Burning Man Archives - La Colina Project

A beautiful lotus growing in our pool

Currently more of a pond…

Jungle Journal

Death of a cone, birth of a Temple and…

November 4, 2024November 4, 2024
by Beave

The Friday morning after burning Coney Mc Coneface is brutal. We are at Burning Man , deep in the black rock desert. It’s hot and dry and we are all feeling decidedly average after a long night of emotional release & celebration. We have one more job to do. Clean up the burn site.

I drag my sorry self from my trailer armed with boots and gloves and cold beer. I drive towards where I think there used to be 60 foot cone. It’s hard to spot. It takes a while before I come across two of our hardiest souls with shovels. They are patiently watching the still burning pile of ash and metal. I grab a tangle of wire and realise that I am being way too keen. It is still very very hot. It becomes clear that the boys are wise, we clearly have to wait for the fire to burn itself out for a lot more hours before we can dive in and remove ground anchors and fill our buckets with the blackened bolts and less hot rigging.

I gratefully and selfishly leave the chaps out in the sun to watch the ashes cool down and return to my bunk. I slip into delicious and much required unconsciousness.

When I emerge again I discover the crew have rallied and cleared the burn site and are now resting up and looking ahead to actually going to the event. The population of the city has grown in anticipation of the weekend. Saturday the man burns. Sunday the Temple.

We all somehow dig deep and muster our energy. Further dust storms come to bugger up our day but we make it through. We meet our friends who have brought Pulpo Magnifico to the circle of art cars behind the masses waiting for the man to burn. Pulpo is in great form and gathers huge numbers of new and old fans as it lights up the crowd and the sky with its flame.

In previous years the man burn has taken a lot longer than planned It is common for more stubborn parts of the structure resisting the flames for a long time. This takes some of the spontaneity from the experience as everyone waits a little too long for the last posts to fall. This year there was no such issues. After a truly world class pyrotechnic display there was a blinding fireball that somehow takes the entire structure down in what seems like no time at all. Perfect.

Sunday is far from a day of rest. From first light our strike crew are preparing to take down the no longer required Media Mecca and I am required to be all over the process. By late morning much has been packed away . The main strike happens Monday morning but we have made a good start.

As the evening comes we are treated to home cooked food and we congregate onto our deck from where we have a good view of the temple. The Temple of Togetherness is an impressive structure. We have watched it rise slowly and majestically from the desert over the past weeks. Quite stunning and large. The temple holds a special place in many hearts. It’s a unique temporary non-denominational sacred space. Thousands of tributes , memorials to honour the dead and the chance to let go of emotions that are no longer useful. It is burned in silence as a symbol of release and forgiveness. We were the crew that built the largest Temple of all time ( so far) in 2011. The Temple of Transition was one of our proudest achievements. Just as we see the orange light of the flames the dust appears. A wall of dust . We watch the surreal glow of a burning temple through this veil. It adds a ghostly element . It is quite beautiful if not quite the plan of those who created it.

Monday morning arrives. I can hear frantic activity outside from inside my trailer . It’s about 8 am so that confuses me. Since first light the strike boys have been awake and working. The main area bar, the walls and the floor have already been dismantled and stacked in the container. The deck is down. It’s amazing the progress. We are lucky to be all over it as we see the mountains disappear behind a dark & huge rolling cloud that just keeps on coming. Our trailer “The Growler” is a basic trailer from the 1970s that I love. It’s simple protection from what the Playa throws at you. It might leak a little in the rain but we don’t expect much of that. This year we finally found an aircon unit that works so now it is fully upgraded. Jayne is far less impressed and is forever trying to break us apart. She wants a new clean posher version. I am not persuaded.

As the thick dust fills the air and it becomes impossible to survive outside we all find safe air to breathe inside. Inside the Growler. Our two person trailer now has a dozen people squashed inside. We bring all our remaining refreshments and make the best of it,…. for a full seven hours.

We reappear into the comparative dust free air and resolve to get the hell out of this place as fast as we can. Thankfully we are not one of the many thousands of folk who left for Reno this morning and were hit by the storm. No one can move in storms like that. They close the gates for safety reasons. We hear tales of poor buggers who took over 10 hours ( instead of the usual 4 ) to get to Reno.

It takes some effort to pack up and prepare for opening the trailer and container again in a year’s time without too many surprises. It’s Tuesday morning when we head out. It takes no time to get to the road and we are in Reno within a few slow and silent extra hours. We sleep and bathe and shower and bathe and shower until our bodies are finally revealed from under the layers of sweat and filth. A large group of freshly scrubbed survivors meet up and consume industrial volumes of Sushi before failing pathetically to stay awake past 10 pm.

The rest of the week its taken up with meeting up with what is left of our crew. We don’t need to say much, we all have thousand yard stares and occasionally shake our heads in disbelief at what we have all been through. Amazingly we are still all good mates, we have paid our bills and no one died. We consider this a complete success. There is even talk of future projects. This is my time to leave. Quickly.

Mexico embraces us home. Our Mate has kept our home from falling down and Mausetrappe has not starved. The rivers are still worrying dry but the jungle has overtaken all our space. Two casitas roofs and one kitchen roof have collapsed but that was inevitable and overdue. It’s rainy season and we can actually watch the fully refreshed jungle grow. A slowly increasing quantity of Fire flies seductively flash and blink as the sun drops below the canopy. It’s good to be back.

Our artist friend Leanne has been here the whole time. She has devoted herself to completing the mural she started many months previously. After only a couple of weeks work what she produced was remarkable. It started as a simple mural project and somehow morphed into an absolute mission to capture the beautiful vast chaos of her creative vison. It’s hard to explain what six months of her time can manifest. Best to just look. You can stare mesmerically at this kaleidoscope of images for a very long time and still miss some jewels.

It is not long before my mind is invaded by stupid ideas again. I keep them to myself. I’m hiding out in the jungle in a fabulous period of intentional antisocial behavior. I have no compulsion to talk to anyone. It’s tough enough to explain my life to others when I feel like it. When I don’t it’s impossible.

The rain arrives. I have seen a lot of rain here and when it comes we know it really comes. The volume is stunning even by Mexico standards. Late at night I venture outside and it’s like walking into a waterfall. The rivers fill up and restart flowing strongly again for the first time in a couple of years. This is great news . Our aquifer will be full and so we are a lot less likely to run out of well water in May again. The jungle loves it and makes extra effort to overgrow everything. It takes a great deal of machete work to get our space back.

After a few weeks I cannot contain my stupidity any longer. Kiwi and I have been chatting a little. In 2017 we had an over ambitious idea for a temple and pitched it to Burning Man. We spent a good amount of time in New Zealand trashing out specifications and budgets and designs. The concept was to create a Temple 4 Peace. This temple would feature within its design all the words for peace in every language along with symbols of peace from around the world . We would offer every regional burn event the opportunity to contribute artwork showing their representation of peace in their culture. Collaborative artwork from iconic Burning Man artists would be featured. The extraordinary Earth Harp would be strung from the structure to a purpose built raised performance stage. It was an unique and ambitious collaborative project.

At that time the ridiculous scale of what we were proposing and our ambitious budget scared them off and our offer was declined. We have now decided to offer a much paired down version. We will remove the 150 foot tower and lower the huge arches 20 feet. It is very possible that our more humble version will be accepted . We believe that the time for a collaborative temple for peace is perfect. The only way this will happen is if I go to New Zealand and spend at least 10 days thrashing it all out again.

Sad news. My good friend Munk has died. He was a memorable DJ and bloody good bloke. He was way too young and full of potential but his and his many friends hard and real attempts to exorcise the alcohol from his life ended tragically . We shall miss you ya magnificent bugger.

So I arrange to leave a much wetter Mexico behind .. Jayne will stay in Mexico and further recover. It’s been an overwhelming year so far. She will appreciate the space to restore and rest. I also need time and space to reset. I will get to see family and friends in the UK on the way there and back. I prepare myself for a lot of travelling and get my head in the game to construct an irresistible temple proposal. Here we go again.

I arrive in London late afternoon and hire a car which I drive as far North as I can before I can’t anymore. I check into a cheap hotel just South of Leeds and remarkably find it impossible to collapse for the night. Despite my absolute bone aching exhaustion after 50 minutes solid sleep I am awake and unable to sleep again. At 6 am I am still wide awake and outside the nearest Greggs Bakery to order a bacon butty and a steak bake. I have been fantasising about both since I left the UK many moons ago..

I collect my daughter Suzy from Leeds and we drive to Lincolnshire to see my Mum for the first time in many years. It’s good to catch up. A pub lunch of my first proper fish & chips for years is paired with a few pints of Guinness. This empowers me to drive Suzy back home and head North to Darlington. I haven’t slept properly in days and it’s a struggle. I eventually land late and meet the usual suspects in my mates bar. It’s been about three years but it feels like last week. Same faces, same beer same craic.

Compulsory Sunday lunch is arranged. More than a dozen of my mates turn up. First time they have been together for a while. Its good to be the catalyst. A perfectly acceptable lamb dinner is also paired with a number of pints of Guinness. A few post lunch pints in the pub and this near perfect Sunday ends perfectly. A bath with candles,. A glass of Chardonnay and a pile of Sunday papers. Pretty much my favorite place to be. Life can be splendid sometimes.

Before my flight to Shanghai and onwards to Auckland I am treated to the wonder that is a Weatherspoon’s chain pub in Rochester Kent, many times . Another day of driving but worth it. My mate takes me with her girlie pals to imbibe of more Guinness and sample the cultural delights of Medway. She is keen to point out that they have castle ,a 600 year old cathedral and the second oldest school in the world. Also quite a lot of pubs and Guinness so I am very content.

By the time Shanghai happens to me I am pretty done in. On the flight I manage to sleep for 12 minutes 12 times in 12 hours. About an hour into the flight my body collapses and gives way to a good old fashioned British flu. My joints ache, my nose is streaming and when I finally stop coughing it’s replaced with sneezing. I have a towel over my head to keep the germs in. It’s not pretty.

It was in fact brutal. On arrival I discover that it is not possible to get to the airport hotel I booked to recover in as I am in transit for 9 hours . This is bad news. On my way to the transit terminal I am marched past a line of judgmental uniformed women with resting twat faces. Not a flicker of joy from any of them. They are the medical security team and looking for diseased people. I suppress coughing and sneezing but they collar me. They shout at me about having a fever and at one point I realise that I’m being detained. They don’t speak English which helps. They are very distracted and don’t seem to know what to do with me. I help them out. At the first chance I get I walk confidently away and don’t look back. Somehow this works . I am not on my way to some Chinese clinic for the diseased.

There is no WIFI to speak of at the airport so I can’t encourage any sympathy from anyone, The Chinese government has shut down all social media so WhatsApp and Facebook are out. The though of my nine hours layover nursing my man-flu ( the worst kind of course) in this very clean but deserted and soulless terminal is frightening. I still have my now unspeakably grotty towel to soak up the endless stuff that is now falling out of my face uncontrollably.

I wander the empty terminal in snotty despair . After a while I pass the executive lounges. The staff are arguing with some German blokes who are trying to show them evidence that they are allowed through their doors to access all the nice free stuff. Curiously none of the airport staff seems to speak English well enough to be understood so German is absolutely beyond them. I take advantage of this chaos and walk straight past them into the lounge and sit down like I own the place.. They are too nervous to approach the big sweaty bloke with a disgusting towel so I stay there. For nine hours.

I manage to nap a little bit and take full advantage of free food and Chardonnay. My flu is getting worse and I am coughing and sneezing enough to be scary to others. The endless Chardonnay helps. Another bonus is that there is a noodle chef on duty. There are practically no other passengers in the lounge so she is my personal noodle chef . By the time my flight to Auckland is called I’m stuffed with noodles and Chardonnay and flu. Could be worse.

After a torturous twelve hours of thick soupy samey time our wheels hit the tarmac at Auckland. I rent an oversize truck at the airport head North a few hours to Dargaville. A colloquial farming town that seems to be from another time. I will come to love it. The journey is interesting as the sun sets over the thousand shades of green that is the New Zealand country side. I am knackered but feel that this is the place I need to be. I have been in the country over an hour and haven’t had a cheese and steak pie yet. I resolve myself to mend this discrepancy. First fuel stop I find I pull in, and of course, find a bakery section with a pile of pies. There are a dozen varieties to choose from but its late in the day so the steak and cheese are all sold. I start my pie journey with one pepper steak and a further mince & cheese version . It is fabulous but I still hanker for a classic steak & cheese. That is an important mission for tomorrow.

I arrive at Kiwis place late and find he has sorted a very acceptable space for me at the end of his modest cabin house. He has cleverly stuck a caravan to the other side and that is his bedroom. It’s very functional for a bloke or two. The middle bit is a kitchen and an “office” where we will spend a great deal of time. We open a bottle of chardonnay and get straight into it. Shall we build a temple ? Would it kill us to build a temple ? Why would anyone build a temple? We have to find how much money ? Are we actually insane ? These are recurring questions we ask ourselves daily.

It’s a few days of research and a many more bottles of chardonnay before we get into the actual application process. We call all the architects and engineers we know to persuade them to knock us up some technical drawings to demonstrate we are not just making this up. We are actually offering to build a real and large real life building. If we were doing this commercially it would take us many months. We are grateful we put so much work into this in 2017 . If we had to start from scratch it would not be possible. We have to press the button and send this application out on November 15^th. That is no time. Only three weeks away.

