Opening the doors to the melancholy of goodbyes. Wake up as soon as possible, gather all your clothes together, shoes that will be forever sand colored, leftover foods all over camp, bottles, bottle caps, anything that is not dust must be picked up from the ground: all that biodegradable trash that exhales an indescribable scent lost in between rotten and putrid, empty your air mattresses or furniture, roll over blankets, sleeping bags, take down all constructions, tents, art work, put aside all construction materials and food supplies that can be reused to donate at the festival’s exit doors, help your friends and be helped.
And now comes the hardest part. Find room for all that inside the vehicles, and still leave some for the passengers. By the last day everything looks so dirty that your cleaning concepts are based on sorting out objects with much and little dust. We’re all hit by an immense desire to go home and take a long shower, put on some clean clothes and come back to our new routines to wonder about all that’s passed on these nine brilliant days. I’m sure that if we could we’d all stay longer. However the event’s duration is perfect: Short enough to not loose direction, and long enough to permanently mark our memories.
Yes, we will all long for it, but that’s not all you feel as you leave BRC. Everyone leaves a piece of him and herself in that desert, even those who are never more to return.
This artistic self-expression experiment goes beyond the physical and mental effort of facing the desert’s extremes, it goes further than those feelings of abandoning prejudice and inhibitions, freeing your inner demons and making all your deepest fantasies come true, it goes higher than spirituality and it’s deeper than the nine day isolation; it’s the simple encounter between you and the faith you have in yourself.