The Burning Man festival takes place every year in the
Nevada desert. I had heard a few stories about this phenomenon over the years,
I understood it to be a drug and alcohol fuelled hippie orgy where everyone
wishes it was the 60s. Each person weirder than the next all trying to be
creative displaying their art, vibrant hair colour, and face tattoos. So when I
found out that there was a Korean equivalent I was hardly in a rush to attend.
It was only from speaking to Josh, James, and Susie, who attended the festival
in 2013, that they managed to convince me to go. Josh described the event as
the best thing he did in Korea, and the best festival he had been to. Josh and
I have been to many Reading Festivals down the years and so his claims were the
tipping point. I was in.
Preparation for the event brought my commitment into doubt.
You cannot buy anything at the event; no food, no alcohol, you can’t even buy
water. You must bring your own supplies into the camp beforehand. Even so, I
reluctantly agreed. Through further research I was told that there would be a
gift exchange throughout the event with the other Burners. If you met someone
and you felt generous enough to give them a gift you can. It’s all about love.
Christ, these hippies are testing my patience! I can’t buy beer all weekend and
then I’ve got to give shit away to these free-loading tree huggers!
This year’s gang included Susie, Somi, Karl, and I from Seoul and Michael from Masan, but due
to all of our different schedules we arrived at the festival at different
times. Susie went alone on Thursday and I joined her on Friday afternoon. Upon
arrival at the camp I was greeted with a “welcome home!” by one of the free
spirited organisers. Welcome home? I’d just turned up to campsite with no beer,
if that’s home then I don’t want to be there. Before letting you in they make
you recite their 10 rules and bang a gong to announce your arrival, and
everyone cheers like a cultural ritual. “Radical Inclusion! Gifting! Communal
Effort!...” Doing so made me look and feel like a twat. Too much noise, let me
walk in quietly unnoticed. I haven’t mentioned it yet but the event was
organised by Americans, but you could tell that already, right? If the event
was run by Brits there’d be a guy half-drunk sitting in one of those camping
chairs and he’d say “Alright mate? Bogs are over there, kettle’s over there,
and don’t act like too much of a knob. Have fun.” And that is what I want.
Anyhow, the tent was pitched and I was in need of a drink.
Susie and I opened the supplies to find that between us we only had wine and
rum with no mixer. It was decided that we’d mix the two together using the wine
as the mixer. Smashing idea. Don’t judge me. Later Karl, Somi, and Michael arrived and we
enjoyed the first evening.
The next morning came around and I felt terrible, not
because of the alcohol (I felt surprisingly good after an odd cocktail of rum
and wine that tasted like Vimto) but because of the mosquitoes. Jesus, I’m not Rainman but I must have been bitten 200 hundred times, that’s not even an exaggeration.
Stinging and itching I made do with a wet wipe shower. With all the red dots on
my body I must’ve looked like I had been shooting up with Kate Moss the night
before.
At a hippie fest such as this one there is no rest for the attention
seeking earth lovers. To my astonishment, blurry eyed from the night before, a
woman completely naked walks through the campsite. Bollock naked… well, muff
naked I suppose. I had to double take. Not so long later another nudist, this
time less exciting, a man. Even so, for some unknown reason I couldn’t stop
looking. I don’t understand naturism, you’ve got to be drugged up, or a nutter,
or a drugged up nutter to be into that and I couldn’t work out which category
these hippies fell into.
Saturday was another day to enjoy the festivities, music,
dancing, football on the beach, and of course drinking. I got to say it was a
good day, I didn’t even have to use my A.K.
The night fell and it was time for the main event, burning
of the man. It was a big, rather impressive spectacle. I have no idea if the
burning was meant to symbolise something, more than likely considering the
number of “artists” there but it was still entertaining. The build up included
drumming shows, fire displays, and unintended fireworks. No matter how good or
bad the final act was it couldn’t have been worse than the opening ceremony of
the World Cup.
Despite my original qualms about the event and even through
some/a lot of negativity I still had a really good time. Was it the best
festival I’ve been to? No, far from it. Being eaten alive by the hundreds of mosquitoes,
not touching a drop of beer all weekend, missing the World Cup quarter finals, being
surrounded by hundreds of weird hippies, and having to give stuff away for
free. I’m pretty sure the festival’s not suited to me and I’m not suited to the
festival. But never say never.