Dargaville has a number of pie shops. I have done my research and have my favorites but feel compelled to give all pies a chance. I am averaging three pies a day. Mostly steak and cheese but occasionally I will go wild and have a seafood or kidney . I always revert back the old classic. So I am fortified with pie and wine and spend hours thrashing out a lot or words and numbers. We are in a continual loop of design and budget and explanation. I am sort of waiting to find out the very good reason why we should not be doing this. Worryingly I haven’t found that reason yet.

This is the propsed monster from 2017 we are pairing down to a more humble challenge.

It has taken a day or two but both Kiwi and Tony, the only two people I have interacted with so far , are also now down with the lurgy. The three of us are wheezing and coughing like dying possums. We all take negative Covid tests and resign ourselves to the horrors of a good old fashioned British flu. It’s ugly. We have named it Tourette’s flu. We take it in turns to cough and spit and sneeze interspaced with loud filthy swearing. Swearing is a big part of it. It makes the misery just about bearable. I should be feeling guilty for infecting everyone but am too full of self-pity and pies.

After a week of work while continually whining & whinging about our health we are getting somewhere. The story sounds good, our concept is well explained. The final design has appeared and our collaborators are lined up to join us. The challenge is to produce five sexy and informative pictures to go along with the application. We are a bunch of old traditional buggers and entirely out of touch with the modern ways of the world. We are relying on others to transform our pencil drawn designs into CAD images that can be rendered into sexy pictures. Our equipment budget extends to pencils and rubbers and pencil sharpeners.

So our next step is a frustrating one. We are waiting on others in faraway places like Vancouver and Reno to send us CAD drawing and then we need to find those clever buggers with rendering skills to transform them. My work here is done for the time being. Time to move onwards. Need some precious space to mediate, fall off the world entirely for a while and catch up on some much overdue writing. Seems like good timing for that.

Jungle Journal

A little madness now and then …..

October 26, 2024November 3, 2024
by Beave

This blog is very late and there has been a lot going on these past five months. I am currently in New Zealand but that is a tale for another day. There is more to tell than I can possibly capture here but have done my best. It’s taken a lot more words than is usual for me so I have produced this offering in three parts to make it an easier read. Chance to grab a cuppa or a kip in between chapters.

PART ONE

Preparing ourselves to Build Coney Mc Coneface

It seems like forever and a day since I had some time alone to reflect and perchance write about a few of the many strange occurrences that have featured in the last few months. Our return from Africa in May gave us a short but delicious rest-bite from what had already been a hectic year. Our attempts at reducing our pace and reconnecting with the more sustainable rhythms of nature were wise and overdue but not entirely successful.

Our remarkable friend Catherine who has been living with cancer for a long time finally and peacefully died. Her complete acceptance of her impending death was extraordinary and inspiring. Thankfully her pain levels were managable but her constant discomfort and vanishing body and energy were tough to witness. She was a legend. Universally loved. Always dressed in white and surrounded by animals that she rescued and cared for. We were with her to the very end. It was humbling and somehow rather beautiful. We all have this in our future. May we all face the inevitable with such poise and grace and gratitude. We will forever miss and love her.

Our relationship with a future sixty foot traffic cone (that we have agreed to build and burn at the Burning man event in Nevada in August) has become somewhat overwhelming. There is so much to pre-arrange months before we have to even cut wood. The days of turning up and throwing something together have gone. It’s a real and involved process. We have to deal with huge volumes of people and rules months in advance. Lots and lots of dos and donts. It’s a full time unpaid job .

We have to imagine how we will support, feed and keep alive up to thirty cone-struction volunteers in the potentially extreme harsh environments of Reno Nevada (where we will build the thing) and The Black Rock desert (where we place it and burn it) . Our architects have drawn up the highly detailed plans to create what is actually a rather awkward shape . If this thing is going to look like an actual traffic cone rather than a bunch of wood in the rough shape of a traffic cone it will require good skills and adherence to fairly tight tolerances. It takes some thinking about and a whole heap of time.

Our core crew are not new to this and include some of the most experienced folk there are. But we are getting old. We need to attract a younger more enthusiastic crew who are keen and reliable and have knees and backs that don’t hurt as much as ours. Our search begins with contacting all the dozens of previous deluded lunatics that have gone through this with us in the past. They then talk to their lunatic friends who in turn talk to others. Through websites and fundraisers and general gossip we have over a hundred serious applications from all over the world to work with us for no pay & terrible conditions, indefinitely, to build and burn a traffic cone. Many lunatics from the past and an encouraging amount of new lunatic wannabees appear. We spend what seems like every moment trawling through and considering all our offers and coming up with a chosen few. We invite the lucky buggers to join us in Reno and also in the desert for the event. We announce the Coney Mc Face Crew. It’s happening.

Our first serious set back is that finding a work space in Reno where you can make noise and vast quantities of sawdust with space to cone-struct a 60 foot behemoth of a traffic cone is an almost impossible task. With a lot of help we consider a dozen options but non of them have the access or shade or facilities we need. We have to start building soon and all the folk that claim to know all about industrial space in Reno are drawing blanks. After a huge amount of begging and schmoozing and pretty much at the last minute we have an offer to take up 2000 square feet of newly created space in The Generator in Reno. This is an excellent worker space with tools and air-conditioning and bathrooms and a kitchen. Despite having to take a worrying chunk of rent from our meagre budget we have no choice. The Coney Mc Coneface project finally has a home.

John is a mighty bloke in his 70s living in a van in the Coromandel in New Zealands North Island. He has agreed to be the first on the ground and fly to the US to prepare our work space and order us up some wood. This is his first time in Reno and his first Nevada Burning Man. He is met in Reno by old friends who show him around. We have our first US fundraiser in Reno to which he attends as guest of honour. It is a burlesque show where all the proceeds go to help us with build costs. John is a well travelled and a generally wise old soul but for some reason had no idea what a burlesque show was. He assumed it was a sort of circus event. He was both delighted and surprised at how the evening progressed. A good time was had by all and we raised a not insignificant amount of cash. Good start.

Over the following weeks further crew arrive from New Zealand and Australia and various US States . Its time so I book my flight to Reno for the next ten weeks. We will fly up to Oregon and drive to a friends place on a lake in Washington for 4th July then to Vancouver. From there I will fly to Reno and Jayne will spend a month in Canada with family before joining me. This will be the longest time we have been away from the jungle. Our artist friend will stay and continue with her mural and is joined by a very capable mate from California who is in need of escaping the USA for while. He moves into our place to wallow in the delights of jungle isolation and feeding Mausetrappe until we return. Timing is perfect.

Our first stop is Bend Oregan. Our good friend has a house there which is full of boy toys. One of which is a large converted bus called Cerberus. It has had many adventures over the years and is going to carry us North to an iconic and now quite infamous party on a lake to celebrate something. We load up and head out. It’s a relaxed and comfortable five hours of cruising in an very cool bus. We stop to acquire oysters and sample local brews on the way.

We arrive at a camp ground next to a huge lake in Washington State. This weekend many hundreds of folk are expected to arrive to celebrate something. We are hosted in an extraordinarily beautiful house overlooking a lake/fjord. No camping for us ! A large number of lunatics have arranged to meet up here, which they do every year, to celebrate their independence from my adopted motherland. This party is much spoken of and we are exited to be here. I’m delighted we removed ourselves from these colonial lands at the time so no hard feelings. We will happily celebrate with them.

It is a hectic few days of playing on the lake and hanging out with strange and wonderful folk. The day of the 4th arrives. During the day we have all been to the Indian reservation down the lake where it is possible to buy strangely branded boxes of preloaded fireworks. We all got a bit carried away and have all accumulated an insane amount of them. A larger throng of mates have now arrived. They all camp in the site next to us around the bus. Most are crew from Burning man so there are enough skills between us to rig all the massive pile of boxes , morters and rockets. They are secured to a 30 foot long old battered wooden dock on the beach in front of the house.

When this now vast setup is lit there follows on overwhelming amount of explosions and colours reflected in the water for what seemed like an eternity. It was stunning but seemingly endless. Ther are competing displays up and down the lake as far as we can see. . After what seemed like forever the bangs and crackles and lights became slightly less frequent. When they finally pause we retreat to the big house for further refreshment till late. We have just watched enough dollars to run a medium size country go up in smoke. Quite something. My first ever July 4th in the USA. Sometime after midnight we are surprised to hear more fireworks exploding close by from the beach . Probably kids. We look out and see a 20 foot flame coming from the deck. Its setting off the straggler explosives that didn’t go up first time which are in turn helping to set the deck further alight. We race down to extinguish the flames with buckets of water from the lake. The deck survives.

After a day of recovery and clean up we head by ferry to Seattle for a night wher we meet some mates from Mexico. We head to our other mexi-mates trendy and sexy restaurant and have a great feed and catch up. The next morning we wake up in our hotel in full panic. Our alarms have not gone off !! Neither of them. It’s not the expected 7.15 . It is now 8.02 am and our train to Vancouver is leaving in 26 minutes. We still have no idea how this happened but by 8.15 we are in a cab on the way to the train station. Our cabby is aware of the challenge and excitedly ignores all traffic lights and cones and speed limits. Somehow he proudly deposits us at the train station by 8.24. We drag our bags at top speed and wave ourselves through the ticket booth onto the platform just as the staff are walking away. We dance forward and throw ourselves onto the train as the doors are closing. We made it by less than a second. Remarkable performance. We are very proud of ourselves and mighty relieved.

The train journey up that coast is gorgeous. It’s a number of hours of relaxing and imbibing the view. We arrive in Vancouver and head to Jaynes brothers house. Everyone is at work so we do washing and prepare ourselves for what is ahead of us. I’m taking a 6 .30 am flight to California in the morning. Jayne is staying in Canada with her family for a month and meeting me in Reno for the end of the build and our transition to the desert. We get organised then cross the street and head to one of the many Vietnamese restaurants around us. A Vancouver treat.

We meet up with Phil and Kelly and kids as they all return from work and school. We take bicycles to the local park and spectate a few of Phil’s ultimate frisbee matches . It’s a weary ride back and a welcome few hours rest before I’m in a taxi and on my way to San Francisco. It’s somewhat of a hectic start but I need to get used to the pace of things to come.

PART TWO

How to Build a 60 foot traffic cone

I sleep on the flight until I touch down at SFO and get a bus from the airport to across the city and the bridge into the Northern suburbs . The bus deposits me in some random industrial estate where i call an uber to take me to a friends house where it has been arranged I collect a my mates truck which I get to use till he arrives in Reno in six weeks time. I set off on the 4 hour 20 min ( sat nav estimate) drive to Reno. Seven hours later I am still on the I-80 outside of Tahoe exhausted but committed. I roll into Reno in the dark a few hours later and finally get to meet the first of the crew. It’s emotional. Haven’t seen a bunch of these idiots for years. I have shared a lot of unique and somewhat extraordinary history with these buggers. Kiwi ( lead artist) has finally left New Zealand after Covid. We met in a dust storm 14 years ago and life was never the same again. I’m absolutely knackered but we stay up late refreshing ourselves and talking shite. A much needed start. I have a good feeling about this lot.

We are perhaps one of the poorest projects to be at burning man this year. No big funders or angel investors. We have faith we can make it work but absolutely no assurances. Because the majority of our crew are from overseas our costs are high. We are housing most of them at our great friend Thundercats family house in town where we have staged tents and hammocks in the yard and mattresses on the floor. He is a crazy bugger having us all but is a splendid chap and taking it all in his stride. Its like a respectful student squat house but very cheap. We have scoured out the cheapest food and alcohol stores and do our very best to stretch every dollar. The fridge is stocked with Chardonnay and ribs. All good.

With the build now underway we have regular wood and materials orders arriving daily . Our pot of cash is not looking encouraging. The project, it has to said, is creating waves and interest from all over the world. The humble traffic cone has a place in the hearts of many more souls than I ever though possible. Social media is buzzing with images and cone related cone-tent. Our intensions by choosing a traffic cone to build have been open to a great deal of speculation. There have been long and protracted philosophical stories created. There have been dozens of AI images, poems and songs. There is a great deal of traction building but so far this is not translating into cash. Raising money for art is hard. Raising money for a large traffic cone we are going to burn is almost impossible. If we run out of money we have a half built cone and a hungry crew in Reno (all very far away from home) to deal with. No pressure.

The very good news is that we have the right crew at the right spot at the right time. That doesn’t just happen. We are working smart and hard . The universe is certainly conspiring with us at the moment. The build is coming along remarkably well. Local boys turn up to help us out and keep things moving along. Large sections of recognisable cone are emerging . Long may that continue. A couple of Australian mad men Jai & Ben have arrived and are all over it. Young , strong, high energy with a bunch of smarts and skills. A rare combination, but we are lucky enough to have them. So the start is encouraging and no one is in the mood to kill anyone yet so that’s good.

Every day starts the same. I wake up in a hammock or on a mattress somewhere and consider , after imbibing the correct amount of Yorkshire Gold Tea, how we are going to get through the day spending the least amount of money. Some days are considerably better than others. In days gone by we were able to support crew with endless treats. Reno is now not the cheap run down place it used to be. Reno is now a bloody expensive run down place. Since the pandemic, casinos and restaurants charge a fortune and close early. It used to be possible to stay in a cheap 24 hour casino hotel for $25 and live off KFC and PBR for a few dollars a day. Things have moved on. You are lucky to get any sort of grotty hotel room under $150 and to my great astonishment the local KFC tried to charge me $48 for a single bucket of chicken !! I can amazingly and fortunately get a dozen bottles of cheap Chardonnay from Trader Joes for that. Downtown bars are charging over 5$ for a PBR in a glass. WTF. The world has gone mad.

