Like a vision, like a mirage, clad in wind and dust, the city of Black Rock emerges out of the vast white plain. Seething. Throbbing. Pulsating with life.

It's 9 am, and I've just turned the car from the small town of Gerlach down the last stretch of bumpy road towards Burning Man. My ticket says: You voluntarily assume the risk of serious injury or death by attending this event. I'm happy to take the risk. I've been looking forward to this for months. No. Years.

Ira, a smiling man in his 60s from New Jersey, dressed from head to toe in a funky neon orange outfit with matching face paint, is my greeter. As is customary, and since I'm a "Burn Virgin" (meaning that this is my first time at Burning Man), he commands me to exit the car and either ring a large bell, or roll in the dust. But he strongly encourages me to do both. And with that, I've been baptized as the newest citizen of Black Rock City. I'm now part of the world's largest temporary community.



The first task of the day is obvious - finding a spot to camp. While due to Black Rock City's massive space that might not seem like a particular challenge, finding just the *right* spot however is. My two campmates Sarah and Aaron and I drive around for about half an hour, until some stranger in a sarong jumps out into the street, lunges through the driver's side window, and yells: "Welcome! Welcome, darlings!" We decide we found our spot.

Setting up camp however comes at a higher price. Ceaseless gusts of wind drive ultra-fine alkali dust (also known as "playa" dust) into our eyes, lungs and skin. Within minutes, we resemble flour-coated versions of ourselves. Scrambling for cover, we try to figure out a design for a camp that will shield us from wind, dust and heat.

The first two attempts fail miserably. The tarp we try to string between our two 12-foot tall lodgepole tripods and along the ground as a wind break behaves like a giant sail and rips the ropes right out of our fingers. Hoisting it up as a shade cover has the same cruel effect. I can sense the Playa Gods pointing at us and laughing hysterically.

Finally, on third try - success. Those two 10-ft "EZ-shade" canopies I brought along are set up in the blink of an eye, the candy-cane rebar driven into the hard playa turn into immovable anchors. But the tent is a setback again. My Ridgeway is too large to set up in these harsh conditions, and gets mercilessly blown around.

I curse this desert. I curse my decision to have come here. And I start to question if this trip was truly worth it. My eyes are burning, my lungs draw in more dust with every breath, my hands are raw from the alkali and hammering rebar into the ground. I have a strong desire to quit, to return to safety. What sado-masochistic bastard would come out here for the sake of - fun?, I ask myself. Goddamn Larry.



Moments later, I discover something unexpected. Something that seems to permeate the people of Black Rock City, is ingrained in their very fiber. The survivor in me. I'll be damned if I give into this wind and dust, I tell myself. If 38,000 other people can do it, so can I.

Hours later the wind subsides a bit. Enough to venture out on the bike, explore this mythical place I've heard of so much of. I'm happy to be here now. The city is vast, much bigger than I ever envisioned. I see the first open display of carefree nudity - three guys, jumping around on a trampoline, laughing and hollering like children. They seem completely oblivious to the fact that anywhere else in the world, people would have shielded their children's eyes from this sight, would have called on them to put their clothes back on, or at least would have shaken their heads and declared them insane. Here in Black Rock however, three naked guys jumping on a trampoline can be considered the most normal thing in the world - barely warranting a glance.

As night falls for the first time on the fully assembled city, the desert comes alive with music and light. A throbbing heartbeat unites its citizens, an almost unimaginable array of flashing lights in all colors, shapes and forms illuminate their smiling faces.

This night my sleep is deep, fueled by utter exhaustion. I dream of colors and faces in absurd constellations.

Part 2