I love Center Camp. I loved it the instant I saw it. I don't know why.

The eleven waving flags on top make it look castle-like somehow. Official, welcoming. Before I came someone told me that if I was ever feeling down or depressed or just didn't know what to do next, head to Center Camp. There is always something happening there.

Indeed, he was right. People, activities, performances, and most importantly, coffee, is at Center Camp!

Upon entering, I was handed not one but TWO newspapers. Black Rock City newspapers. I'm impressed. I wonder how many are printed? They must have printed them before the city existed, which is kind of a weird concept.

The people inside looked grizzly, dirty, dusty, underdressed. We pretty much all looked that way by now.

I listened to a man play the guitar. I observed folks practicing acrobatics. I filled out a census-related questionnaire. (Yes, there is a Black Rock City Census!) I admired oil paintings and drawings, most of it related to the theme "Carnival of Mirrors". I lounged on a couch. And I got myself an iced chai.

Wherever I was on playa, especially from a height, I always sought out Center Camp. Like a... beacon.

Only once did I ever see the flags stop waving. The wind slowed and the air was still for some time on Saturday. Otherwise, they flapped in the wind, the constant pounding like an invitation.

As I became once again engulfed in the theme camps and city streets, I heard a loud voice. A man on a bicycle with a fancy-looking amplifier attached to the back wheels, was riding by.

"Do you want to say anything to the playa?" he asked into his microphone.

I had something to say.

"Hello playa," I said, my voice amplified. "Thank you for not being dusty today!"

After my voice echoed around, I continued along the lamppost-lined road, ending up at 9:00 plaza. I passed signs for an Apology Booth and took note of some art centerpieces.

I strolled along the city streets, enjoying the new sights and sounds in the unfamiliar neighborhoods. Suddenly, my eye caught a high structure. Wandering toward it I discovered, to my delight, stairs!

Well, of course, I had to climb them! I love a view.

A couple weeks after I returned from Burning Man, my campmate decided that "Dora the Explorer" should be my camp name.

I saw so much yet still felt like I only scratched the surface. I could have spent another several days exploring the city.

As I marveled at the quantity and variety of theme camps, patterns materialized. Camps tended to fit in one of a few categories.

There were also a lot of cuddling camps and self-care yoga and healing camps. And others seemed to exist just to play on. And trampolines. Don't forget the trampolines. I counted at least a half dozen.

Some camps come back year after year. I added the below camp to my must-see list. It is the most WTF camp I have ever seen.

I was lucky enough to be standing in the vicinity when some passersby asked the owner to explain how it all started. So he did.

The founder is a Jew ("Only a Jew could do this", he said.) He started it in the year 2000 with a handful of Barbies. He added the Wine Bistro in 2001 but did not really intend for it to continue on year after year. But people kept sending him Barbies! Today, 2015, he has over 1,400 Barbies. He admits that running the camp is a good way to meet women and that is one of his primary motivations.

Despite its morbidity (not sure if the crucifixions or Barbies on the oven burners is worse), it is hilarious. But maybe you have to experience it in person...

As I walked away, I overheard some guy say, "What a fucking story for the Shabbath."

On my way back to camp, I passed an RV with a man and woman sitting in lawn chairs. In front of them were three jars.

"Would you like a pickle?" they asked.

"I would love a pickle!" I replied. "It's the best playa food."

I was slightly icked by realizing, as I reached into the pickle jar with my dirty, dusty fingers, that people before me must have done the same. But I retrieved a pickle and ate it anyway. The woman said she hailed from Oakland, but the guy was from Kentucky. (Neither of these matched their license plate "Florida" which they acknowledged was a rental, so made my earlier noting of license plate states more-or-less useless.)

Obviously named after the 2011 children's book, this joint served alcohol during Happy Hour. By the time I got there, however, they were out of mojitos, the only drink that sounded palatable to me. But the bartender was super nice, chatted with me for a while, and gave me a keychain!

Along with "Anti M's Home for Wayward Art", where you take a small piece of art -- usually a small print of a painting -- and in return write down your name and what you thought of it, I ended up with quite a few unusual gifts and keepsakes! I will show you more of this later.

The sun set at 7pm. The burn-related events started at 9pm. We departed our camp early to get a good seat, the half mile walk seeming to take a long time since I was excited to get there.

I was surprised to find that the Man was still lit up in neon red and green! They must be burning him, LEDs and all.

We found a place to sit 3-4 rows back from the front, hooray. We were still, of course, a safe distance from the Man. (Obviously, setting a 60-foot tall structure on fire in a place prone to windstorms requires some serious precautions.) Earlier in my wanderings, I saw this pipe thing in a circular perimeter around the Man, which I assume had been decreed "a safe distance to watch this thing burn from."