Reno life settles down. More Crew arrive from Mexico and slot in well. Scott is the skilled carpenter that built our jungle house. We intend to absolutely abuse his skills. Josh arrives. This year he is blessed with two good arms (He buggered himself up last year on a one-wheel). His missus has now has banned him from even looking at any vehicle with less than 4 wheels. The tent city in the yard is looking like a refugee camp. Extraordinary sounds are being produced. Audio skills are delivered in the form of a talented cheesemaker from Vermont. Ross correctly specifies the optimum equipment within out budget. We acquire it all. Our mate from Seattle has worked with her mate (Chat GBT) and we now have a couple of dozen multi-genre unique songs all about cones. They are surprisingly catchy. A raging irish pub ditty followed by a rap track , country classic and a choir anthem. All AI generated. It’s sadly impressive.

The soundtrack to our build has so far been the soulfully haunting drone of the didgeredoo-cone. Our antipodean contingent have skillfully attached a large traffic cone to a pipe to create a functional didgeridoo. We find bee wax in the local market to make a mouthpiece and the Cone-didge came to life. The acoustics from a well played didgeridoo inside a 60 foot cone can only be imagined. Exciting potential when we get out on the Playa.

We have been given a space in down town Reno to help with our fundraising efforts. We need all the help we can get so gratefully accept. There is a retail space in Reno Public Market (RPM) where we can place a few of our cone sub structures and promote the project. We decide to run a raffle and have crew on site every day. There is a big screen where we can play video and AI animation cone-tent to further raise our profile. We transport huge sections of cone down to the RPM and guilt parents into donating cash while their kids paint them for us. Ours is not an easy story to tell but we make enough of a fuss and just enough cash to make it worth it. It took some work but we are now somewhat infamous if not entirely understood. We are building a huge traffic cone in a desert. It’s not obvious why.

As the days turn into weeks more of our piles of wood turn into more round solid structures. Huge and very heavy sections of cone. We have a lot of restrictions about the paint we can use as it has potential to pollute when burnt. Thankfully the paint we find that is closest to the hue of a traffic cone is not expensive, VOC free and on the shelf at Home Depot. Who knew that traffic cones were a “Hot Tomato” colour.

Fundraising is not going perfectly. It is a difficult ask to encourage people to give you hard earned cash for us to build a traffic cone !! There are so many other draws on funds these days. Rent and food and over expensive KFCs are all considered much more important than a burning traffic cone. Fair enough. Every day I get to stare at the budget praying for money in and watching the inevitable drain of money out. We are making huge economies everywhere and that is making it work. Just.

To add to the fun our trailer is broken into overnight and all our audio equipment is stolen. Long day follows of communing with the many homeless folk around us and in the local park offering a reward for the safe return of our missing kit. This brilliant plan does not work. A late donation saves us and we are able to replace everything we lost. Irritating but not fatal.

The Generator work space has its annual fundraising night and we are invited to also shake a bucket and see if we can raise a few more beans. Our lead artist Kiwi makes a speech about what a great idea Coney Mc Coneface is and pleading poverty. I then conduct a a quickly composed rap sing-along encouraging folk to support the cone. It was very silly and probably repelled more donors than it attracted. Maybe being a rap star is not my future.

All the cone parts are assembled and we load up the cone parts into our rented 48 foot trailer . We also have a big refrigeration semi trailer box that we are gifted for the next few weeks. We fill it to the brim with all our crap, They are heading to the Playa slightly before the first dozen of us load up and say farewell to Reno and hello to the dust and heat of the Black Rock Desert. Here we go.

Pyramid Lake stop off on the way to the Playa

They crew land and head out deep into the desert to find their assigned spot and start the survey and make camp. The cone parts will be arriving anytime and they need a home. We arrive in the heat and find our Playa home and our trailer that has been delivered to the bare piece of playa onto which Media Mecca ( the Burning Man communication centre) will be constructed. This is our Burning Man day job. I am confusingly Project Lead for the cone and Build Lead for Media Mecca. Our job for the past few years has been to create a reception building for journalists, a deck to entertain journalist and a back bar and lounge for the crew to avoid journalists. The boys from Mexico join us and we open up the container full of wood and tools and spend the next few days getting all this done while also supporting the Coney crew that are camped out next the build site.

There is a unique and much loved event every year that we look forward to . On the Saturday night a week before the event begins all the artists and builders and those creating and running the event are invited to offer a small creation to burn. Early Burn allows everyone who has been out in this crazy environment for weeks to have a blow-out. There is a line-up of effigies and structures that are all burnt together. We get to see all our mates who we never do at the event because they are too busy. Scott has knocked up a small cone to represent our project and our pyro lead had filled it with interesting stuff. Mini Coneface is ready to burn.

Our night is put on hold. The weather has arrived. An intense dust storm is battering us. Visibility is down to a few yards and its impossible to breathe outside. Lungs fill up with the talc like dust. Burning anything looks highly unlikely.

And then it happens. Unexpectedly the sky clears and the stars come out and a beautiful night appears from nowhere. We all rush to get our shit together and get ourselves out to the assigned spot in front of the man. Our early crew assembles and we watch in delight as all the line of funky art is burnt. The pyro in the our mini cone explodes in flame. It’s a fabulous sight. We are all inspired to go forward and make Coney Mc Coneface a reality. We all dive into a much needed night of strange connections and spontaneous nonsense

The sections have been unloaded and as we are distracted by Media Mecca building the crew bolt together the parts into what is clearly slices of traffic cone . We await a crane to put them on top of each other. We haven’t had the equipment or space to test if this will work so we pray hard that we have built each of these pre-assemblies absolutely perfectly. There are tight tolerances building a sixty foot cone shape in bits.

Then another of the dust storms appears. It comes unannounced. Visibility is gone and there is no way that any productive work is possible. Scarves are wrapped around faces to keep the fine stuff from filling lungs and goggles prevent blindness. We are at the build site when it hits. We all hunker down in a large tent and open a few bottles to keep us company. The refrigeration semi trailer is between the tent and the wind and saves us from being blown away. It lasts for many hours.

The lift day is upon us. It’s an really significant event for all of us. It’s the time when our sub structures of wood which have been formed and painted and nurtured bond with each other and perfectly form into a traffic cone. Coney Mc Coneface is born today. This is not a simple process. Each of our sections need to match exactly. We need to have built every one perfectly round and dimensionally identical to its matching partner. This is where we find out how smart we are. The potential for a shit show is vast. The chances of us having all our many tolerances correct are slim. It doesn’t take much for things to be so very wrong. It’s a tense time.

The burning man crane crew are some of the very best there are. They have experience of building the craziest stuff in the harshest conditions. No one else gets to do what they do. Today they are going to try and align four great big heavy lumps of wood perfectly. The wind is not helping. We attach guide ropes but that is not what makes it work. The amazingly talented crane operator will gauge the wind shear and at the precise moment plop one bit on top of the other. The first pick goes remarkably well. The second and the third. When the final chunk of cone lands perfectly and completes the job its emotional. So much gratitude to our crane crew and our crew. We have fucking done this thing. Amazingly well. Coney Mc Coneface stands before us in all his/her magnificence. Its good. Really really good.

There is the need to ensure that the now perfectly aligned lumps of wood stay where they have been expertly put. A good strong wind will not be good at this point. We are prepared. Because of the small entrance and diminishing cone structure we don’t have room for a cherry picker or scissor lift to get up to where we need to be to bolt all the sections together. Our search for a 45 foot ladder have not gone well and our budget won’t let us buy or rent anything appropriate. But we have a secret weapon.

Scott is my Thai Chi Master mate who is also the master carpenter that has built a load of good stuff in our jungle house. He lives in our treehouse in the jungle and has been persuaded to donate his skills to us and live in a tent for a month in Reno. He is also a world class professional climber and mountain guide. He has devoted much of his life to ascend terrifying cliff faces. He has had a long and impressive relationship with El Capitan . Rigging himself to the inside of a massive wooden cone is not an issue for him. Up he goes with an impact driver in hand and in no time the sections are secured. Coney Mc Coneface is going nowhere. Until we are ready. Impressive stuff.

Coney Mc Coneface exists. You can see this from miles away. There are not so many people here yet and due to the dust storms few projects have been completed so we stand out. We really strand out. If the dust calms down and the air is clear you can see our massive orange traffic cone from everywhere. There is already a buzz in the city. What the fuck is that traffic cone doing here ? Why would anyone one spend the vast amount of effort and money to do something as ridiculous as that ? Good questions.

The weather has up to this point been dodgy. We have lost a lot of time due to dust storms. But nothing too dramatic. The winds made our crane pick challenging but what follows reminds us of where we are. The dust particles all get together and decide to hold hands and get some wind behind them. The result is that we vanish for many hours. You could be standing almost close enough to touch but our 60 foot (ish) cone is invisible behind the dust storm. The wind also rips up our build crew tent and steals everything that is not tied down. It’s brutal. But predictable. This is the joy of building in the Black Rock Desert. It will always remind you that you really don’t belong there. We are but visitors who have to hang on in and suck it up.

We are exhausted but contented. This bizarre mission that we have all dedicated ourselves to is now reality. An impressive enormous traffic cone now exists in time and space. We have added sound and smoke. Inside we install a finger puppet stage which also transforms into a kissing booth or an advice booth. There is an area to remind folk to be careful and respect safety meetings. We have two screens installed to display the growing amount of highly entertaining video cone-tent that we have acquired over the months of social media fundraising. There is a shrine to coney nonsense. We have lost a few incredible people over the years along the way and they are all honoured there. We also create a dedication to the native land on which we exist. Our smoke machines are dispensing glycerine vapour so there is narrative that the cone is protecting us all from a steamy fissure that has broken through the playa. Outside one of our very talented New Zealanders has created brilliant if slightly insane secret dioramas. It’s all rather impressive.

We break camp and head to our event homes . We are at Media Mecca and the crew are mostly hosted by Day Dream which is a well resourced and generous camp who have kindly offered to feed and shelter everyone. It is, however, placed right in the heart of the 24 hour super loud sound district so there will be very little sleep to be had for the next week.

The Burning Man event is about to start. Many tens of thousands of expectant punters will soon flood the place and Coney Mc Coneface will come alive. We are ready.

PART THREE

The Life & Death of Coney Mc Coneface

We really didn’t have an idea about how this would all go down. The reaction of the masses is unpredictable and sometimes can go against you. We need not have worried. The bemused punters in their thousands all made pilgrimages out of the city to find Coney Mc Coneface. To our great relief they loved it.

The advice booth was filled with bad advice. The finger puppets were busy entertaining day and night. There was kissing in the kissing booth. Cone songs were played throughout to much appreciation. The alter filled with respectful if ridiculous offerings. The sound of the didgeridoo add a haunting ambience. People squeal with delight as they discover the dioramas. Day one and its all going rather well.

At night Mr Coneface takes on a very different vibe. He is up lit and magnificent. Jayne has carefully and painfully installed rope lights around the silver stripes that look incredible. The now throngs of folk decend on us and we invite them to gather inside. I welcome them in batchs of about 50 at a time. I have them all look upwards at the structure which is an incredibly beautiful. The levels are lit up to the top where we direct smoke to add a little magic. As the crowd absorb this totally unique space I have them join me in a short ceremony of daft hand gestures and chanting before declaring them all cone-verted. This happens many times. By the end of the week I have at least a thousand extra cone-verts.

A team of folk with the task of promoting Coney Mc Coneface to as many participants as possible have arrived and been preparing themselves for days. They are mostly from New Zealand so far away from home. I have now officially never seen so many kiwis in one place outside of New Zealand. Our crew is full of them. Their moment arrives. Just before sunset every day cone ceremonies are cone-ducted. Chants and dance and nonsense are performed to an expectant crowd who all leave thoroughly cone-verted. It’s starting to look a bit culty but everyone loves a good cult now and again right ? .

Jayne has been working hard on a project of her own. The Coney Mc Coneface QUEST. She has negotiated with a number of artists to hide within their camp or art piece a bespoke red triangle which has a raised section for a crayon rubbing which imparts a unique image onto paper to reveal the next clue. It’s a challenge that involves a lot of work but there are a large number of folk who are absolutely up for it. There are special rolls of parchment with clues directing people to where the triangles are hidden. We distribute them in all public area for people to find and be seduced to take on the challenge. It take to few days to set up. Triangles are placed behind pictures, on art cars , in treasure chests and art structures. An astonishing amount of folk compete every task and turn up at Media Mascca to be rev-erred and inducted into the ways of the cone. They leave very happy with cone prizes and pride. Everyone who completes it loves it . Great success.

A slightly insane couple at Media Mecca have decide to get married. They request their cone-mitment ceremony be cone-ducted at the cone. I agree to be the officiary. The cone-ductor of ceremonies. I have numerous Playa weddings under my belt. This will be fun. The bride looks resplendant with ballons attached to her dress to keep it suitably suspended. The groom is in a version of top hat and tails and stands with me as the bride party approaches Coney Mc Coneface. The cone-gregation is treated to a splendid set of spicy vows. I manage to squeeze 14 cone-references into the announcements. The two kiss and are whisked away on a dusty mattress in the back of a pick up truck to cone-sumate their cone-ection. So very romantic.

At night the cone has become somewhat of a beacon for art cars and punters alike. The extraordinary Pulpo Magnifico flaming Octopus arrives and entertains with sound and flame. That pulls in vast crowds and is a sight to behold. As the flames hit the sky the cone is lit up to the rapturous delight of all. The quite remarkable San Francisco Bridge art car arrives and Rhino and his crew park close and blast perfect sounds. An instant dance party.

