It’s been barely a week since I exited the dusty gates, and my days and nights are still filled with playa dreams. It is hard to put into words what we lived out there. After 8 BRCs (and close to 30 burns including Regionals) this was to be my “last BRC” for a while. Not the first time I’d tried to break up with the city… But then the playa took me into its arms like an old lover and held me close, reminding me why I could never quite let it go.

After 2 difficult weather years — which some say was “good for our culture” — and on the heels of a further 2-year pandemic hiatus, the playa blessed us with near perfect conditions. Long warm days, blue skies and hardly a speck of dust. Candy floss sunsets and flaming sunrises. Still and cool neon-powered nights.

It felt like we were finally back, the energy at an all-time high. Smiles at every stop and a shared sense that we were living our “best burn ever” gave free reign to unforgettable connections. In this space time warped, stopped, accelerated — and as the week ended, the playa gave us its greatest lesson.

 It is a rare thing to simultaneously get the Burn you want and the Burn you need.

 You win playa, I’ll be seeing you next year.

The aftermath of Burning Man 2023 has felt stranger than ever. Several weeks on from “Mud Gate,” I was still dreaming about Black Rock City. This was my 7th time at BRC (and 22nd Burn counting Regional events) but switching back to “default mode” has been particularly slow. Though I was on playa for two weeks, and the mud lasted around three days, answering so many questions about the so-called disaster amplified it in my mind. As an aid worker I’ve worked in some of the most dangerous places on earth - so why was there more interest in my safety now?

The car jolts as we wind our way down the road to Nowhere. Dust rises in the blistering heat, shapes blurring like a mirage in the distance. We are deep in the Monegros desert, close to the site where many famous Spaghetti Westerns were filmed given the similarity to the American Wild West. A perfect setting for a place that feels like the final “Burn frontier.”

I’ve found that most Burns have an acclimatization phase. It takes a couple of days to fully switch off from the default world. Nowhere is in a league of its own, its wild antics grabbing you by the shirttails and pulling you in immediately. As we arrive, overheated greeters welcome us, taking us through an initiation ceremony that ends by crawling through a rabbit hole. And just like that I am sucked into the Nowhere dimension. A mind-boggling jaunt through a city free, fluid and feral, where rules are not only bent but pulled out by the roots and razed to the ground. This would be my third time here, but nothing could quite prepare me for what I would find inside.

Afrikaburn. A world that is dusty, rocky and raw, deep in the Tankwa desert, where 8,000 people gather every year. During the week, the otherwise tranquil earth rumbles with sound and a stampede of feet that dance with abandon. Stages pump out music that take hold of the senses from every corner of the playa, as thousands throw shapes against the Tankwa night.

Letting loose through a potent mix of partying, bright lights and sound systems provides an outlet for many, especially in a difficult social context like South Africa. But it is too easy to get lost to the deafening decibels. I want to turn down the volume and peer behind the dusty wall of sound, shedding light on the experience that may be overlooked.

I invite you to break away from the madding crowd and join me on an exploration of art and local culture. Connecting to a community that stands for change, for burning down the old and bringing in the new. I want to amplify these voices — lest they be drowned out. 

Every year the Black Rock City Honoraria program supports artists in creating art for the annual Burning Man event in Black Rock City, one of the most awe-inspiring art experiences in the world. But beyond the Nevada playa, many established Regional events, regardless of size, offer art grants to participants.

Through these grants, event organizers in the Burning Man Regional Network do something that is missing in our default world, unleashing a creative flow that breathes cities of art to life. It allows incredible feats of architecture to be undertaken yearly by artists in some of the most unforgiving environments on earth.

Midburn. A return to dust. But instead of white powder blowing like wispy dancers across the Nevada plains, the sands of the Negev Desert shift like golden tides over tall dunes. Dunes that are made to be explored wrapped in thick desert scarves, that we journey through like pilgrims in search of adventure. At sunset the wind picks up and creates a mystical Middle Eastern scene, thick earthy sand swirling heavily around us flanked by distant Bedouin villages.

I could not imagine what lay ahead. Challenging beginnings gave way to deep moments of connection and transcendence. Lost to a parallel world dotted with whimsical art, secret Berlin-style underground clubs, and ancient ceremonies. Here I let the journey be my guide, giving in to flow and love with an open heart, not knowing where it would take me. I would ultimately unlock a new level of self miles away from home.

Holding hands with my playa family while the man burst into flames, the dancing fire reflected in our eyes, our hearts full from an unforgettable week of fun and adventures. This was the ending I was expecting after three years off-playa. I couldn’t have imagined that I would be leaving early in the midst of a tragedy.

Some think of Burning Man as a non-stop celebration. Post-event Instagram feeds are crammed with picture-perfect shots, beaming happy faces and gorgeous art backlit by glorious sunsets. But underneath all that joy are the invisible stories of exhausted bodies and minds, broken hearts, failed projects and connections, and past and present grief being processed. The underbelly of an 80,000 strong city living the whole gamut of human emotions. And it is in this space of hardship that the real beating heart of the community shines through.

This time last year - for the second year in a row – most of us sat at home and experienced Black Rock City through a screen, or via a headset as an avatar in the multi-verse. I remember the rather unceremonious burning of a miniature man built by one of my burner friends beamed into my living room from the other side of the world. We half-heartedly cheered from our respective zoom windows, reminisced about playa times, before closing our laptops shut and going to bed feeling nostalgic and deflated. These were strange times indeed.

But after this extended pause the time has come to go home. The Regionals have led the charge with Burns already taking place all around the world. Rather than weakening the movement, this enforced hiatus has done just the opposite. We have burned all the brighter. I was fortunate to step back onto the Burn wagon and go to two incredible European events, Nowhere in Spain and The Borderland in Sweden this summer.

Borderland. The Swedish participant led Burning Man that epitomizes communal effort. A Moomin-like playground in the woods, where trees are enchanted, and miniature bars spring out of the ground. It is also a land where Vikings compete in epic duels, boars are skinned with expert precision, and participants let go of their deepest inhibitions - however wild. After a 2-year hiatus, it is back in full force and I have come to take part.