Obviously one’s first reaction to hearing about the rain and mud at Burning Man this year was very similar to learning about the glitch that led to all those flights to and from British airports being cancelled last week: thank God I’m not there, that I’m here at home instead. But then that’s my feeling, increasingly, about being anywhere, namely that I’d rather be here. As you get older, any return journey from anything has an element of the retreat from Moscow about it. You get back from a concert in the evening or even an exhibition in the afternoon with a distinct feeling of relief. That’s the awful thing about Burning Man at the moment: there’s no realistic possibility of retreat from the rain and mud. All you can do is butch it out and hunker down. Returning Burners are greeted at the gates of the festival with the words, “Welcome home!” But now people are wishing they could leave this home and get… home.
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