The cone-cophony of sound and lights continues until the sun rises and casts huge cone shaped shadows to the mountains. The light of the day reveals a huge traffic cone holding a remarkable space in a remarkable place. We are all flabbergasted by the love that has been generated by a Coney Mc Coneface. The cone-verted appear again and again to give praise and dance and sing and wonder at the nonsense.

The time comes way too fast when we have to consume our creation with fire. It’s Thursday of the event and It’s time for Coney Mc Coneface to be no more . Our pyrotechnic crew goes to work early. We close off the area. With traffic cones. Fuel is loaded. Wood and gasoline. Incredibly technical things are happening in preparation for the 5 Minute pyro show before the flames start to consume the structure. It takes hours of work in the hot baking sun. Also non technical things are afoot. A few of our crew decide to drill a face onto the side of the cone which will light up when it burns. We approve.

The biggest challenge is to find 90 sober people at 7.30 pm to spend 3 hours protecting our perimeter. They are required to be looking at the crowd not the big burning cone behind them. Some years ago some poor bugger was out of his mind enough to run into the fire here and he died. Since then there are many levels of organisation to prevent it happening again. We are trained and have trained all the perimeter crew in techniques to prevent such tragedies happening again. Burning big art is now a serious business .

It is a unique experience walking around a massive flaming cone looking at the mesmerised crowd. You see the fire in their eyes. We are transfixed by the fire and the pyro and the crowd and the sky full of speckled red embers falling slowly like hot rain. We have a surprise for the crowd. The FAA has finally approved a piloted aircraft to launch fireworks while flying. At precisely 9 pm a light aircraft with lasers firing flys over the burning cone. Flames are 100 feet in the air as suddenly an array of white plume fireworks are launched overhead. Hard to know where to look. It’s amazing stuff.

All the cladding his burnt away. What remains is the frame glowing bright yellow with heat and flame. There is a movement then a twist and slowly and gracefully the cone smashes to the ground. No longer a cone. An ex cone. A pile of white hot debris. When we break the perimeter thousands of people decend upon the fire to dance around in celebration and joy. Sorta kinda makes all the effort , pain , sweat and worry worth it.

So over many many months Coney Mc Coneface, with a great deal of help, has transformed from a mad idea, to an extraordinary installation, to a pile of ash. It’s a beautiful process. One that we have facilitated many times now. It’s a lot of work . It’s emotional. It’s transformative . It’s more than anything addictive.

Watch this space.

Jungle Journal

Perfectly Natural

October 2, 2023October 2, 2023
by Beave

There are constant reminders of the pecking order in our chosen place in the world. We are often reminded that we are absolutely here at the good grace of mother nature and all her wishes and whims. Should she decide we are no longer welcome we are buggered. It’s a constant challenge where we maintain our gratitude and respect for her and she does as she pleases. So far so good.

We are in that tangibly muggy purgatory period as the dry season changes to wet. The humidity is real and there are occasionally some dramatic thunder, lightning and strong rains for an hour or two. We wait for the big rains to come, the rivers to rise from the dirt, the trees to fall and the roads to wash out. So far is it is a somewhat dry wet season.

Our project to capture more photons to fill our batteries has progressed well. The frame we designed is awkward and heavy and requiring of hours of painting, drilling and further painting. It’s location is very carefully argued. There is only a few hours of morning sun that breaks through the canopy available to us. Holes are dug and concrete mixed and a bunch of mates with muscles summoned for erection day.

It went OK. The half dozen awkward heavy panels are eventually slotted onto the frame and after some fiddling and essential swearing are successfully bolted down in a very sweaty and inelegant process. In order to protect the new structure from any future hurricane conditions safety ropes are installed to trees and planks of wood cut to length to hold up each corner. By adding these props and tie downs we have a fair chance the thing will not blow away.

It’s early days, but by capturing sunlight for those few precious hours in the morning to top up the couple of hours when we are currently collecting in the afternoon our batteries will potentially last twice as long. This gives Brian (our generator) a much needed rest. There is also now the possibility, should the sunbeams align, of turning on our air conditioner. This is a game changer. We have had no air conditioning for six years. It’s an interesting realisation that we have been at this for six years now.

Jayne heads to Canada to spend time with family and enjoy a break from me and our jungle world which is heating up noticeably. When she returns we will have but a few days before heading to Burning Man.

The humidity is brutal. With my new jungle solitude comes an opportunity to submit closer to the new natural pace of life. I make a conscious decision to allow myself a period of doing very little and releasing myself to what may come. This involves a lot of naked sweating, blatant prevarication and delicious guilt free laziness. I even find the time to read an actual book for the first time in an embarrassingly long time. After a couple of weeks I realise that there have been very few things that have persuaded me to leave the land. I have been effectively a surprisingly content hermit. There are a number of essential jobs that I manage to complete, but entirely in my own hot, sweaty and slow, time and space.

It’s been a year since I have left Mexico so the familiar process of preparing for another month dedicated to what Burning Man may bring is a little strange. I finally unpack from the corners of my luggage all the dusty bits and bobs from last year’s stormy, stinking hot and covidy burning man and replace them with fresh nonsense. Who knows what we will need.

Last year’s Nevada adventure was so extreme with dust storms and extraordinary heat that we made do with a few bikinis and goggles. I think I broke my own dubious record for living in the same pants for the longest time. This year we just don’t know so pack something for every occasion along with way too much make up and far too many costume options.

Our logistical burden is considerably eased as last year, in the confusion of dust and covid, we somehow managed to persuade the “org” (those with power and influence at Burning Man) to pick up The Growler (our trailer) and store it for us. Theoretically it will be waiting for us as we arrive on site a week or so before the event starts. It’s practically impossible to rent a truck with a tow hitch in Nevada so we have always had to blag a truck in Reno to tow our very old sun baked, graffiti covered living box from its storage spot near Pyramid Lake the 50 miles to site. This involves getting registration, a full set of working lights and risking the ancient tyres for one more trip. We also get to pass every overeager state trooper (at 29 miles an hour) with what is effectively a “bust me I’m a hippy” bait trailer. This stress maybe a thing of the past if we play our cards well.

So we fly to Reno and meet up with all the people. After a few days of relaxed organization (one trip to Walmart and two to Trader Joes) we arrive in daylight to be met with the welcome sight of The Growler. We start the process of cleaning and nesting so we can start work building a fun camp for the communications team, construct our infamous viewing deck and raise Media Mecca. This is the interactive meet and greet space from where the flock of over enthusiastic drone pilots, journalists and media folk are carefully and expertly managed. We are organised and have a handy bunch of buggers on our crew so it shouldn’t be difficult.

We are settled in and we have a plan. We arrange a pre-build meeting and prepare ourselves for the challenge of a few intense build days. Then our good mate mother nature appears to further remind us who and where we are.

It is Sunday around midday and it starts to rain. In 2004 it rained a little as the event started and the chaos was unforgettable. The salty dust crust on which we live turns to a ridiculously sticky wet clay which grips to your feet and will suck down a vehicle in no time. Nothing can move. The lines of traffic trying to get into the event were stranded. The only solution is wait for the sun to dry up all the rain so itzy bitsy hippies can move their trucks again.

There is much more rain than 2014. A lot more. It’s a week before the event and we are surrounded by water and seas of glue. It’s impossible to open the container where all our wood and equipment is waiting to be transformed. If the old dried out wood gets wet we are buggered. So we wait. We share food and resources and make the best of it. No one is going anywhere. There are only a few thousand folk here and our stocks of all supplies are not worried. It’s an exercise in patience and self-care. We are very good at caring for ourselves and each other so it’s just fine. After a few days of exhaustingly intense selfcare we dry out and prepare ourselves once again. This time last year we were pretty much done with build and we haven’t even started yet. No pressure.

It’s midnight on Tuesday and Wednesday appears under an impressive star filled sky. We drive an art car out into deep playa and arrange a game of petanque (bocce) with brightly coloured lit up balls under the moonlight. It’s a beautiful night. Someone on crew has a “one wheel” on which one’s balance skills and delusional confidence are tested. An electrically powered single wheel attached to a modified skateboard propels the rider who is balanced above it at speeds up to 20 mph. The playa is flat and smooth after the rains and moonlight visibility is clear. It appears an ideal space to give it a good go. We do not have any protective helmets or pads but that doesn’t seem to be an issue. I am forcefully advised by my less confident selfcare assistant that it’s not a good plan for me as we have a long few weeks ahead and the prospect of me smashing myself up is not ideal.

I return to my flashing balls game as my mate Josh, who is currently awaiting his selfcare assistant to arrive, takes off on his first attempt unhindered by wise advice. He is pretty good at it. He arrives back at speed, wide eyed with growing over confidence. It does look like fun. Until it doesn’t.

On his fourth attempt he is now flying around us. He swoops past the art car and then instantly the wheel stops. Josh does not. There is a crunching noise and worrying cloud of dust.

When I get to him it does not look good. He is winded enough that he is struggling to breathe at all and his eyes are looking distressed. It was something of a relief when he started moaning and stubbornly refusing to lie still. I felt his shoulder pop back in place and noticed a particularly squidgy bit on his collar bone. By some mad twist of fate, in this desert void way out from the event space, there happened to be a real life ambulance just cruising around. Ironically the one wheel was dispatched to retrieve the crew who within minutes pick up Josh and take him to Rampart (the newly built triage & EMT center.) Thankfully Burning Man provides excellent EMT facilities to service a fair sized city.

Josh becomes the first passenger of the year on an emergency medical evacuation flight to Reno. Although he has a broken collar bone, cracked scapula and bust ribs which are all inconvenient and irritating he has not broken his neck or damaged his brain (much). He is incredibly fortunate although perhaps not feeling so lucky.

The next day we are confident enough to open the container and the hard stuff begins. More crew have made it out and there are enough willing hands and built up enthusiasm to knock everything out in just a couple of days. Everything looks just about perfect as the gates open.

Josh or “One Wheel” as he is now called, turns up just before the crowds arrive. He is all fixed up after an operation in Reno and has decided that burning man is the ideal place to heal and caught a lift back. His selfcare assistant is at his side so it’s much more likely to happen. He is stubborn enough to not miss his first burning man entirely. He has one good arm so he can get back to work.

It’s Friday when we hear that more rain is potentially forecast. We watch as vast sand storms skirt around us but mostly they are near misses and we remain dry. Until we are not. We are caught on the outskirts of the city visiting friends when it becomes clear that the rain falling is a substantial downpour and will most certainly be changing everyone’s lives significantly for some time. The water settles in vast shallow lakes moved around by the wind. The radio broadcasts endless corny rain themed songs and strict warnings to rest in place until further notice.

Some bloody idiots just can’t bear the thought of doing as they are told (it is the land of the free you know !!) and try and make a run for it. As predicted they are buried up to their axles within a few meters. It’s chaos, but no matter who you think you are, we are all in the same muddy puddle. It’s another lesson in patience and helping others to stay warm and dry and just a little drunk.

We are grateful to be taken in as refugees in a very well-resourced camp. A large red carpeted tent full of perfectly bemused strangers gets slowly overcome with water. At one end is a tiny bar that has notably high end booze offerings. The guy who introduces himself meekly as bar manager does not appear confident. He tells me he has been drafted in but doesn’t drink and has no experience at all. He opens a fresh bottle of outstandingly expensive whisky and deposits half a pint of the amazing stuff over a cube of ice and hands it to me nervously. I congratulate him on a very decent pour.

Remarkably, attached to this tent is a separate fully equipped kitchen with stand up freezers and large stocks of food and wine. Chefs wade through the puddles and deliver freshly made pasta and meats to soak up the dozens of bottles of cheeky Bordeaux’s and the odd Pinot Noir that are being rapidly consumed. No booze less than toppest of shelf or deepest of cellar is even considered. We have certainly hit the best refugee camp on Playa. We are wet and cold and only a little tipsy after a few cheeky bottles of red and only a couple of pints of whisky. We all cram into our mate’s trailer that offers warmth and a tiny dry corner to attempt to pass out while listening to the rain hit the roof. It’s a long night but we are amongst the fortunate ones.

The next morning after a final flush of morning rain we are absolutely surrounded by miles of muddy water. I climb out the trailer and monkey climb my way from table to chair to the big red tent. Its red carpet now under a few inches of water. There is no one around except for one muddy soul sitting on a soggy coach smoking a joint. She smiles at me. No words are necessary. The floor is strewn with full bottles of Krug champagne and the remains of the excellent red wine stocks. I help out by collecting an armful of each and returning to the trailer to present my hunter gatherer breakfast.

After breakfast we are suitably refreshed to try and brave the mud and return to camp. What would usually be a half hour stroll is far more of a mission. We encase our feet in duct tape and plastic bags or go commando. Bare feet is my preferred way to go but it’s a much slippier option. It takes well over two hours to arrive close to where we live. At some point we eventually arrive back and exchange tales of our overnight survival.

What happens when you leave your mate alone for too long

And then we find out that the world is taking an interest in what is happening. The previous week when a few thousand of us were trapped for days was not really news worthy. Now around 70 000 folks being told they can’t go anywhere is proper news. There are some amazing rumours.

One news outlet is declaring that there is an Ebola outbreak that no one can escape from. Our comms team has to send out a declaration that no communicable diseases have been reported. We are all waiting for the sun and all will be well in a few days.

