‘Bucket list’ is corny, but for lack of a better description, I’ll just place my journey to Burning Man in the Nevada desert in that category. Years prior I thought I had a good idea about what it really was, but you know; ‘You don’t know, man, you weren’t there!’ Upon his return from the previous BM, my best friend in Amsterdam conjured up a riveting video of his adventures and over beers he convinced me to join his camp for the following late summer.
One week of settling in and prepping in San Francisco, staying with friends. Good fun. Then a mellow day drive to Black Rock City, reminding yourself to toss those preconceptions and just dive in. Gotta admit, even now, it was like nothing else. My best memory? Impossible. Too many to pick from. I can say that crashing that private beach and dipping my unshowered, dusty and crusty body in Lake Tahoe on our way back to SF was pretty special, as well.
I had brought my camera, because I managed to have a big part of my journey financed by way of an assignment I got from a publisher in London, who needed 5 specific photos from BM for a new photo book. Sometimes stuff just lines up perfectly.