As we sat and waited, the space behind us filling up fast, we passed around some booze and gazed upon the Man for the last time in the fading light.

(I did not bring my camera to this event. So I borrowed a few photos from the internet.)

At this point, you might be amazed at how behaved and cooperative everyone was being, to sit in perfect, tight concentric circles around the Man. Not quite. Although people were generally peaceful, it did take some prompting. A ranger, donned in his uniform of a hat and khaki shorts, appeared in front of us, introduced himself, and said it was his job to get everyone seated. Only perhaps the first 5-6 rows of us could hear his crackly voice (no one's voice is intact by Day 7), so he enlisted our help to spread the message back. "The record is 23 rows seated," he hold us.

Our assistance came in the form of call-and-answer chants.

"Where do our asses go?" he shouted.

"On the ground!" we yelled back.

After we repeated this several times with success, he yelled:

"What do we say to people who sit down?"

"Thank you!"

He was a polite ranger. He told us it was his first year. "I don't have much authority, but I get to yell at people," he said. There were rangers such as him stationed all along the interior of the perimeter, trying to get as many people to sit down as possible (to increase ease of viewing, I assume) and to make sure no bikes were in the way.

"What do we say about bikes?"

"No bikes!"

By the end, he'd gotten about 15 rows total seated. (We know, because we asked people to count back.) Beyond the 15 rows, beyond the folks standing behind them, in an even larger perimeter around the man, were all the art cars. Lit up, blasting music, the huge, wacky, blinking vehicles encircled the Man.

At precisely 9pm, the pre-show started. The Man's arms started slowly rising. And there were fire dancers. Let me repeat that:

FIRE DANCERS!

Between us and the Man, international groups of about ten people each appeared (I believe the group in front of us was from Hawaii.) They held sticks with flames, fiery strings, hoops on fire, flaming poi, a giant flaming square, all sorts of things! They were spun, twirled, thrown up and flung in elaborate, rehearsed pyro-choreography. My favorite were the people who made it look as if flames were hovering above their hands as they moved, like magic.

I have to admit, though, that even in the fourth row, I still had to crane my neck a bit to see.

Then, at 9:30pm, fireworks exploded over the Man. I had not expected fireworks. At first, the concept of fireworks seemed strange for such an act of pyromania and destruction, but earlier, my veteran friend explained this to me. The Man burn is a time of (almost hedonistic) celebration. In contrast, the burning of the Temple, scheduled for the following night, was solemn, a time for reflection and rebirth; a new year.

As the fireworks continued in overlapping bursts, various parts of the Man started sparking. Someone behind me said, "He's burning," and sure enough I could see flames within the torso.

Then, a major-action-movie-worthy fireball engulfed the Man entirely and he was alight! His arms dropped. And he burned.

The fireworks stopped. The drums continued.

The debris cloud started to head in our direction despite the lack of wind. Smoldering pieces of Man rained down on the spectators to our right. Then smaller debris fell among us. Lots of "heads up" and "incoming" warnings came from those nearby.

Flames licked higher than his head. Chunks of the man fell in flaming heaps to cheers from the audience. Soon, he was a smoking skeleton.

A surprising number of people left the crowd as he smoldered. Perhaps preparing for after parties? Using the facilities? I had heard that the previous year's burn had lasted upwards of two long hours so perhaps they figured they'd seen the best.

A sound to my left distracted me and when I turned back, the Man was toppling forward! Clearly, the people in charge had taken steps to make sure that we did not sit for two hours again. At this point, it was only about 10pm.

People started to stand...

And I was nervous.

Earlier, I was told that, once the Man had burned, people would rush in a stampede toward the remains of the Man. Fears of being trampled in the chaos made me anxious, despite that I was told that it was not dangerous. Either way, I was determined to participate in the ritual.

My fears were unfounded. No one moved forward until the ranger gave the go-ahead. I had several minutes to secure my backpack and position myself in an emptier space (the gung-ho people were in the front, but plenty of people were casually mingling behind them) before people started running.

And then we all ran.

Soon, I reached the crowd bunched up at the perimeter and I was no longer cold. Body heat and heat from the fire warmed the air. The crowd moved gradually counterclockwise in a tight mass. I was a few rows from the edge of the fire and being short, could only see the flaming remains of the Man in the glowing displays of people's phones and cameras, held up over everyone's head. People were packed shoulder to shoulder. Somewhere behind me, a guy said, "This is how some girls get pregnant," which flipped me out a bit, but generally, it was not too pushy. More people were headed out than in. Eventually, having had enough of the Tokyo-subway-like crush, I moved outward, the cool air a relief. I finished the loop, a little disoriented as to which direction I was facing until I spotted the art car with balloons stretching up into the heavens, the location of which I had earlier noted.