We get all the messages from deeply concerned family and friends on the outside. You are on the news! Are you Ok? Has anybody drowned in the mud or resorted to cannibalism? It’s actually only been 24 hours of further self and community caring. That’s a good space to be in. We are just fine. Everyone who gets it are just fine. There are some people who consider their need to be elsewhere important enough to bugger everyone else up but not too many of them. They will be the last to be rescued.

Media Mecca is effectively the communications center for the whole place so we have ways to communicate. This gives us access to all the world wide news reports which we find a little disorientating. What we see are extraordinary images that suggest an entirely alternative existence that in which, apparently, we are currently living. A drone photo of a mess of RVs all stuck trying to exit on gate road is shown on US prime time. We are concerned and send a copy to our mates who are out there and they tell us it’s make believe. It’s a creation of AI. Then we see other published images of what we are going through. Nothing authentic at all. AI has created a story in pictures of what it has decided is happening and publishing it to the world as fact. It’s stunning that you really cannot trust much anymore. Even, bizarrely, your own eyes. The following images are all AI creations. Extraordinarily… none of this happened and none of the people exist.

Eventually some bloke called Joe Biden sends his thoughts and prayers so we can all relax . We are saved.

NOT an Ai creation. This is spectacular reality.

Our world dries up. Things start moving again. The man burns a few days late as does the temple. Both are extraordinary as most people have already left. It’s way more intimate and a whole heap less hectic. The man burns after a spectacular pyrotechnic display. The temple burns in silence as we watch from the flatbed of our truck that we have driven to the perfect viewing spot. It reminds us of many years before when not as many people were aware of this place.

Our clean up and tear down takes a bit longer to ensure we are not storing mud for future years but it’s just fine. Everyone who remains does their bit and leaves the place exactly as they found it.

We indulge in a few very slow recovery days in Reno. We find Guinness and sushi and try unsuccessfully to blend into casino life. Our bags are packed and we head South back to the humidity. It’s going to be a few well deserved weeks of prevarication, laziness, sweating, sleeping and the odd tequila. Can’t wait.

Jungle Journal

Bees, Bribes and a touch of Silence

February 20, 2020February 20, 2020
by Beave

It’s been some months since our bees were scared away by a particularly impressive lightning storm. We have had our feelers out ever since to attract a queen to our newly refurbished bee homes. There is talk of a swarm causing some issues in a large mansion on top of the highest hill in San Pancho. There is further talk of destroying them so we decide to intervene. It has been agreed that we go along and attempt to save the swarm by relocating the queen to the jungle. We arrive as the sun goes down when the bees gather together for the night and are relatively calm.

The mansion is huge with very high ceilings and unfeasibly large glass windows. A British guy and his 2-year-old daughter are renting the place. They breakfast outside every morning and have bees falling out the light fittings above their heads constantly. We find a ladder, set fire to the smoker and suit up. The swarm is hidden from sight in the upper eves of the house and the only access we can find is via the tiled roof. Its precarious and somewhat hilarious. We are fully suited up with limited mobility and very poor visibility. We find ourselves in the dark, inelegantly balanced on loose roof tiles on top of the highest house in the town. What could possibly go wrong?

We hold onto each other for a modicum of safety as we lay flat on the sloped roof so as not to break the clay tiles or slip off and end up at the bottom of the hill some hundred feet below. The swarm is large and only accessible by pushing a gloved hand through a hole in the wall into the mass of bee bodies in an attempt to locate the queen. It’s during this process that the bees sense something is not quite right and start taking an unwelcome interest in us.

Handfuls of confused bees have been shoved into a black bin liner which they clearly dislike. The buzzing noise inside the suit is loud and we feel a few stings on less protected areas. It has become clear that the queen is very smart and has hidden herself deep in the cavities between the roof and the outside wall. It’s a mission impossible to be able to reach her without destroying large sections of mansion. We release the ungrateful bees from our bag and abandon our positions. We transverse the roof as quickly and cautiously as possible followed by a large number of rather pissed off bees. We smoke each other until the bees back off a bit and all arrive back on the ground thankfully safe. We need to find a better plan to encourage queeny to come out and be captured. More research required. We console ourselves with tequila and engage in a spontaneous game of ping pong in the mansion basement.

Time has overtaken us again and Pauly and Emma are heading back to the frozen UK. We are grateful for their company and their efforts. Emma’s agricultural engineering department leaves us with three newly restored garden areas. Pauly has left us a repaired and well tested jungle jeep along with kitchens doors and Yorkshire Gold tea.

After dropping them off at the airport I head home through a busy area with way too many traffic lights. Stopping at lights here is quite entertaining. There are the usual car window sellers who will try and persuade you that what you need more than anything else in the world is a large map of Mexico, bin liners or a plastic mobile phone holder. While ignoring these temptations there is often some skinny lad painted silver balancing on a rolling log with one leg while spinning a football on the other while juggling machetes with a further football on his hat and another on his chin. It’s impressive stuff. All that effort for a few pesos. The lights change and I throw coins into the silver guy’s hat while accelerating away. I notice some pretty lights behind me and it takes me a while to realise they are for my benefit. The traffic police have decided to stop me for a chat. I struggle to stop the car and surreptitiously remove all the cash from my wallet and hide it under the seat. Guests have just paid me a bunch of cash and I can’t have them see it and get any ideas.

I wind down the window and explain to the podgy face under an official looking hat that my Spanish is still in process but I will do my best to cooperate. He takes off his sunglasses and tells me that not only was I travelling way too fast but I had jumped a red light. It is clear that I did not jump a light and that it is unlikely that I was speeding. The game begins. He tells me that he needs to confiscate my driving license until I return to the local police station and pay both my fines. I ask him if he would do me a great favour and save me some time by accepting the fine from me in cash right now. He pretends to think about it. He tells me that each offence carry’s a fine of 3600 pesos. That’s a total fine of 7200 pesos please. That’s 300 quid or 400 dollars. Cheeky twat. I manage to keep a relatively straight face. He is prepared on this one occasion to accept cash from me and he will return my license. I know that the actual fines are a fraction of this and so am prepared to let him keep my license if it comes to it. I explain that I am but a poor gringo despite the Toyota and don’t have anywhere near that amount of cash with me. I show him my newly emptied wallet and the 650 pesos within. I empty it on the passenger seat and give him a “take it or leave it” look. He exchanges a knowing glance with his partner and begrudgingly throws me back my license and takes the cash.

EntreAmigos is the local community centre that is does amazing things. It’s been running for many years offering education, recycling., library and support for families and children in the area. They promote ecological consciousness within the community offering workshops and classes all year. We are all rather proud of the work they do and want to support them in any way we can. Most of the funding required to keep things happening is raised in one single evening. The great and good and naughty of San Pancho gather for this fundraising evening. We are invited to join friends seated at a table. Tickets to this event are eye wateringly expensive but we agree as it’s for a very good cause.

The whole event including all food, cooks, staffing and auction items are provided by donation, sponsorship or volunteers. I am required to help set up in the morning. The venue is an almost over the top beautiful beach front club with infinity pools and stunning heavy wood chairs and tables. It’s these hundred or so chairs and tables that it is my job to remove. It’s sweaty work but we are all in good spirits. Whales are rising off shore as they head South. We watch them as we work. The event itself is very well attended and a great success. Great food, music, and dancing. The auction raises over $10k alone. There is a satisfying community feeling of a job well done.

Despite the minor irritation of the highway construction team nearly killing our friends with their latest explosion it appears that they want to give it another go. On this occasion, they give us fair warning and install a lady with a sign at our gate to prevent anyone coming within range. This time the explosion is less of a surprise and the rocks fall a little short of us.

The engineers have assured us that they will not be on our doorstep for long. Since the New Year we have had machines smashing their way noisily through the jungle every day. Only after our complaints about them trying to kill us did they stop the night shift. It is somewhat ironic that we are disturbed by the shrill electronic scream of reversing heavy machinery. One of my first ever jobs was to introduce reverse alarms to the UK. Reverse Alarm was the first company I set up and the first product I designed and manufactured. I am responsible for the existence of tens of thousands of these bloody awful things. I’m finding it difficult to blame anyone else for our current suffering.

Two sets of guests have had to cut their stay short due to lack of sleep. It will be sometime next month that the big machines move away from us. We then get some respite from the horrible din until the next lot turn up to actually lay the highway. Maybe 6 months away we hope. When the thing is actually completed we are not expecting much intrusion at all. It will be another little used toll road which is thankfully fairly incline free so we won’t be subject to the horror which is airbrakes. When the night is still we can hear the fart of airbrakes from the hill into San Pancho. That’s near enough.

Businesses in the area have all raised their games (and prices) in the past few years to service the growing tourist market here. We are blessed with outstanding Mexican food, fresh seafood and more recently some more traditional steak & burger offerings for the well-heeled Canadians and Americans. There are a couple of missing elements. We would just about kill for a good Ruby. (Ruby Murray was a popular Irish singer in the 40s and 50s and her name is commonly used as slang for curry in certain parts of the UK. ) There has been a general lack of Asian food in the area. Jayne has even been giving cooking lessons in making Indian style curries as an attempt to fill the void. In recent weeks, our lives have been significantly improved by a couple of new restaurants we have found. One is a Thai place that can actually offer authentic versions of classic Thai dishes. The other is a Moroccan offering with extraordinary delicious babaganoush and slow cooked lamb. Both these places are in Sayulita which is usually a bit too busy for us and best avoided. This changes things. Too tempting not to make the 10-minute drive down the highway and endure 30 minutes finding a parking spot.

We have been nagged for many months to burn something on a beach again. It’s about time so we agree and set a date and forget about it for a while. Time has a way of getting away from you if you’re not paying attention and we realise that somehow it’s already February! Planning for this event has been notable by its absence. There has been talk of creating a wall …… but gringos building walls in Mexico doesn’t seem right somehow. There has been talk of constructing bridges … but gringos burning bridges may give the wrong message. We always have our trusted Coconut Lady Man symbol to fall back on. We have decided to play things by ear and allow a “design” to evolve. We start the process of collecting wood and tools while roping as many people into help as we can.

The word is out and there is good level of enthusiasm which manifests into a solid crew of helping hands. We pile up all the wood, grab some string and a few tools and open the beer cooler. We set about creating our wall/bridge/Coconut Lady Man hybrid. The following day we load up a convoy of vehicles and head for the beach. We drag huge lumps of drift wood and add it to the pyre. We balance our make shift bridge on top. We dig into the sand a series of large wooden cut out letters that spell the word JUNTOS which is Spanish for “together” . We throw up a palm wall and erect our Coconut LadyMan. Design complete. The theory is that the wall will burn down very quickly revealing our bridge and the fire will glow through the cutout letters overlooked by the Coconut LadyMan which will burn last. That’s the theory anyway.

We have had a call from the local batala samba drumming group who turn up in force and start things off. When they play the drum the people come. As the sun drops slowly in the afternoon sky people start arriving. We are at the very far North end of the beach so it’s a good walk from the town of Lo De Marcos. More people arrive. By the time the sun is hitting the water and we are ready to burn there are over 150 people of all ages. It’s a good mix of locals, gringos and a few tourists. Probably twice the number who made it last year.

We fuel up the structure perhaps a touch enthusiastically as our carefully thought out burn plan evaporates as the thing bursts immediately into flame. The walls do indeed burn quickly and reveal the letters and the bridge. Almost all the letters glow spelling out the word JUNTO which is actually a 17^th century British political faction but we assume that no one will figure that out. The bridge falls followed by our magnificent LadyMan whose coconuts burned off rather rapidly. The whole crowd watch the whole burn in absolute silence. It was a great spectacle for everyone and very emotional for some. There is magic in that silence.

We danced around the fire until late into the night. Thankfully everyone was incredibly respectful of the environment and took all their things back with them. The next morning there was not a single beer can or spot of trash. The official environmental assessment after the event was that we left the place in better shape than we found it. That’s a very good thing. Gives us great hope and inspiration for next time.

YOU are indeed exactly where you are supposed to be

Jungle Journal

Dusty distractions

September 27, 2019September 27, 2019
by Beave

DIt has been said that I am nothing if I am not generous with my time. The much loved Cerveceria which is our only purveyor of pints for some distance is shutting for the season. There is beer left that it would be unwise and rude to leave in the kegs. My presence is requested to help solve this issue. It took a lot of effort and an entire night of drinking, gambling and dancing to achieve this. Our host is grateful for our efforts. We lock the door and contemplate with some sadness the loss of our “pub” and the pint free months ahead

Can never see the Ceveceria logo the same again.

There is a chink of hope that we can persuade someone to feed us and supply cold beers for the Summer season. It’s a mission as the heat is crippling, staff are hard to find and there are very few tourist dollars. It is considered wise for ones sanity to take a few months off before the season kicks in again non-stop for 8 months. For these entirely reasonable reasons August, September and October are dormant months here with very few places open. There are a handful of fine traditional places serving locals with proper Mexican delights but nothing much in terms of bars. The concept of a pub which gives the community a place to meet and talk nonsense is not so much a thing here.

There is a special bar on the beach in Lo De Marcos which is 8 miles north of us. It offers good food and a large number of yellow fizzy cold beers. The crew are fabulous and the location is outstanding. The sea is calm, tempting and yards from the bar. There is the added bonus of an onshore breeze that cools you down beautifully if you stay very still on your strategically placed bar stool. It’s worth the trouble to make the journey North. If we keep turning up they are more likely to stay open.

