Wild Borderland
Credit: Mads Lundgård
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.
Nestled in the valley like a Nordic-themed dreamland sprung from the minds of its co-creators. Our new home is surrounded on all sides by woodland, with tall bushy ferns that sway in the wind, rooted in the fragrant earth. In the distance lies a sapphire-colored lake which welcomes bathers daring enough to brave its chilly temperatures. People flock to it in the morning for a traditional bracing Scandinavian dip. The warmer afternoons are spent exploring eclectic camps that snake through the high grass to the edge of the forest. Its woodland paths come alive with soft lighting in the cold nights, taking wanderers on enchanting adventures.
In late July, I travel from the heat of the Southern European summer to lose myself in its cool Swedish wilderness. I cross the “Border” and enter the land, diving into a parallel world where the only currency that exists is play. Borderland (BL) is unlike any other Burn I have been to (and this would be my 15th). More than a Burn, it is an incredible week-long social experiment in participative immersive theatre. I would later learn that BL has its origins in the Live Action Role Playing (LARPing) community where players roleplay in a fantasy realm. Which made a lot of sense.
On arrival, I feel like I’ve landed in a Scandinavian version of Lord of the Rings. A young Gandalf-esque wizard walks by, barefoot and wearing a huge grey felt hat that curls at the end, hiding a cascade of hair and beard. A snowy-haired Danish woman emerges from a caravan and beckons me over for tea and magic. An elfish-looking man with a thick ginger beard runs out to help me carry my bag up the hill. I find a shaded spot for my tent under a beautiful tree at the edge of the forest, unaware that ticks endemic to Sweden lurk in the grass.
I have come for build week, and all around people erect solid wooden structures that they have spent months dreaming up and pre-constructing. A church (of sin), a spaceport, the walls of a future spa and sauna. Beyond the main drag, a fairytale castle is being raised on the hill. A fortress complete with watchtower offering a Birdseye view from which to contemplate our newly built kingdom. The pace at which people work seems purposefully slow, and the site keeps on transforming daily well into the week with new spaces to explore. Back at my camp, home to the 6* hotel Jean-Luca that we would collectively build, I meet my new family. Apart from a handful of international campers, most are Scandinavian with many regular Borderlings.
The weather forecast for the first days is rainy. I wake to its sound on the roof of my tent and, pulling on a raincoat, make my way down to camp for build. The Jean-Luca will offer Victorian, Nature, Abstract and Womb rooms, the latter complete with red décor and waterbed. There are no set shifts for kitchen or other duties. Like the rest of BL, the camp is run as a do-ocracy and everyone chips in in a convivial way, often breaking into loud Swedish folk song. A Nordic horn hangs above the reception, and one of our campmates blows into it like a modern-day Thor to bring work to a close. Expectation doesn’t quite match reality as the pitch is off. Out of nowhere, a neighboring camper appears upstaging him with a horn five times the size to the hilarity of all.
Night falls and the wonderland comes to life. The soundstages are nestled deep in the woods. We take a magical walk to the Muumimaa stage, inspired by the Moomins. A family of white, round fairy tale characters created by a Finnish illustrator. The trees twinkle with fairy lights on the enchanted woodland path, and the fresh smell of fern permeates the cool night. We delight at hidden boxes on-route where one can take and leave gifts for other wanderers. The Moomin family are trolls living in a world characterized by softness. As we approach the dimly lit soundstage, we are met with the smiling faces and embraces of our fellow Borderlings. Like the Moomin, we are immersed in a world infinitely softer than the one that exists beyond the gates.
I am joined by one of our virgin campmates, and we leave Muumimaa to hit the backstreets and quieter camps. As we explore, we talk about the principles and I try to convey the awesome power of a place where everyone is free to be their authentic selves and gift to others. At first hesitant to give in to play, and adamant against any fancy dress, I would see his transformation during the week. His serious and uptight exterior progressively chipping away.
The next day, I thumb the JOMO guide with its dizzying range of workshops. From practical classes in welding, to theatrical affairs like BorderLARP classes or the true Viking warrior quest, to the downright bizarre such as the Public Poo-formance (more on that later). There are few actual art structures on show, but performance art is all around us. Everyone stops to play, in full character. Of note is a heavily mustached man who does the round of camps to feed the rumor mill, announcing daily events such as polar bear and penguin fights.
After a meditative woodland walk, I explore the site. The quiet camp area offers morning coffee and an array of chilled experiences. One of the most memorable is the Inner Cartographer’s Club with its gorgeous maps of the minds exploring philosophies from different parts of the world. The maps are presented on a leather-bound book with pages made of ancient parchment. A world atlas of thought through time and space. I recline on its plush cushions and while away the hours in workshops on soul and psyche.
I then go on a mission to find one of the BL Regional Contacts. The fallow pandemic years have resulted in a baby boom, and some are now camping in Kidsville catering to the many families on-site. In heavily accented Swedish, he explains what makes BL unique. While there is a core group which deals with general event administration, it is entirely run by its participants who co-create realities (practical aspects like the temple of release toilets) and dreams (the whimsical camps and experiences). This is based on community decision making, the so called Advice Processes. This is the first year that BL takes place on this land, now bought as its permanent home. This was an arduous process as one of the organisers shared “it took a core group of around 40 people to find and purchase the land (Alversjö) over 2 years.” Though there is a strong creative Burner community in Stockholm, some part of Blivande a participatory working space, there are few art structures. Performance art and camps are the main pull. There is also no large effigy or temple. The latter does not resonate with the mostly atheist and individualistic culture.
