Why I don't REALLY miss Burning Man...

This is an interesting article that I stumbled upon about bringing your Burning Man experience into your real life.

Do I miss being in the States? People ask me this all the time, and I honestly tell them that I miss some things: I miss the desert. Arizona is incomparably beautiful and I am saddened the further away from it that I get(distance is not always measured in miles, but a combination of time and the chance of return). I also miss the communities that I was a part of, mainly, my outdoor community (SCC et al) and my Bay Area Community (Burning Man and RWB- even though not all of these people are located in or around SF, I still mentally locate them there). So, yes, there are definitely things that I miss.

HOWEVER, one of the things that I do not really miss anymore is Burning Man itself, and the minor treats that are associated with it. This is because I have pulled my real life into that creative space. I began to do that years before I even went to Burning Man, but when I started going to Burning Man I got a little swept up into the cultishness of the place. I had never been around so many people who thought like me, and who I felt free to play with. I had never felt so at home. Eventually I began to believe a very dangerous mistruth: that the place was special, and the community was special. No, that is not exactly how I want to word that, because they were special. There was a magical resonance that vibrated between us for many years. They are little-prince-rose special. But they are not special in the way that no one else, and no place else, has the potential to be like them. Burning Man was a great idea, but it is just that; an idea. It is not meant to be confined to the playa, year after year. It is meant to live, and breathe and grow. This means taking a piece of the idea home with you, and implementing it into your everyday life.

This was something that I touched on after my bike trip at the beginning of the month. I realized that the entire world is like a giant playa. We are constantly wandering around, and if you choose, you can make it your goal to find the best parts of humanity, and the most intriguing art. You can go and play. Every city, although not temporary, deserves to be lived in and played with. I think that many people take their cities too seriously. I know that once I have lived in a place for awhile, I do. However, being in a new place, and a place as large and complicated as Istanbul, one cannot help but see that the world isn't nearly as serious as society has lead us to believe. Strangers are not as scary as our parents told us that they were. They are here for us to interact with and live with. Otherwise, what is the point to life?

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning I decided to go to church. Of course, I don't really go to church as I don't practice a religion, but I decided that I needed some private time to concentrate on my insides. So I went down to the waterside with my guitar and a book, and I spent all morning in the gentle sunshine and wind, playing guitar. It was the most pleasant morning that I have had for some time. People came and sat close to me for a song or two, then meandered on, never actually interrupting me. Then I finished reading, "Invisible Cities" by Calvino, which is overly appropriate for starting as exploration of a city as multi-faceted as Istanbul. For awhile I watched the spray from the waves made by ferries crash against the docks, and then I watched the people around me: young couples, old women with and without dogs, with and without roses, young men, old men, boys selling nuts. No one had anywhere to be or anything to do. I loved it.

But the thing about this park that struck me as most queer is the variety of trees: pine, palm, birch, oak, and others that I cannot recognize, all in the same park- growing in clumps together. It is like the diversity of this city cannot be stopped from even permeating the flora. 

Whatsoever

Doubt

Doubt creeps in through the cracks. Doubt creeps in through the moments of silence. I wanted this post to be about boys, and about loves, but from the first keystroke it has swollen; it expands and becomes general. Generally, doubt creeps in. Doubt in myself. Doubt in the world. Sometimes I have doubt in the perpetual motion of this ever-expanding universe. I guess that the creeping, sneakiness of doubt is fair, because faith creeps in on the same silent paws. The thing is that no one ever exudes the stealth of faith. But it is there, side by side with it's counterpart, practicing the fine art of surprise. Faith creeps in. It creeps in through the cracks, and the dark, silent nights. Faith is borne in the shininess of the moon, and the bright streak of a falling star. Doubt is the scar that the star left behind. Doubt is in the memories; the bright burns behind closed eyelids that you cannot quite touch. Faith is in the future; it lives on the tongue and in the toes. Doubt is a dark, still place deep inside that I am afraid to feel around in for the chance that I will become lost in it. Faith vibrates around the body like a seaside breeze, raising the hairs.