On one such day I am floating in the sea slightly disappointed that the temperature of the water appears warmer than the air. The large grey Pelicans fly a few feet above our heads occasionally diving close by scattering fish that collide with us in their rush to escape. I head for the shore dragging my feet through the sand. The lure of a cold yellow fizzy beer and a breeze to sit in is just too much. I’m a few yards from the beach when something hits me. Not in a good way. It feels like I have had a hot nail hammered into my foot. On further examination, it becomes apparent that I have been stung by a Manta Ray. There has been some rain which attracts them to shallow waters. One of them was irritated by being disturbed and stuck his stingy bit deep into me leaving an impressive hole.

My attempts to be a big brave boy are hampered by the blistering eye watering pain which does not get any better, even after a prescribed tequila and a few cold yellow fizzy beers. A very lovely and suitably concerned local girl tells us where there is a patch of plants near the shoreline with distinctive large green leaves. Our Australian is dispatched to collect some. They are then steeped in hot water. My foot is placed in a bowl of this slightly stinky green leaf tea. To my great relief the pain dissipates very quickly. I’m good as gold within minutes. We ask our wise new friend what the leaves are called for future reference. They are a traditional native medicine she tells us. The local name for them is Curamantaray ….. of course.

My attacker. Perhaps not entirely to scale.

Incredibly our jungle jeep is at the stage where our good mechanic is eventually happy to allow me to drive it. I only have a few days before I’m heading North so I arrange to collect the beast and test drive her for a day or two and return it for any required modifications while I am away. It’s looking pretty and immediately attracts a considerable amount of attention. There is no roll bar yet and no seat belts so I take it very easy. I get almost 10 miles before it splutters and cuts out. I am very lucky and manage to glide the thing off the highway onto a rare bit of side road. I would have had nowhere to go and been totally buggered (on one of the most dangerous roads I know) if it had cut out anywhere in the previous 3 miles.

There is much fiddling with leads and battery as I bake in the hard sun. My first mistake was not to have a hat, sun screen or sun glasses in a vehicle with no roof. Lesson learnt. The gods are with me today as I loaded a can of petrol. The petrol gauge is showing a quarter tank but I am suspicious. Sure, enough after a refill she starts up like a champion and I’m on my way to the nearby Pemex for a fill up. Second lesson learnt.

The “Spanker” at Tomatina Bar & Restaurant

I make it to the beach at Lo De Marcos and grab a drink at our new local. The beast looks the part but needs some work. There are a few too many rattles and driving it at any speed does make one feel somewhat vulnerable. It’s when I steer off the highway that things become interesting. The spring suspension has had the benefit of some hydraulic additions which have made the ride noticeably solid. The journey to La Colina is very slow and eventful. It’s a tadge bumpy. I can describe every rock and divot by feel. My bum-bone appears to be hitting the top of my head. I park near the pool and get out slowly. I’m walking funny. My spine is knotted and my arse feels bruised and sore. This thing could be the end of me. Slowly spanked to death. Modifications are indeed required.

The time has come. I’m on my way out of my hot wet jungle to hot arid Reno to prepare all the many things required to allow us to survive in the dust of the Black Rock Desert for the coming weeks ahead. My lists of things to do in the next week are long and terrifying. I am meeting Jayne in 4 days. We intend to be leaving the delights of Reno almost immediately afterwards to collect our junk filled trailer which we haven’t seen in two years and then live in it for a number of weeks in an impressively inhospitable environment. No pressure.

The Growler : Our janky old trailer stored at Pyramid Lake .

The Black Rock Desert is a thousand square miles and sits at 4000 feet. The playa is a lake for many months of the year but when the heat starts to get very silly it dries up to a salt flat. This is one of the few places where land speed records are attempted as it is so level and featureless. It’s tough to avoid the effects of altitude and severe dehydration on the body as the salt in the air draws moisture away from the skin and breath. I don’t sweat out there. It’s zero humidity. That said the temperatures often reach well over 100ºF during the day and can dip below freezing once the sun sets. Dust storms are a normal occurrence, and in whiteout conditions, winds often reach around 70mph. There are few living things out there on the playa. No birds in the sky, no plant life to speak of and if there are some poor unfortunate bugs or creatures found they are usually imported from visiting vehicles or reluctantly blown in on the wind. .

All the temperature and non of the humidity

For reasons best left to myth and mystery this is the chosen venue for the Burning Man event. A temporary commerce free city is created for a population of around 70 000 for one week. Money is not a thing in Black Rock City as the only things you can buy are ice at two places and in one location coffee. It’s a gift economy. Bring everything you need and give away what you can . It’s the 4^th biggest city in Nevada for one week of the year and attracts a stunning concentration of art alongside extraordinarily diverse creativity. After the event participants are required to take everything they brought with them back with them. When the legendary playa restoration teams are finished there is no sign that anyone was there. A true “leave no trace” event.

This is the 13^th time I have been involved with Burning Man in Nevada. My “burn-mitzvah”. This is a clear indicator that the event still holds enough of an attraction to me that I am prepared to invest the considerable amounts of time, resources and gut lining required to be there. It is an environment that tests and refines ones physical & mental stamina. Why I chose to put myself through this is a long story. Years of unique experiences are hard to summarise. How does one explain the unexplainable? I will, however, try and give you a flavour of what captured me in the first place and inspired me enough to keep at it. The photos show art pieces from this year.

I first heard about Burning Man around a campfire at the Glastonbury Festival in Somerset UK in 2004. Glastonbury is the largest greenfield music and arts festival in the world. I have been there 27 times so it perhaps suggests I’m a festival junkie of some kind. That year my kids won an O’Neill competition to allow them to surf with pro-surfers in Cornwall the same week as the festival. I was committed to go but I wasn’t going to miss a surf with pros. I arranged to hitch out of the event early morning, join my family on an idyllic Cornish beach and then hitch straight back again.

Later that night I sat in a yurt sauna with my mates discussing highlights of the week. Muse, Oasis, James Brown, Joss Stone, Toots and the Maytals, Franz Ferdinand, Scissor Sisters, Black Eyed Peas and Sister Sledge were memorable enough but for me didn’t beat our day catching clean waves. This woke me up to make a pact with myself to open up to broader experiences rather than being a habitual Glastonbury junkie. Two guys had joined us and heard me babbling on. They agreed , suggested I do things differently and try out Burning Man. It sounded interesting enough but at that time I suspected that it was something I would never do.

The *Head Maze* houses 18 extraordinarily connected art rooms
Artist: Matthew Schultz

The very next year I found myself at Glastonbury again but soon after I took a surf trip in California. The water was cold, the waves sparse and the attitude of my fellow paddlers was aloof and exclusive. Not what I imagined. At my hostel, I received an entirely unexpected and random call from Reno Nevada. A complete stranger called Fred had heard about me from someone I had briefly met the week before in a bar in San Diego. Fred had somehow decided that I was to come to Burning Man. I needed to get to Reno and he would sort out the rest. I remember after the call being marginally more intrigued than confused. Of course, I was going.

Our friend and neighbour in Mexico and his unbelievable art car
*El Pulpo Mecanico* Artist : Duane Flatmo
Photo Credit : Stephane Lanoux

I managed to get to Reno and turned up at what I discovered was The Black Rock International Burner Hostel. A retired teacher from Reno who dedicated his time, his house and his pension to encourage and facilitate people from all over the world to come to Burning Man. I was one of them. After some quick pre-training, finding a bike, a tent, a box of trail bars and as much Gatorade and PBR (Pabs Blue Ribbon) as I could carry I found myself in a car with two girls from Montreal and my new Turkish friend heading out to whatever this thing was. About 4 hours later we arrive on the playa. It’s a few days before the event and the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. The stars were stunning and hypnotic.

I stood next to the car getting checked through a traffic gate with nothing else visible. My eyes were slowly becoming accustomed and caught something moving in the dark. I stared for a long time as the shape of a man running towards me took shape. As he got closer it became apparent that he was a big bloke, hairy, wearing a Viking helmet and absolutely nothing else. His eyes were locked on mine. He was coming at me at some pace and in the process of going for a high five/hug he knocks me to the ground. His face is very close to mine, his eyes wild and wide. He holds my head in his hands and slowly and clearly says to me … if this don’t change your life boy don’t come back…. He then gets up and runs on. I never saw him again.

*“Slonik”* is 23M of elephant that arrived from Moscow
Artist : Michael Tsaturyan

Within a few hours of arriving in the dark I am throwing ropes over structures and bikes on tents as a series of storms hit. I absolutely thought Burning Man was a survival exercise in keeping beer (PBR) cold while not being blown away in a dust storm. That’s certainly a part of it but it was two days later when I woke up in a stinking hot tent that I managed to see further than a few yards away.

I took a walk with one of the Canadian girls and finally understood the scale of where I was. Our little storm blown camp of mainly Kiwis, Brits, Irish and Ozzies was but a tiny part. We walked to an elaborate temple structure. We sat and took stock of the beauty of the building and the overwhelming vastness of the place in which we found ourselves. An older man with a white beard came and sat next to us. He asked us to look into ourselves and find something that would make our hearts sing and ask for it .. out loud. Mine was easy. My surf trip hadn’t really materialised well and I wanted to surf. “Good luck with that” he said…” but you never know.. this place may just surprise you. “

One of my favourite pieces this year made up of slivers of perfectly stacked plywood.
*Mariposita* Artist: Chris Carnabuci

We slowly walked towards where we thought our camp might be. We were lost pretty soon after leaving but lost was a good place to be. We saw it coming from a long way away. An immense wall of dust covering the entire sky to what we guessed was the South. We were armed with already well used scarfs and goggles. When it hit us we could see nothing, we held hands so we didn’t lose each other. The wind was strong but we kept walking very slowly. After a few minutes, a shape emerged and we found a guy on a tricycle who handed us cold PBR . We sat together in that spot in the dust storm until the beers ran out. The air cleared and we noticed the trike was towing a small trailer. On the trailer was a long board on springs. Our new dust storm friend was riding around offering to tow people on a surfboard! We both got to surf the playa gobsmacked.

When you cover 100 steel statues in wax and chuck in a match
*The Mans Army* Artist: Michael Ciulla & The Rave Knights

It would take me a full dissertation to continue this story. Maybe I’ll write it one day but it’s not for now. These first few days at Burning Man truly captured my imagination and led me into a world of endless possibilities. I did listen to my naked viking friends words and have now returned a dozen more times. The very many other strange, humble, skilled, inclusive and magnificent folks I met in 2005 and since have been responsible for seeming constant further adventures. We have, together, created amazing projects large & small in all corners of the world and helped hundreds of curious travellers to experience what would have otherwise have passed them by. For this I am grateful beyond measure.

When a bunch of black powder meets an anvil
Photo credit : John Curley

This year Jayne & I somehow have become staff at the event and have been persuaded to build a media centre and deck, then take it down again and store it in a container. It was hard work but a relatively straight forward project with a good crew which turns out to be fun & drama free. I did manage somehow to stupidly throw a lump of wood through the back window of the truck I was borrowing but I was forgiven. Eventually.

The 38 foot long *Flux Capacitor* Artist: Henry Chang
We were gifted this art car to play with for a fabulous few days and nights.

We camp in our janky trailer next to far better organised friends who are building a very large-scale metal hand that blows propane from fingers that are articulated so they form different hand signals. There was a moment when I was inside the metal forearm during a deafening pyrotechnic show using pulleys to move giant fingers. During a very hot afternoon we had to task of diverting the Bunny March (a herd of hundreds of over excited lunatics dressed as rabbits) away from our crew loading a truck of highly explosive fireworks. Not something that happens to a chap every day.

*I.L.Y* Artist: Dan Mountain and his sexy rock star crew

Of all the many unique moments in 2019 there was one that will stay with me. I visited the Temple this year to leave a message for my Dad. The process of leaving messages and tributes that will burn and be released is one that is a tradition here and in my experience very helpful to very many. . This year the structure was a series of portals in Japanese style. The inside is covered with photos of people who have died along with thousands of messages of love, hope and forgiveness. . I find a bench that has some space left on it and leave my Dad a message. I take along a few slugs of decent single malt Scotch. I take a drink in his honour and pour the rest on the message and leave the bottle for him. It’s emotional as hell but cathartic. I apologise to him that I couldn’t get the 10-year-old Laphroaig Cask Condition Scotch that we always drink together but under the circumstances I’m sure he won’t mind.

The attention to detail on this piece was stunning. Carpentry porn on every wall with dioramas hidden behind pictures . The Folly represents an imaginary shantytown of funky climbable towers and old western storefronts, cobbled together from salvaged and reclaimed lumber.
The Folly Artist: Dave Keane & his epic crew of warriors

A truly gorgeous burn.
Photo Credit: John Curley

We then head off for a treat we have waited for a whole week for. A shower. There is an area called the Wet Spot where hot showers are available for staff. We were given a couple of passes and have saved them for this moment. A shower after a week in the dust is transformative in so many ways. 15 minutes of water has shifted all the muck and for a short time restores the feeling of not being stuck to your pants.

I am lying in the sun drying off when the girl next to me says my name. She recognises me from an event in Wales some years ago and knows many of my mates. We offer her a lift back to her camp in our truck. She is a volunteer doctor from UK who is not licensed to work in Nevada so has been learning to repair bicycles at a free repair shop. She is also an active whisky club aficionado. When she gets back to her camp she appears with a Viking horn and a sample. It’s a full bottle of 10-year-old Laphroaig Cask Conditioned ……..

