Nowhere. Middle of July. A trip to a strange place outside everyday life.
Getting there is strange. This kind of events are linked in my mind to New York and the time I was there. Getting through the depths of Spanish villages, seeing those familiar small village houses and people seems strange. Like a strange don Quixote, living a different reality full of imagination, created by the need to be somebody else. A pathetic attempt of rejecting a self deeply embedded in the hidden caves of unconscioussness.
R comes with me. It is nice knowing that another knight gallops next to you through the arid summer lands of central Spain.. It soothes this feeling of weirdness that usually tints the trips I do to this kind of places.
As usual, we are nor sure we are going to make it until we make it. It is not very clear if the guy with a taxi who promised to take us is actually going to make it or not. In the end he comes in an old 4x$4 he borrowed from a friend. And we get to the place in the middle of the Monegros desert, full of fine sticky sand.
The first night in our camp, walking around, and dancing here and there. And setting the tent up...hey we are better at this than we thought.
All this people around, wallking in different outfits, or with no outfits, no judgement. Nobody cares. Do whatever you want. Amazing feeling of freedom. Walking here and there. Dancing here and there.
I get to sleep at some point at night, get up to see the sun rise, before it gets so hot you can only lie down under the tent or the middle of nowhere.
Another day, another night. People, things happening, places, heat, warm water to calm the thirst, art, creation, and more freedom.
An Sunday comes. So short. Life made it impossible to come sooner, like I wanted. Only this small slice of a different place. Probably all of us together are as big as a small burningman camp. Nevertheless, it still has it charm..
And one of this years, I'll come to burningman. It is just a matter of time. Wait and see!!!!....
I get in the taxi, with other people, and when I am about to get on the train, I realise...I FORGOT MY BAG!!! the important things bag: the passport, the cellphone, the money, the cards....everything. I probably did not want to come back to normal life. So I get there with the other people, covered in dust. R buys me the ticket home. And I keep trying to reach the people back in the land of Nowhere.
And finally, after a few days, two Canadians in the way back from Zaragoza to Germany stop at Barcelona to send my bag to Madrid.
I had doubts about my playa name. Any playa name need a story behind. I got one now. So..Chaos it is going to be. Definitely.