I walk lost in the desert and find myself in the middle of a sandstorm. There are times when the wind dies down and I can make out silhouettes of unknown architectures, of strange vehicles and other people who I imagine are looking for a way out, or maybe, like me, just a direct form of contact with nature and an unusual landscape. Night falls. I hear music and let myself be drawn into it. Suddenly I can make out a multitude of lights and colors that light up what seems to be a ghost town far away. I get closer and notice that down its streets walk people with unusual clothing, as though they were in costume, while others are naked. Right away I have a strange sensation, as though I were on another planet. It’s as though my eyes were suddenly presented with a reality I’m not used to, made of very special people who live happily, in harmony and mutual respect. Where creativity and each person’s own skills play a vital role for the collective good. Where money is no longer of any use and people seem to be content with what they have, enjoying the art they find on each corner of a space where there is usually nothing. So I ask the first person who passes where I am, and with a smile he responds, “Welcome to Black Rock City, the city only a few people know.” Then he hugs me tight and right then I realize I’m not dreaming and that I’m where I’ve wanted to be for so long: at Burning Man.