As I walked back, I located some of the remaining landmarks, the medical center's red cross, the bumper car place, and made it to Steampunk Saloon, our pre-arranged meeting spot. No one from my camp was there, so I stopped back to my tent for a pee-funnel break and to don an extra layer, before heading to the Twisted Swan. I had a Bailey's and coffee, listened to bagpipes, and enjoyed my campmate's beautiful rendition of a Loreena McKennit song. I talked about failed relationships with another campmate and I was soon doing the "I'm cold" Irish dance despite my three layers (including two sweaters) and thin scarf wrapped around my head. We closed the place, hearing the last call at 2am.

The Man was no more.

It was strange to no longer see him at the end of the block.

We spent the majority of the day taking down our camp. Most other camps were doing the same thing. The street signs were gone (though the corner posts were still there). Navigating became more difficult hour by hour as Black Rock City began to gradually revert into Black Rock Desert again.

You'd think supplies would be running out by now, but quite the contrary. People were trying to offload their extras. The port-a-potties were suddenly full of rolls of toilet paper. Someone walking by gifted us a six-pack of Gatorade.

The weather was warm, cloudy, not too windy. We took down our structures, rolled up tarps, pulled up stakes, lashed together poles, dismantled furniture, had mandatory pickle breaks, dumped excess clean water, carefully stacked large items in a moving truck, and packed up personal items we would not need that night.

A nearby camp blasted Bob Marley's "Exodus."

The Temple will burn tonight. Here are some of the iconic art installations left standing and un-burned as of yet:

We had a bit of a feast for dinner, sharing everything, as we all tried to finish as much food as we could. If we ate it, we didn't have to bring it home.

Around sunset, we walked on what was left of the street, out into the desert toward the Temple.

We passed the ring of the still-smoldering remains of the Man. We added some excess wood to the pile.

A moment in time that I will remember forever: the sun is setting over the mountains coloring the world red and orange, the dust is blowing just a bit, like a surreal fog drifting across the land. Hazy silhouettes quietly walked, individually or in small groups, all in the same direction, out into the empty desert, without looking back.

We were the fifth seated row back from the Temple. There were no Rangers chanting instructions. There were no fire dancers. There were no fireworks, no cheering.

At about 8pm, the Temple started burning from the back. The atmosphere was quiet. I heard sniffling. Camera clicks. A moment where some among the crowd howled like a melancholy wolf.

When the Temple fell, there were scattered cheers from somewhere behind us, but they felt out of place. The Ranger gave the okay. Everyone clapped, calmly stood, and walked toward the fire burning out the last of the Temple.

In the crowd, I gradually got closer to the innermost circle. I had the impression that people were reaching the perimeter, paying their respects then leaving, letting the next row through. But I was mistaken. My campmate told me I needed to get in one of the lines moving forward in order to actually see the flames. So I squeezed in and made it. I was now walking counter-clockwise around the fire.

What a difference one step made! If I took one step inward, it was too hot to bear. And too bright to look at directly. I walked as close as I could, still feeling the radiant heat, shedding a layer, passing people sitting cross-legged, meditating, or on their knees. I made it about a quarter of the way around the circle before exiting.

Luckily, there were enough landmarks still present that I was able to navigate back to camp, though I had to pay attention.

Monday dawned another beautiful playa morning. I could not brush my teeth since we had already packed away the evaporation pool. I pulled my tent stakes out (not without some difficulty) and we all packed up our cars. The port-a-potties were clean, still being serviced but with fewer people using them, though I did spot at least two beer cans in the toilets over the weekend. (Lame.) After everything on our camp was off the playa, we all rolled our cars forward and carefully shoveled off the black tire marks. (I was surprised how distinct a mark our cars had left after being parked on the sand for a week.)

Then we did a MOOP sweep. The thirteen members of our camp stood in a line on one side of our plot of land, then slowly walked to the other side, eyes on the ground, looking for even a piece of fuzz that did not belong. At first I thought I would not find much, but I found plenty! Floss, pins, feathers, scraps of cloth. These funny black pebbles kept catching my eye, looking like they did not belong.

Then my campmate reminded us all that the black pebbles were natural. We are in the Black Rock Desert, after all.

Our neighbors Tea & Porn, who had a fair amount of their camp still standing, kindly offered us food and drink! We cheerfully obliged.

Then, at around 2:30pm, a little later than we intended, we got into our respective vehicles (someone brilliantly brought Windex to wipe clean the dusty car windows) and started toward the exit.

Leaving was a lot like arriving. Lanes and lanes of cars defined by little orange cones. This time, no dust storm impeded us, but we still used the "pulse" system, which meant an hour moving, then an hour still. We listened to 95.1 FM. They described the pulse system, told us that they'd be here the next month making sure we Leave No Trace, and finally reminded us that driving while tired is dangerous.