As the week progresses the antics accelerate. Keen to challenge myself and participate in the non-stop BL theatrics, I enter a pet Olympics competition for Master-Pet Borderling duos. As the contestants line-up, I realize how fierce the competition is. Masters present their “pets” to thunderous applause. Far from an amateur affair, the performances are well-honed. A randy “bunny” is covered in whipped cream and veers off-course into the crowd in the agility test. The crowning moment goes to the hyperactive “monkey” who breaks free from his leash and climbs up a 10-meter tree. Letting out a shrill mating cry, he beats his chest with his fists. What a show. The contest over, we accept our runner-up loser spot with grace.
Borderland is not for the faint hearted. That evening one of our campmates, heavy set with a thick bristly beard, arrives with a wild boar in tow. It has been hunted by bow and arrow and will be served as a hotel feast. In Viking fashion, the boar is tied by its legs to a stake at the camp entrance for the meat to be curated in the sun. We have entered full Game of Thrones immersion. People pass the camp gawping at the scene, and it isn’t long until the boar has to be covered.
The Burn provides a no holds barred environment of radical self-expression. Nothing is taboo at BL and that is part of what makes it so liberating. Further afield, the tongue-in-cheek Patriarchy Lounge transforms into the Bastard Bar where the staff will insult you. And then there is the Public Poo-formance which smashes all boundaries. Participants are invited to poop into a crystal platter in front of a crowd, right in the village green. The victor is crowned to raucous applause and an epic film soundtrack. Wild. But while BL invites us to leave our comfort zone, consent is taken extremely seriously here, ensuring a safe and respectful environment.
Before we know it, Friday is upon us and the outlandish reaches its zenith. I pass a man dressed as a werewolf carrying a (toy) bat-topped scepter, another juggles comically with a double sided dildo and two balls. I am intrigued to find a the world’s smallest miniature bar has appeared under a ground-level tent structure entered from the waist up. I dive to the floor and into this Alice in Wonderland-esque world. Inside, sparkling soft drinks are served in tiny glasses, with colored sprinkles added for good fortune. We toast and cheer, moved by the intimate experience. The miniature bar is a long-standing BL institution, and this is its last appearance. I feel fortunate to have made it for final orders.
The madness peaks as we enter the lakeside Tiki Bar floating on a raft, run by the Tropical Goths. It hosts workshop where participants stare at the lake in black clothes under a black umbrella, while the same The Cure song plays on repeat. As we approach, the sun dips in the backdrop and the sunset sky reflects in the lake’s smooth surface. Dark-bearded Goths are gathered in formal wear for a snail race. Three snails are placed on a silver tray. Bets are placed and patrons loudly egg-on their chosen snail to race towards the finish line, incentivized by salad leaves. Who will be the winner of this bizarre twist of a Derby? Patience is required to see the race through, and we move on before a victor is proclaimed.
Back at the hotel wild boar is being served on a silver platter by a shirtless waiter with ram ears and a bow tie. He turns around and it is the virgin burner – apparently no longer opposed to fancy dress. “Only the finest service at the Jean-Luca,” says the legendary hotel manager with a wink. The night is bitterly cold and a heavy mist hangs over the entire campsite blanketing the top of the huddled tents. The summer nights are short, and the sun rises at 3 am coloring the mist with a pink glow. The mystical looking tree I am camped under has been selected as a treehouse. I climb up and the view takes my breath away. In Norse Cosmology all beings live in Nine Worlds in the branches and roots of the world-tree Yggdrasil. Up in the tree in the stillness of dawn it feels eerily magical, the misty woodlands alive with Nordic folklore.
The next night has a softer energy as we process a week in this land. We go to the castle for the closing ceremony. The drought means there is a fire ban. However, a fire ritual did happen at the last BL in 2019. A man in a fireproof suit played a piano that was set alight until the flames devoured it completely. Though there is no burn this year, fire spinners put on a show that lights up those around us. We observe their faces, part of a 2,000-person family with which we have shared unforgettable moments. There is no burn, but we feel the intense warmth of those connections.
An arm gently snakes around my waist. The virgin burner who was so guarded earlier in the week gives me a hug, thanking me for helping him open up to this experience. This is what the Burn does best, it creates bonds between people and moves us deeply. As the event draws to a close, the foxhole soundstage is rocked by electricity created by the people - including the first-time burner in a sequined red blazer - in this final night of abandonment where we give our all.
The next day we work as one to dismantle the hotel, ensuring we leave no trace of the dream we created. We then say our emotional goodbyes. Although we were strangers a week ago, the amount of living we have done has bound us tightly together. We leave with hearts full from a time spent on the border of reality and dreams. Here we became real-life characters in the ultimate LARPing game – finding a place where we can finally be our authentic selves. We take its teachings with us.
Oh Borderland, wild wild Borderland.