A Model Life!
By Rachel Alexander
Alive in the desert!
Photos by Taido Genmyo
Black Rock City, Nevada: August 26th, 2014; 6am.
!
I’m suddenly awake as the sound of rain is hitting our small tent with full force. Lightning and thunder are so close now I
jump up out of my sleeping bag. I didn’t put a tarp on last night because who knew it rained this hard in the desert? Now
Kenza is giving me a look that basically means – what the Hell were you thinking to bring me here? And she’s absolutely
right. We know what to expect in the urban wilds of New York City, but it is our first time camping in the desert, 3 hours
north of Reno. The middle of nowhere.
We were told by our camp leaders to bring granola bars and cereal, because that’s what we would live off of for the next
10 days. That baby wipes would become our shower and to get used to Porta Pottys. We are not at a Refugee Camp in
Syria but Burning Man, an art event and temporary community based on Self Reliance that happens once a year. The
adventure starts.
6.30am: The sound of lightning is getting so close I fear it will hit our tent any moment. Small drops of water are
percolating along Kenza’s sleeping bag. Vlam and Lazer, our camp leaders, run over to help me throw on the rain tarp.
“Here throw it this way” “Now hook it to the pegs.” Like Delta Force on a Middle East Mission they are fast and adept.
The mud is thick and sticks to our boots. It’s hard to walk and I get stuck like quick sand. I take a deep breath. This is
what I came for, to test myself; I just didn’t think it would be this extreme from the start.
7.30am: The sun is finally out and the warm dry heat feels good against my face. Kenza, my best friend on this journey, is
out of our tent and searching for food. We walk 50 feet to the left because we caught a scent of coffee nearby. “Hey good
morning friends! What a storm! Would you like some mint tea?” Three men call out to us from their makeshift yurt. We
are told to sit down and are handed hot tea with mint leaves and honey and homemade pita lafa’s with hummus. Our new
friends tell us they traveled from Israel. I feel like I’m back in my grandma’s kitchen eating olives, sweet figs, and hummus
as she tells me stories about living in a Kibbutz as a teenager in Israel. “We’ve been coming to the burn for 15 years” says
one of the men crouching down, putting the mint leaves in the tea. “Has it changed much?” Kenza asks. “Yes and no… It’s
much bigger now but the principles are still the same. To include everyone, to give to others.” And it’s true.
11 THE
CONE - ISSUE #3 - AUTUMN 2014