As we waited in the warm weather, we stood in the shade of a Uhaul and gratefully accepted when someone walked by giving out frozen Otter Pops. (How was this even possible?)

While standing there, we also got pins and a few cans of Ginger Ale. Last minute get-rid-of-this-stuff gifting!

Funny signs were along the leftmost lane. We took advantage.

Finally, our pulse came and the Merging began. Just after 5pm, we drove off the playa and turned onto the asphalt.

I'd heard rumors before I came about these.

Indian tacos are the THING TO EAT when you are in this area. Locals have hopped on the band wagon, selling Indian Tacos all along the route from Gerlach to Fernley, but I think we stopped at "the original" place.

As we waited in line, a man came up with a spray bottle full of water and a paper towel roll asking, "Do you want to wash your hands before you eat?"

Dear God Yes!

He was my new best friend.

These were delicious!

Hilariously, when I dropped a piece of chopped tomato, I was worried about MOOP, then I remembered that it didn't matter. And furthermore, there was a trash can! Trash I did not have to worry about dealing with! Yay!

I think the people making these tacos must work for three days straight during Burning Man exodus... and make a ton of money.

It is notable, though, that those port-a-potties you see are locked. You have to wait until the next gas station.

Love's already has fairly clean facilities, but coming back, they are the cleanest toilets you can ever imagine. Washing my hands with soap and warm water in the ladies room sink was a beautiful experience. I ate at the Arby's: another Thing To Do After Leaving Black Rock City. The usually boring iceberg salad was delicious. But, irritatingly, a man who clearly despised the Burning Man crowd came up to talk to us as we sat in the booth. His whole excuse for conversation seemed to be to assert his superiority over us dirty hippies. Sheesh. But we escaped him soon enough and were back on the road home!

The hot shower and bath I took when I got home was the Best Thing Ever In The World.

Our MOOP Sweep did the job. Our camp was rated green!

Before I left for Burning Man, I made a list of about 75 things I expected. Reading through them afterward, the great majority of worries and anxieties turned out false. Part of that was preparation. I prepared for icky port-a-potties, so they did not seem so bad. Part was good weather. I'd been anxious about the effect of heat on my mood and energy level, but it never got very hot. I didn't feel that dirty, to my own surprise. I was not too overwhelmed or claustrophobic, I was not too tired to wander, I was not weirded out. I am thankful that my safety was never threatened. A handful of predictions, though, were spot on. I knew I would never be bored enough to read nor want to spend an entire day in camp. My favorite prediction: "I expect that it will be dusty and hard to breathe and that I might get caught in a dust storm."

Less than a week after I got back, someone posted this to the Burning Man page on Facebook. A clever and spot-on sum up of The Default World vs. Burning Man.

Along those lines, I've thought of some Burning Man comparisons...

Gifts and other mementos I received during the week include:

• String necklace with shiny ball at end - gift from campmate
• Burt's Bees hand salve - gift from campmate
• Pink bracelet that says (ironically) "You are doing it wrong" - gift from Sufi meditation leader
• Keychain with Burning Man symbol on it - gift from thankful Tiny Top Hats event participant
• Keychain with "BLM 2015" on it - gift from the Go The F*** To Sleep Bartender
• Bag with pop rocks - gift from campmate
• Cards Against Humanity booster set - our camp's gift to event attendees
• Census sticker - gift available at the Burning Man Census office
• Art postcard - memento I chose at "Anti M's Home for Wayward Art"
• Blue dog tag - gift from camp friend at the Jazz Cafe
• Personalized dog tags - gift from campmate
• Mini bottle of Kraken rum - gift from campmate
• Cool black rock - gift from campmate
• Dice with our camp name on it - our camp's gift to event attendees
• Round silver compact with chain and Burning Man 2015 etched on it - my gift to my campmates (I saved one for myself)
• CD-looking mirror with Burning Man Carnival of Mirrors printed on it - gift from my campmate
• BRC 2015 pin - gift from random passerby while waiting in line to leave
• Critical Tits pin - gift from a lady handing them out at the event itself

These now all occupy a place on the shelf near my photo albums.

As I was leaving, my overriding feeling was, "been there, done that." Going to Burning Man felt a lot like visiting a foreign country. Seeing a place I'd never seen before. Exploring temples. A new currency (which in this case, was no currency.) Culture shock. But now I've been there, so next up is a new place.

Four months later, the idea of returning appeals to me more. Although the memory of cleaning the camp gear (and the realization that a lot of this gear would never get clean again) detracts from the idea, there was so much I did not see or do or try or wear. Going again might be great! Though a lot went right this time... should I tempt fate? In any case, it won't be next year. I feel like I want more time to pass first.

If you have not gone to Burning Man, I leave you with the same advice I was given before deciding to embark on this journey:

Do it!

Expect everything and nothing.