*The Temple of Direction* flames creating a fire dragon.
Artist :Geordie Van Der Bosch & Temple Crew

Some days after everything has officially finished and all the propane has been burned off we leave a large crew of hard core lunatics restoring the playa to its former unremarkable glory. We store the trailer and make it back to Reno. We have three baths and three showers back to back. We try and find out how many of the hotel towels we can wreck. Jayne takes her flight back to Toronto. I stay on for a day or two to mend the truck window and fill myself with sushi and steaks. It takes a number of zombie days in a Reno Casino to recover enough to fly home.

I’m glad to be in the jungle again. My buddies have looked after the place (and the cats) and everyone has survived. Jayne is expected to be home and in loin cloths again as soon as November so that’s something to look forward to.

I’m back just a few days and my body has entirely changed shape again. I was feeling skinny there for a moment but like a ginger pot noodle have swollen to an acceptable size again by just adding water.

I’m writing this in the treehouse while Hurricane Lorena swings by. It’s a CAT 1 and the eye is off shore so thankfully we are getting no winds to deal with but it’s been raining hard now for a large number of hours. It’s so good to be damp again.

Jungle Journal

Change is in our nature

August 5, 2019August 5, 2019
by Beave

My ability to capture our lives in this blog has been somewhat scuttled due to a number of reasonable excuses of late so there is a bit of catching up to do. First and foremost, not having a laptop has been a fairly demotivating factor. My newly purchased tablet has been bloody useful and reconnected me with the wider world but is a compete pain in the bum to type on. The frustration of insanely programmed predictive text and a randomly functional narky touch screen rather than a key board has been frankly too annoying to face.

The days after we were burgled were very strange. There was gratitude for what we had left and acceptance of what we had lost. The process of gathering police reports and evidence for the insurance company is never a joyous process but the Mexican way beggars’ belief. Convoluted requests for notional paperwork mixed with conflicting advice of how to get them combined with almost fictional bureaucratic madness combine to send the sanest of us completely bonkers.

This tarot card was the first thing we picked up from the pile of random mess we found in the treehouse after the robbery.

At one point, we are asked to return to the police station 10 miles away to request that all the paperwork they gave us is reprinted and stamped with an official stamp. The admin girl there is stern and officious but Jayne has melted her stony heart and they get along fine. The paper work is redone and stamped and we are presented with a bill that must be paid and certified. It’s a total of 30 pesos. Less than 2$US. We happily try to pay the girl but police stations are not allowed to take cash. In order to achieve what we need we are instructed to drive to the official payment office and return with the receipt to be authorized. The payment office is 50 miles away. That’s a 100-mile round trip to pay 2US$. We look at each other in disbelief. Even Madame Admins expressionless face cracks a little as we ask her to explain this to us a few more times very slowly as we frankly don’t believe it. As it happens her love for Jayne manifests in a dodgy side deal that makes the process easier but we did indeed have to travel 50 miles to pay for the photocopying.

I will be kind and save you the many further tales of extraordinary pedantic police administration we witnessed and endured. I am happy to report that some weeks later we have been paid for one insurance claim. When someone eventually admits to understanding the system that they are employed to manage and lets us know how they want us to invoice in the correct way we should presumably get paid for the other. Without Jaynes excellent Spanish, our endless patience, perseverance and our thick sweaty pasty skin this would have been impossible. Insurance companies here make themselves safe from any poor unfortunates that may actually need any money from them by constructing seemingly endless levels of increasingly nonsensical administration. Maybe it’s a universal business model. Bastards.

It’s a few days after we get back and we are busy re-sorting our lives and taking stock. We are anticipating the rains arriving soon and it’s already hotter than is absolutely necessary. Not expecting any guests any time soon. We are interested what life will throw at us next. Then we find out. Jayne gets an email from Toronto.

In one of her former lives Jayne has been a significant player in the world of transit. Getting people from one place to the other. The fact that in London anyone can get on a tube, train or bus by waving a credit card at a bleepy box is down to Jayne and her team. The heady days of long sweaty queues juggling change at counters or machines to work out what ticket you may need are no more. Toronto want to move from sweaty queues to bleepy boxes so need Jayne to make it happen. They need her enough to offer a short-ish term contract at very sexy money. So there is a decision to make.

We don’t need the money even though it would change our lives short term. Jayne does not have to leave her beloved jungle home. The cash is the temptress. It would allow us not to be beholden to chasing Airbnb 5-star rating from guests. It would allow us to build more infrastructure, spend more time on our own projects and attract heaps of art. We as a couple have not spent much time apart so that in itself would be a fairly dramatic new dynamic. The contract does offer the potential in the near future to find ourselves in a position where we both live in Mexico and Jayne remote works a few days a month and we would be entirely self-sustainable. That is the real golden goose. It takes a lot of soul searching but it has been decided upon. Jayne has accepted the contract and is required to start in Toronto in about a week.

In what seems no time at all the treehouse is in bits again as everything we own is dragged out and half of it imported into our remaining luggage. Friends offer to lend Jayne all the essentials she is missing for her new temporary city existence. There is quite a lot missing. Silly little things such as clothes and shoes. We have one night out in Puerto Vallarta and then very early Jayne flies out to a posh hotel for a few days while she looks for an apartment to rent and I am left alone in the jungle with the cats. This is a huge change and it has happened so quickly. These last weeks have all been something of a blur.

Our treehouse is a modest 6M x 6M but now there is so much less stuff and only the three of us it seems somewhat larger. The jungle seems to have expanded too. All this space all to myself. It’s been a while since I’ve had this much time for just me. It takes a short while to readjust and settle in. It’s a good few days before I find myself leaving the jungle or talking to anyone. I spend the time digging drainage trenches , building furniture, rearranging my new living space for one and preparing all the many thing for the coming downpours. It’s exhausting and distracting.

Moving myself and stuff around the Jungle is a different prospect now the Razor is elsewhere. Django (our 1982 van) is our only form of transport and is limited to where it can go and at what pace. It currently has 480 000 km on its clock. Life slows down noticeably as a result. When the rains come properly it will need to live in the town as it will get trapped out here. Our jungle buggy is getting a new suspension, seats and wheels so no sign of that for a while yet. Thankfully our stunningly generous friends, currently in the USA for a few months, lend us their jeep. Now jeeps have something of a crap reputation here. There is a romantic image many gringos from the USA have of travelling around the tropics in an open top jeep. To the obvious delight of local mechanics many do just that. Jeeps are their no.1 source of income. Despite its reputation we gratefully accept a solid 4×4 that will get me across my land. Over the week or so I used it I sorta kinda got to like her a tiny little bit. She has stiff suspension and is a bone rattler for sure but it didn’t miss a beat going up and down our hill.

I get a call from town. Our well head turtle sculpture is ready to go. Exciting stuff. The paint required to protect it from rusting away has arrived and applied in funky style. It’s now clearly a male turtle. We load him up on a truck and bring him out. In place, he looks extraordinary. He is named Wel-Ed. The day is getting ridiculously hot but there is work to be done. I prepare the area and mix concrete. A mate turns up out of the blue to deliver life saving ice cream and give me a much-needed hand. We are both soaking wet with sweat and dizzy in the heat but it is done. Wel-Ed is solidly in place and he looks magnificent. Our first commissioned art piece.

The process of getting accommodation in Toronto is proving a touch more challenge than expected. After spending many hours on line reviewing small but luxurious apartments it becomes apparent that many of the adverts are scams. We quickly learn these scams are well known and frequent in Toronto, Vancouver Seattle and many other places. Dodgy buggers armed with much cheek and gab trawl Airbnb sites for pictures of apartments and then re-post them as rentals on Craig’s list and fake websites. They ask for upfront deposits. When renters arrive at their new home they find it already occupied by the actual owner or legitimate renter. We came across a load of them. All pushing hard for deposits up front and reluctant to show you the property. Took a week before Jayne navigated her way around the unscrupulous and moved into a rather posh, if compact and overpriced, apartment not too far away from the office so she can walk to work. Let the temporary nesting begin. Bring on the gin and Tim Bits. Tim Hortons who are the ever-present coffee provider of choice in Canada also offer highly addictive boxes of small round doughnut type balls (Tim Bits) with varying levels of sugar coatings. Canadian crack.

The highway construction has been relatively quiet recently. Environmental groups have been conducting studies to see what the actual effects on the wildlife are manifesting. A group who track Jaguar have been working close by and we meet up. They are tracking about a dozen Jaguar who are all very close. One of them is over 100kg in weight so we are advised to be cautious. They have set up cameras and hung pig guts in the tress to attract them. These photos were taken just a few hundred yards from our house. Jaguar are not interested in humans as food and concentrate their attention on cattle. Their greatest danger are cattle ranchers who shoot them. To prevent this the Mexican government pays farmers a good price for any cattle the Jaguar take. The problem is that the paperwork and administration is also very Mexican and most ranchers can’t or won’t go through the compensation process so continue to shoot them. The conservation teams have jumped in and now take on the administration on the ranchers’ behalf to encourage them to keep the guns away from the Jaguar. This bit of direct smart conservation action is making a measurable difference.

The land is looking good. Drainage ditches are in place and I have stripped all the beds and prepared the place as best I can to cope with the water that is forecast very soon. I have installed tarps over the kitchen and a water repellant coating on the outside walls of the most vulnerable casitas. My dear mate from Lo De Marcos has asked to live on the land for the Summer and help out. More than anything this will allow me time away if needed. I start a plan to visit Toronto for a short while.

I am approached by a local girl who lives in the guts of the town on the main exit road where all the construction traffic passes 24 hours a day. She is looking for a more peaceful place to stay for a few months. She wants to garden and generally keep the place clean and functional during the time when we don’t have guests and do have thunderstorms every night. So that’s two self-sufficient people on our land for the Summer. Result !

An Australian friend of Jakes contacts me. She is in Columbia and heading North and interested if there is a place to stay over the next month or so. There is a ready-made small community developing with the aim of making thing better here. I have agreed for all of them to be here until November. That is the rainy season covered. Be great to have some help and keep the place alive. I am starting to realise this new situation removes my best excuse for not going to Burning Man this year.

Jaynes contract goes up to the end of December. She can leave with 10 days’ notice but potentially she won’t be back till Xmas. She is not the jaded old burner I have become so is very keen to go to Burning Man in Nevada again this year. www.burningman.com We have great friends who have recommended us to an infrastructure build so we have been offered staff passes and the ability to arrive way before the masses. It gives Jayne a much-needed break from city competence in the freedom of the desert. La Colina is now occupied so I have run out of excuses not to join in. My resistance is weak and I crack under the considerable pressure. I’m in and flights to Reno booked. Here we go again.

Dusty Desert Nonsense in Our Future Again

The rains arrive. A huge storm of tropical proportions delivers a vast amount of water in the shortest time through the night. Lightening is close and the thunder rips the sky above the treehouse. It’s been a while since I was in one of these. Spectacular. The morning shows that the water ditches were 80% successful and show what adjustments need making. I check the well. The water is back for now. It’s been a worry as we have had no well water for weeks. The source stream up in the hills that feeds all the dwellings between me and the town stopped flowing for the first time in 40 years the week before. Relief.

The frogs and toads have turned up again. Raucous amphibian orgies keep me awake for another couple of wet nights. The pool has had no water for weeks and is in a sorry state. It’s now home to countless swimming beasties. There are long strings of toad spawn , water beetles and many thousands of tadpoles. There are also masses of horrible looking things that constantly swim vertically from the bottom of the pool to the surface and back again. They are a few inches long, black, a cross between a fat slug and a hairy caterpillar with fins and a large head. They look like something from a bad movie and there are hundreds of them. When there is enough water I’ll restore the pool to the humidity sanctuary that it will become for the Summer. In the meantime it will have to remain a well occupied jungle pond.

So things have rapidly shifted from jungle solitude to a full schedule of travel over the coming weeks. I let it slip that I am flying to Toronto and the word gets through to an animal sanctuary in Sayulita http://sayulitanimals.org . These lovely folk rescue animals in bad situations and get them adopted around the world. There are two puppies that have new owners in Toronto and they are desperately looking for a mule to transport them to their new owners. They bombard me with messages and calls. I am puppy mugged. It looks like that’s going to be me.

So I gather what could be considered relatively normal clothes and an empty suitcase and am collected by the animal sanctuary with two four month old puppies and head to the airport. They are by any standards cute. Even the process of checking in is hampered by adoring crowds. I am to carry these little buggers all the way through Dallas and then onto Toronto. By the time I get onto the first plane and they are squeezed under the seat in front me there is already a small dedicated crowd of puppy followers. If you would like to experience the attention usually saved for the most famous and beautiful people carry a box of puppies through an airport. I’m mobbed. It’s past midnight when I arrive in Toronto and get through the hoops and special inspections to get dogs into Canada. The new owners are waiting with great anticipation but they have to wait for Jayne who is first in the queue to greet me. Two happy new puppy families later we head in a taxi towards the city.

Its already a bit of a head twist, post-puppies, arriving in Toronto centre at night. Our rather posh apartment has a view over the city and the CN Toronto tower. It has automatic blinds, a TV the size of me , a dishwasher , ice maker, heating and air-con . It is also home to a fully automatic toilet with an electronic control panel to allow for a number of bum washing and polishing options. Bit of a change to the usual bucket in a box option. I look out into the city from our posh apartment with a glass of cold chardonnay. It absolutely feels like I have landed in a graphic novel.

