Tuesday - Getting Oriented

Our neighborhood from the watchtower

We got up well before dawn, and took a walk around our neighborhood to orient ourselves. Most of the neighbors we saw were asleep on their cushions in their shade structures. We checked out the 3:00 Plaza, and walked up to a tower that turned out to belong to a camp called Square One, from which we could see the sunrise spread light all over the city. We could also see the top of that camp which was built of a large area of roof tarps for shade, surrounded on all sides by shipping containers as a windbreak. That turned out to be a millionaire camp, with running water and flush toilets, but they served lunch almost daily so many of our camp returned there often. On our walk back we climbed up a vehicle on our street where some people were still apparently partying from the night before.

Atop a mutant vehicle

Hardly anyone was up in our neighborhood so early, or in our camp when we returned from our walk. We had breakfast and got on our bikes to ride across town, to an "interaction cafe" - a camp that serves no beverages, only "interactions" - for a workshop on creating meaningful conversations. Our way took us across the open area in the city center with curious art installations to admire, past the flamboyant gay district, and the famous orgy dome, which was not open for orgies yet but was giving some talks on consent, and showed us around their foyer or "garden."

The interaction cafe had chairs for only about 25 people so some latecomers had to stand or leave, but we were there early enough to sit and converse with many different people and practice some obvious skills for starting conversations and making them meaningful. I showed a young woman a laminated picture of Bernie that I kept in my backpack to ground me, and she cried because she also had pets at home. I related how Leia had found a poster in a porta-potty of a "missing cat": the cat is safe at home, but her owner was missing her. People had written supportive comments. Indeed porta-potties (affectionately referred to as "portos") were spaces for self-expression like anywhere else in Black Rock City, and one on our block had been converted into a shrine to David Bowie, with posters, an air freshener, and a speaker playing soothing water sounds.

Leia and I split up after the talk but we bumped into each other right away at a cafe on the road back for some iced coffee. I forgot my backpack there and rode back a few blocks to get it (not the only time that happened.) She went to get her hair braided and had an adventure on her own involving her bike pedal flying off her bike, and I rode back to our side of town. On the way I stopped at the Man to see the small art installation on "metamorphoses" they had at its base. Each day at 10:00AM and 10:00PM they put on aerialist performances there and we came back that night to see one.

I tried to attend a lecture on the geology of the black rock desert, but it was far too popular and crowded when I got there to even stand in the shade, and the lecturer was talking about hot springs and not what people really wanted to know: "What is in this apocalypse dust?" I guess the heat, dust, and hunger of the desert environment are a big contributor to the deep lows that enable the soaring emotional highs of Burning Man, where you inordinately appreciate things like an iced drink, piece of fruit, cool breeze, or getting even a tiny bit cleaner. I abandoned that lecture quickly and went back to camp to do my gaming shift.

Most of us volunteered for 3-hour shifts manning the camp and welcoming guests. I was there with L., E., and J., who all wanted to stay together the whole time, so we were way overstaffed. I took as my job to suggest games for people and play with individuals who walked in. L. had a loudspeaker and yelled at people to stop and play Twister or Jenga, and J. had a garden mister and offered to spray passers-by with refreshing minty water - she was the most successful at getting people to stop and check us out.

That afternoon, Leia and I went to the "foam dome" - a place where they'd offer communal car-wash style showers later, but was now serving as a large training hall for Zendo Project volunteers on how to help support someone through challenging psychedelic or other drug-related experiences. You have to get to popular talks early for a seat, and we didn't, so we squished up to the entrance. I wonder if they expected so many people besides the volunteers to take an interest. I eventually squeezed into a spot between benches and moved to a bench when one opened up, but Leia got tired of it and left. In two hours of training they talked about Zendo's principles and guidelines: for example they don't use the words "bad trip" - only "challenging", and they treat only medically and psychiatrically sound people and refer others to the emergency services. They presented some role-play of how they help calm down someone on drugs who wanders in.

The foam pavilion is across the street from the Hammer and Cyclery, a popular bike repair camp, where I took my bike to have the brakes examined. The guy rode off with my bike to test it and just when I started to get nervous he returned to say my brakes were fine but there was a clicking at high speed, which he treated with a vinegar wash of the drive-train and a fresh application of dry chain lubricant. Someone in the camp came by to give him and me a slice of fresh pineapple, and it was the best slice of pineapple I've ever tasted. Lots of things taste really good in the desert.

We wandered out after sunset and our freeze-dried dinner to hear some music and look at some art. On the innermost street there was a gladiator camp and we watched people in tutus and underwear try to knock each other off a raised platform with pink foam weapons. I yelled encouragement at them. It was Tutu Tuesday and Leia wore a blue tutu all day but most people didn't bother. They kept running fights until midnight so we watched the last ones on our way back.

Our ride across the playa took us past the Man and to the Temple, a larger wooden structure where people can leave notes, pictures, or memorials to burn. It's a bit like the Wailing Wall in that way. We walked around in there and read some of the notes and letters people left for their lost loved ones. A number of people wrote "fuck cancer!" on the walls. Leia cried when I found memorials people wrote to their cats. Someone had left excellent whisky and shot glasses to raise a toast to the man they were remembering, and I did with a couple of other people, acknowledging his fine taste.

We returned to camp around midnight pretty worn out from the hot day, our first full day at Burning Man.