more mainstream section, upstairs. We rode the few minutes over to the familiar shipping container. It was late now, around 1:00am. There was just one bouncer outside this time. He let us in without any fanfare; I felt a little gypped. 

The club was still sparsely populated. We made our way to the dance floor and picked up where we left off. We got more physical dancing. We kissed as I pressed her gently against one of the mirrored walls. She was not a good kisser. I’m not sure exactly why, but the mood died a little. I backed off and danced on my own, talking to another guy on the floor.  After a couple minutes, Nora interrupted us, “I’m just going to use the bathroom”. I wasn’t sure where the night was going, but I followed along. We rode our bikes a block to one of the many walls of porta potties. I waited outside for a minute. Nora came out, and told me that she was going back to her camp for the night. She looked a little nervous, and it felt abrupt. I was offended that she didn’t offer an explanation or any closing remarks. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I hugged her and said that it was nice spending the evening with her. She biked away, leaving me standing there, confused. 

I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why, but I felt disappointed by the end of our interaction. It felt like I had a chance at something magical, but it slipped away. The opportunity to negotiate a course of action that could have turned this person’s night, or even week around, while achieving a sense of fulfillment myself. It took me a day or two to realize, but I had gotten lost somewhere along the way. I stopped listening and stopped living in the moment - focusing instead on some sexual conquest end. I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with that, but I don’t think it was what I actually wanted, or what would have been the most rewarding way for us to spend our evening together. I was trying to live up to someone else’s idea of a successful night out, or to the offhand macho challenge I issued earlier to my campmates. In an alternate universe, we would have ended the night somewhere quiet, and continued our vulnerable conversation from earlier. We each would have made a new friend. But not in this universe, where I ended the night feeling like a creep.

After that, I didn’t have the energy to go out again alone. So I biked the mile home, slowly on my tired legs. A couple lights were on in our living room, Jon and Michael were on the couches hanging out. Sabrina was fast asleep. We traded stories, each of us having missed the last three hours together. We were all dead, but we didn’t want to sleep yet. Greg rolled in not long afterwards, and Ali after him. We made them each give us all the details. It felt good being reunited after going our own ways. If everyone is to get what they need, that’s usually the way it has to be. I felt proud of them, and happy to be a part of the group. After a while, there was nothing left to say, and I excused myself to the hexayurt to sleep.