More bum cleaning choices than absolutely necessary

So walking to the office with Jayne in the mornings shows that perhaps I’m not entirely city conditioned. The amount of other people is a touch overwhelming . Crowds of them at pedestrian crossings all packing the pavements heading to their offices. No one talking to each other. Half of them dodging joggers, bikes and traffic while staring at a phone. Then at 9 am peace descends on the city. Office folk are in their offices and everyone else is in a Tim Hortons. Shops don’t open till 10 am . It’s altogether a bit strange.

So as Jayne applies her genius at work I am released to Toronto. I spend far too much time in the Apple store and not quite enough time buying tools at Home Depot. We stock up with tech, shoes, clothes and cheese. It’s a very multicultural city with all the benefits to gastronomy that brings. It’s good to catch up and our week is brightened by fresh Pad Thai, home cooked chicken, a quite superb Moroccan lamb , authentic Japanese dishes, Portuguese sardines, dozens of buck-a-shuck oysters and very importantly buckets and buckets of much missed Guinness. We add culture with a trip to an interactive art exhibition and a night at the theatre. It’s all very different. I haven’t been bitten by anything for over a week.

I’m very grateful that Jayne is so well appreciated by her colleagues and that we have the money to enjoy time in what is without a doubt a very expensive place to be. As I drag my over-packed bags back to the airport Im absolutely looking forward to getting home. The luxury of well paid city life is a measure of great success for many. We can certainly appreciate it for a short while but it’s clear our basic human needs are met elsewhere. I am most grateful that we both know that and have our self created sanctuary in which to stay just the right side of sane. Jayne will be back in our world soon enough. It’s not easy to play the game when you know its not the game for you. We just have to change the game.

Arriving back after just over a week away is a shock. The whole place looks entirely different. The dust has changed to dark rich earth. The paths are overgrown with vines and covered in fallen branches. The roads have been washed thin by the flooded rivers that are now showing signs of flowing and are full of rocks after the storms . The pool is now two feet deeper. The tadpoles and black hairy swimmer things twice the size. Since I left there have been real tropical storms. Huge quantities of water and lightening.

The effects are not entirely welcome. A few days before I return the power went out. The solar system is showing fault lights and it’s tropically hot. We don’t have lights , refrigeration or more importantly fans ! I spend the next two days sweating like never before while tracing and repairing potential faults. It’s so hot I can’t think. I find myself sitting on the sharp jungle floor with a breaker box in pieces in front of me. Ants are biting my feet and my head is under constant attack from mosquitos. The heat turns me into an even more obvious moron. My over heated brain feels like its forcing it’s thoughts through warm soup. I spent half my time looking for my screwdriver with my right hand that I eventually discover in my left hand. I have been up at 7 am in order to speak to three separate solar inverter experts around the world who all give me conflicting advice. The latest is to remove the entire 40kg inverter and send it to Mexico City for repair. I can’t face the idea of that unless absolutely necessary . Even my soupy brain tells me they are all talking bollocks. I pass out and wake up a few hours later with an idea. I return to the solar inverter which I have stared at for hours and flick a few switches . Power is restored. I am saved.

It has occurred to me only today that I have one week to get myself ready to fly to Reno. I must not only prepare the land for leaving for the best part of a month but I must entirely prepare myself for burning man too. So I have a week to clean the pool and fix the water pipes , collect and return the jungle jeep, replace security cameras and finish this overdue blog. Then I get to pack enough stuff to leave the humid tropical heat of our jungle and spend a month in a hot dry dusty salty desert. I’m looking forward to be dehydrated in a whole new and exciting way . Lucky me.

Jungle Journal

Spider Eyes and a Chicken Nunnery

June 22, 2018
by Beave

So I’ve been banging on about the rains coming for weeks and they finally arrive early and in style. Last night was the second night of rain. We have spent a very sedate day sweating and both recovering from my man flu. We mostly watched Netflix and waited for sleep to take us. No rush. The nightly chorus of tin whistle bugs is done and at midnight we drift off. At 1 am I am awake. The jungle is in instant shadow as the whole sky lights up in flashes. It’s chucking it down. Real tropical rain. The roof is holding up well and the ground is soaking it all in (for now) so there is little to worry about. Then the frogs kick off.

Considering how dry and water free it has been up to this point it is illogical in the extreme that all of a sudden a few hours of rain can create all the frogs. Where have they all suddenly come from?? I can’t count how many but the noise is deafening. Can’t hear the rain for them. I spend the next 4 hours in my man flu misery reading and listening. Amongst many others I identify a “base cello’ frog, a “scooter with a bad battery trying to start” frog and a particularly irritating “everything is hilarious and I’ve just huffed some helium” frog. The rains reduce by 5 am and my book is finished. The frogs care not and are still having a good old sing. I pass out.

The frog orgy has left without cleaning up. The evidence is everywhere. Frog and toad spawn had filled the previously dried up jungle pond. The sight of the swimming pool is shocking. There are about two dozen large frogs in there. I manage to rescue the few survivors and then start the body count. I fish them out of the pool and arrange them on a rock for curiosity purposes. It’s carnage.

I arrange the dead frogs on a rock beside the pool and return to the tree house. We are somewhat surprised by a high pitched scream. The local pool company has turned up for a visit and the girl who is examining the pool has just discovered my frog rock display. She is loudly unimpressed. Her colleague is highly entertained.

Curiously this whole frog rave lasted only two nights. They are still out there being irritatingly loud but this is an after party crowd. They now sound like clowns with bike horns and give it their all for about 20 minutes then shut up for an hour… then start again. It’s better than it was….

We now have lots of water. The well is filling up again (just in time), we have three out of five full tinacos, the pool level has improved, all the plants and herbs are thoroughly watered and the solar panels are washed. These are all good things.

Last week we wondered why our solar batteries were low. A brief examination of the panels showed that in just over a week the entire solar array had acquired a thick coating of twigs, leaves and muck from the shedding trees. How we had any power at all was a mystery. As our ladder was being used elsewhere an enthusiastic, brave and acrobatic friend who was visiting climbed up with broom and removed all the crap. Battery power renewed in no time. It was on our list of maintenance jobs to do this regularly but now there is no need. The rains have polished them to a sunbeam friendly gleam.

It’s time for planting stuff out. We have bougainvilleas to place on the fence line. Also a spontaneous planting of sunflower seeds has produced a dozen or so competing shoots that need a home. We have collected orchids in dormant state and tied them to trees. Theoretically these will suck up the moisture in the air and flower in a month or two.

I have had a nagging request for some time. Someone wants chickens. The opportunity presents itself when we get a call informing us that a local vet-student has chickens to rehouse. Our friends are bringing her and her family over to meet us on Friday… with chickens. I spend a day building a chicken nunnery tractor. A nunnery because it will NOT be housing any bloody roosters. Sorry girls. The purpose of the tractor element is to allow the chickens to eat all the scrub and insects underneath their home and then we move it along. In this way the jungle floor is fertilized and cleaned progressively and the chickens are safe, dry, fed and producing eggs. Chicken safety out here is something we need to understand better. Pretty much everything eats chickens. Eagles, snakes, jaguar, ocelots, us. They are famously delicious. Have to see how that turns out. The process of building all day in a ginger puddle has left me exhausted. I have been fooled by a few cooling showers and protective afternoon clouds and managed to get dehydrated.

I recover with pints of homemade Jamaica (pronounced “hamica”), AKA cold hibiscus tea, which is a red plant base that we boil up to make a concentrated syrup. Added to a heap of water and ice with lime juice it is as refreshing a thing as we have found. There is an endless jug of the stuff in the fridge.

My recovery is somewhat disturbed by the sound of the cat fighting with one big fat cicada type bug. It’s the ones that make all the racket at night fall. Now they are loud enough half a mile away but having one being chewed by a cat a few feet away is deafening. I drag myself up and grab a cloth. My first attempt at rescue only manages to scare it into a limping flight with its one remaining good wing as it attaches itself to the window screen. It’s bigger than I thought. A good handful. I make my move but it’s too quick and noisily collides with my face and disappears in silence. It’s nowhere to be seen. Mausetrappe and I look at each other in confusion. I feel a scratching sensation and am then startled out my wits by a massive noise in my ear! The little sod was hiding on the back of my neck!! I grab him and throw him hard onto the floor. The cat pounces and diverts the thing under the sink. He is silent again. Not for long. The cat gets him in her mouth. The sound is unbelievable. I grab him. My whole hand is vibrating wildly as it screams. On the balcony I shake the cloth in my hand and I see him shoot directly upwards into the trees. Gone. It’s raining and very dark. Around me there are slowly moving majestic lights. The fireflies are back!!

Mango season is upon us. I was put off mangos by spending a lot of time in Montreal. There was a phase of putting mangos on everything. It was trendy to have eggs and bacon with a lump of mango. Bugger that! I am , however, seduced by the laden local mango trees. Each mature tree produces up to 250 kg a season. We had to consider that when looking at land with a dozen mango trees. Thats literally tons of mangoes to deal with. The little ones taste better than the big ones.

Another welcome return is that of the toilet paper butterfly. This is unlikely to be the scientific name but they can best be described as a lump of toilet paper floating around in the wind. They are bright white and huge. The wings are far too big to be efficient so they kinda flop around randomly and somehow stay in the air. Inelegant but stunning to watch.

The chickens arrive. They are an ugly bunch. Dirty brown with bare arses. Tail feathers are optional we discover. The chicken nunnery is placed outside our balcony so we can keep them under review for the first few weeks. The ground is uneven so we create a rockery around the nunnery to discourage beasts from getting in. The chickens are installed and we decide to keep them locked in for a day or two so they learn this is where they live. Not necessary. Despite the door being left open all day the chickens don’t move from their luxurious perches in the shade. We learn that organic free-range chickens are mainly conceptual. Despite acres of lovely range to be free upon most chickens prefer to stay inside and view the outside from the inside. Despite being agoraphobic & antisocial our five chickens appear happy enough. I have decided to name our nunnery inmates. Sister Kwafi, Sister Pybus, Sister Bricklebank, Sister Allenby & Sister Bland. Any comparison with anyone with similar names is entirely deliberate. Eggs are in our future.

There have been a few nights now of heavy to very heavy rains. In retrospect many things have indicated rains were coming. The lime trees started to bear fruit again and we found a heap of bananas appearing the week before the rains came. We found a tomato growing wild next to the house, the last flower on the vanilla orchid appeared and was pollinated and the roof got fixed, all the very day before the rains came.

The ground is alive with bright glowing red beetles. We spend some hours at the waterfall pools and they are everywhere. Individually they are fascinating but they have a trick. They gang together and make balls of themselves. A bright red shape the size of a golf ball. I have no idea why. It doesn’t seem an efficient love in and there is no feeding frenzy going on. See how long they last. They are harmless and very, very pretty.

There is a phenomena that I was convinced was fake news. If you shine a torch or headlight at a certain angle into the jungle thousands of tiny glowing lights reflect back at you. Every one of these lights is a spider looking back at you. Well I had these lights shown to me a few times but refused to believe the spider story. This was until the tinaco above our tree house sprang a leak and I needed to change out a fitting immediately and the sun was setting. It’s not something you would chose to do without daylight but I had no choice. On the way up the hill my headlight caught a mass of reflections, which I ignored until the tinaco was fixed. On the way down the hill in the dark I decided to explore these tiny lights close up. Unbelievably its true. I got close enough to confirm that the closest dozen lights were indeed spider eyes reflecting back at me. They were only tiny spiders but they shone like diamonds. Spooky.

And with the rain comes the crabs. It’s a famously strange and wonderful sight here in Nayarit to see hundreds of thousands of large pink crabs heading a kilometer for the sea after hibernation all year. If you are in the way it’s described as biblical. There is no avoiding them! We have avoided them as we are just far enough away from the sea. Just. The run to the ocean is over now but the bodies of those that didn’t quite make it are everywhere.

The bugs have changed again this month. We had weeks of tiny little buggers that felt like grains of sand when you caught them trying to nibble on you. More recently there is a medium sized loudly buzzing night time arrival. It’s a good job we have the nets on the bed. You hear them first and then see them head butting the fabric screen loudly. It’s impossible to sleep with these antics so I have taken to punching them off the net. They cope with this tactic rather well. Despite getting a full knuckle punch in their face they come back at you! They have heavy armor that looks like a nutshell. It can take two or three well placed punches to put off a “nut bug”. The cat is far more efficient and crunches them loudly and leaves them in a pile for me.

The Summer Solstice is upon us. The longest day. Tomorrow in the UK Christmas cards start appearing in the shops. It is also the anniversary of the burning of an effigy on Baker Beach in San Francisco over 30 years ago from which the Burning Man event evolved. One of the founders of the event died recently and there is a worldwide acknowledgement of gratitude for the connections this event created. My life would certainly be very different if those guys hadn’t decided to burn something on a beach that day. So to mark the occasion we gather with friends both new and old and knock up a “palm man”. We collect mango margaritas and head to the beach. It was all rather beautiful.

The rains have held off now for a week. What appeared to be the rainy season coming early was actually the back end of Hurricane Bud. The first of the season. The real rainy season is due soon enough. We are preparing slowly.

There is no doubt that Mexico is now a great footballing nation. It only takes a single goal but timing is everything. We watch this goal live from our friend’s restaurant packed with locals. We also endure an hour of waiting for the Germans to equalise but incredibly it doesn’t happen !! Torture to ecstasy. The place goes nuts. Moscow will be out of tequila in the morning. We have the might of glorious South Korea next. Despite the dull as ditch water England performance against Tunisia Jayne’s footballing needs are satisfied. We are, however, asking ourselves if getting up at 6 am on Sunday to watch England v Panama is worth the effort… probably.