Once a week every year, for almost the last 30 years, a small section of Nevada desert goes completely insane.

Burning Man, the mecca for a menagerie of misfits, was held last week in the middle of the Black Rock Desert attracting party-goers from all across the globe, From as close to San Francisco to as Far as Tasmania and Belgium, to do one thing. But what is that one thing?

They say that no two people go to the same Burning Man, it’s sheer size turning it into the third largest city in Nevada during it’s operation. Over 60,000 people venture out into the dusty void, each one “Welcome’d home” at the front gates of the playa. Even for those who’ve never been before, this welcoming becomes a premonition. No matter who you are, anyone who can survive the week-long experience out there in the dust will tell you that they had been transported to a completely different world where the absurd is accepted and expected, the weird is welcomed and wanted.

Being in the middle of nowhere, those who wander onto the playa, affectionately called “burners”, have to provide the entire weeks worth of survival supplies themselves. Aside from ice you can buy and water they can provide, the protocol on the playa is “radical self-reliance”. Everyone is expected to bring their weeks worth of water, of food, of shelter, of booze, or extra-curricular activities. There aren’t any 7-11’s nearby, with the next closest hint of civilization 10 miles away. In addition, vehicles are allowed for only two purposes: to get in then to get out. To get around this pop-up city, you’re expected to either book it on foot or bike it. Although some bikes are provided for rental, that, too, you are expected to bring with you.

It’s a desert full of nothing but micron-small dust, an inconvenience the burners wear as a badge of pride, of proof. There’s a saying out on the playa, “The only way to keep the dust off of something is not to bring it, and even that doesn’t work.” It’s harsh, barren, dry, and beautiful. But it isn’t for the landscape that the droves drive in for, it’s the people. It’s for the life that springs out of the tents and the trailers. That’s when you find yourself fallen into Wonderland.

During the day, people wander the avenues between different campsites, many of them themed. It isn’t unusual to stumble into the “Barbie Death Camp”, finding the “Telephone to God”, being pushed towards the “7 Sins Lounge”, or sipping on a cup of “Scarbutts Cafe” coffee.

Just outside the circle of camps is the open playa, scattered and strewn with colossal art installations. Many are interactive, climbable, playable, glorious, and gorgeous. You may enter a building to “re-experience your birth”, find a 50 foot tall naked woman made of mesh chicken wire, or the coup-de-gras, enter “The Man”, a neon-cloaked, temporary, five story structure made entirely of wood that is burned to the ground in a fireworks show at the end of the week.

But the real experience at Burning Man comes out when the sun goes down. Suddenly, thousands of lights and colors burst through the flat darkness. Giant art cars slide across the playa, each one meant to carry people from one experience to another with each car being an experience in itself. One night, you may find yourself inside the belly of a giant land shark complete with a fully-stocked bar, another night you watch a giant dick skating through
the darkness towards a car topped with a blue neon-outlined Viagra car, the next you’re trailing behind four-foot tall cupcake cars put-putting into the distance.

It’s impossible to not get lost when the biggest, brightest landmarks have legs.

But the real treasure behind Burning Man, the chest freshly buried in the desert, is the people. Most wearing next to nothing, many coated in LEDs and electroluminescent wire, leather chaps and neon pink parkas, the outer cocoons do no justice to the beautiful butterflies of personality that lie beneath. You meet the accountant from Newark wearing a Christmas tree that owns a fire-breathing hamster-themed bicycle. People stop you in the middle of the road just to offer you a shot of Patron and a comfortable chair to sit and talk about the possibilities of string theory. You become so close to the woman you distractingly crashed into in the middle of the dark that you ask to marry her, having your wedding at the next Burning Man. All of these stories are true, and none of them is surprising to hear about.

To the burners who last out the week, it’s hard to say you didn’t leave a piece of yourself in the desert, if you didn’t find a piece of yourself there. So what is that one thing? As a new burner myself, I can tell you with confidence: you have to go there to find out.