Diary: Dust storm creates ethereal experience
7 p.m. Thursday
The once-elusive neighbors are misting the fine silt off their bodies. Everyone is covered. The white-out came this afternoon, announced itself fully, then took a break, returning later with foot-level gusts. Tiny grains of sand pelted dusty ankles and anything else in the way. Moving rapidly across the desert floor, it swirled and spat. Revelers welcomed the heaven-like imagery.
Goggles distort reality. You’re there, but not there. Burners pass by in fluorescent beachwear, out of context on the barren earth. Sculpture and installations dot the play. The white out returns. There is little visibility. Collisions between bicyclists are left to chance. Always.
The playa becomes a massive alkaline dust cloud, swallowing everything. We can’t see 10 feet in front of us. Goggles are dusty. Tiffany disappears in the storm. I hear her bike bell. Art cars are stopped. Shadowy figures appear out of the grainy air in swimsuits and underwear, masks and goggles. Then suddenly, a swing set. Bicycles are spilled around it. Burners soar gracefully through the air, clutching metal chains.
9:10 p.m.
Waiting for the wireless connection gives us cabin fever. We missed the 9 p.m. launching of the flaming organ that follows last night’s flaming piano that was catapulted into the air.
As a devoted Bach fan, the amusement would have been bittersweet. Had it been a harpsichord, I would have walked to Gerlach in tears. Nobody has said anything about launching a flaming men’s chorus into the air. Perhaps it ended with the organ.
10 p.m.
Zach and Tiffany were outside when a neighbor approached and said that our generator fumes were bothering his pregnant wife. Pregnant wife? At Burning Man?
11 p.m.
Still pursuing an internet connection. Zach wants to upload his video. The IBM Thinkpad I was given for the trip has failed me. Who knew Windows 98 wouldn’t succeed in 2007?