Doubt and faith are smoke and spirits. They have no power. They cannot touch you. They can not strangle you, and can not save you. But we give them power. We let them guide us, pulling us along like docile, harnessed ponies. We bow to them. Faith and doubt. We compose ourselves of them. Faith and doubt, desire and fear. They build. They grow and multiply until everything is significant and solid.

Sometimes I just want to exhale, just for a moment, and unwrap all of these layers of possibility and live just in the now, and feel just the here. No past, no future, no inside, and no outside.

Just breathe. 

Arrival

It is never the way that you imagined it, so I never bothered to imagine it at all. Imagination can be useless in these situations. You imagine arriving in the city the way that you first did, with the sun peaking red and the minarets piercing the dawn. You imagine a city brimming with hope, potential and possibility. And what good does the imagination do when you arrive and actually the clouds are bursting up, and the dawn is a watery gray, and still there is hope and possibility but of a completely different, unfamiliar nature? Reality sometimes sits too close to the imagination, and they create a creaking dissonance that is better not experienced. Sometimes it is better to go in blind.

And so I went in blind.

I came here without a real idea of what it would be like. I forgot the vastness of this city. I forgot the men on the streets, with dark, piercing eyes and mischievous smiles. I forgot the sights and smells and sounds. I forgot how it crushes and suffocates, and on the other hand how you feel like you are flying. I forgot it all and I experienced something altogether new. I experienced a vast city, with men on the streets with piercing eyes and mischievous smiles. I experienced new sights and smells and sounds. I experienced an altogether crushing, and suffocating and yet uplifting sensation. It was a great arrival.

The only thing disappointing was that I somehow got into my head that I was special. I fell in love with this place, and so I up and decided to live here, and I thought my idea was unique. Landing in a hostel FILLED with erasmus students is a little disheartening. I see so many people had the same inkling, and I am mirrored. I never like mirrors because they are so very distorted. I am nothing like them. Nothing :)

A Meta-Vacation along the Black Sea

I originally intended to come to Turkey at the beginning of September. I thought that I would take a train over on the first, and spend ten lazy days doing nothing until I had to register for school. Having a single lazy day this morning I realize that it was a terrible decision, and I am lucky that my friends had to bump our vacation forward and I stayed in Bulgaria to the fullest extent of my possibility.

Last week we completed part II of our Black Sea adventure on bikes. It started last year, surely imagined over beers in the bylato or the firehouse, and taken too seriously by Maria and myself. I enjoy people who take ideas too seriously; those who think that thoughts and ideas are silly in themselves and actually turn them into experiences. For the most part I think that has been why Maria and I have gotten along over the past two years. We talk less and do more than those around us. Anyways, I wander in my thoughts. Last year was 10 days from Bourgas to the Turkish border, and it was lovely. Three of us went together, with no experience between us, and came out the other side feeling cranky, tired, sun-weathered, and overall happy. Of course we needed to repeat the adventure. So, this year we grabbed another friend and we went north.

I felt much less connection with the sea this year. In the south we rode for a little way each morning, through the woods, and in the afternoon we drank beer and laid on the beach. Every morning we repeated the ritual of coffee and breaking camp. It felt like we had forever down there, and I was quite happy. This year we spent much more time on our bikes, going less distance. I think that this was mainly due to the cooler weather, the wind, and the lack of cover. We were exposed the entire time, and it wore on me. I wanted to go further, faster, and overall  I could just not admit that I wanted it to go on longer.

Many times during the week I found myself irritated, and thinking that it didn't matter. The irritation mattered as little as the individual pleasures. Everything would weigh together in the end and in 5 years I will not remember the time that maria said this, or eva said that, or gigi pulled a leroy jenkins. I will only remember that one summer I went on a trip along the northern coast of the bulgarian black sea. It will be positive, because it was an experience, and so I surrendered to the pull of averages and tried to let go of my taut emotions.

 The trip started with a failure. I left my lover's bed at 5 in the morning to take the train from varna and meet up with my fellow riders. Unfortunately, the train broke down 1 stop away from our connection to the north, adding 2 hours and a disproportional amount of exhaustion to the first day of our trip.

 After riding for two hours on a weirdly open but pleasant road we came upon this very communist-era statue, overlooking nothing. By nothing I mean absolutely nothing. A bit of grass, but mostly turned fields of dirt. It was queer and classic for me, but I quickly learned that my fascination in communist style sculptures does not echo at all in my modern Bulgarian friends.

 And then, over the hill, there was the sea. We spent two evenings camping at cosmos, although one would have been plenty. However, the first sight of it was a beautiful reward for the year.

 The second day we continued on to Shabla and Tulenovo, which was gorgeous. There was a perfect cave to camp in, a fire to be had, a new friend to meet, and falling stars to watch. The moon was huge and orange and everything was quiet and perfect. I think that it was my favorite night.

And a favorite night was followed by a favorite day. We went to the nature reserve, "qlata." There was some serenity that seeped from that place and I wanted to sit there and meditate for hours. In a moment I realized the importance of ritual (I am older now and so really I remembered the earlier realization) and I decided that I need to form rituals. I have been floating without rituals for way too long.

The last two days flew by, and I actually ended up leaving our company early, just to get some actual beach time and a last night in a bed with my boy.

Overall the trip was not bad, but it was not spectacular. I was constantly gnawed by the thought that in the states burning man was happening. I am not even sure that I would still want to go, but I kept thinking that every vacation is like burning man. We look for the creative parts of society, the beautiful parts of nature, and strive to make connections with people. Actually, that is not vacation as much as it is life, I suppose. 

Nis, Serbia

I was right, thinking that I was not yet able to just let go of whatever fear I am harboring and travel freely. I am definitely still one of those captured, safe souls. I wonder how much of my need for planning is really a need for security and how much is actually a distrust in other people. As much as I seem to trust people easily, I really do not. I live as I think any woman does, as much as we don't admit it, in a constant state of aroused fear. So, hitchhiking to Serbia was an experience for sure. It was exhilarating, when we were not waiting on the side of the road for 2.5 hours for a ride, watching hundreds of half-empty cars go by. But we eventually got a ride, and I was eventually let out of Bulgaria (after half an hour of threatening severely to not let me back in), and eventually we got to Nis. Once there the matter of finding a bed became more important than saving money or traveling within freedom. So we enlisted the help of my phone and found ourselves an adorable little hostel called, "Art Hostel." We snuggled up for the evening, as young lovers are apt to do, and didn't leave our bed until well into the morning.

I wasn't overly impressed with Nis, which says a lot, seeing how I am quite an easily impressed person. It did have an excellent park, which is inside an ancient fortress. It is one of the amazing things about Eastern Europe: seeing history just spilled without care all over the present. Unfortunately, the entire city was covered in trash. Bottles, paper, and dead animals dotted every tucked away spot that might be pretty. I wanted to believe that it was just because of the jazz festival that we were attending, but I know that it wasn't. It just has the feel of a city that is too large and too small to be cared for.

The one thing that they did incredibly well was the food, especially the meat (says the ex-vegetarian). One of our evenings we went to a traditional style restaurant on the center, and stuffed ourselves full for about 11 euro. Their peppers were spicy and full of flavor, and their meat was indescribable. It was bliss for an evening. In the morning there were very cheap sausage sandwiches or burek with spicy peppers. A girl could not ask for much more in the way of food. AND their lytenitsa (hot pepper sauce) was actually hot, so my world began to make sense, finally.

Nis is maybe most famous for its skull tower, so we decided to go see it. I am not sure what I expected from the name "Skull Tower," but the way it is advertised I went in with my heart high and in a completely touristy mood. I was wrong to do so. It was very sobering to see this grotesque example of memoir. How these pieces of history persist I am uncertain. I turned melancholy for the afternoon, trying to wrap my head around concepts of pride, and war, and all of the evil things that humanity does to each other. I was angry that this tower was the prime tourist attraction to a city. I felt that it should be private, if it needs to exist at all; that by selling souvenirs the entire concept is cheapened, and turned into nothing more than the blockbuster violence that we all crave without understanding. It took at least an hour before I moved on (please hear the sarcasm and sadness dripping from that statement).

On our final morning our hostel-keeper gave us a shot of schnapps to go with our coffee and we were sad to leave, maybe not the city, but the time that we had created there. Hopefully there will be many more creations in the future.