Burning Man and the Wide World of Alternative Economies

The summer after my sophomore year, I hiked across northern Spain along a 1,200 year old pilgrim route known as the Camino de Santiago. For 30 consecutive days, my friend Christina and I walked about 20 miles a day, first through the Pyrenees, through the Medieval towns of Burgos and Leon, and ultimately into the ancient-feeling Galician town of Santiago de Compostela.

The pilgrimage leads to the cathedral where the remains of St. James supposedly came to rest after he fled the Holy Land. The trail began in the Middle Ages, as pilgrims from across Europe made the trek to atone for their sins and find grace. Its first peak was in the 12th century, when the cult of relics was highest, and literally tens of thousands made the journey.

Over time, the trail became not just a religious undertaking, but a right of passage for Spanish youth. In the 20th century, however, it fell into disrepair, the numbers slowly dwindling to the point that by the 1980s, only a few hundred people a year were walking it. In 1985, however, UNESCO declared Santiago de Compostela a World Heritage Site, and the government began reinvesting in the trail as a tourist attraction. By 2004 when Christina and I walked the trail, hundreds of thousands of people a year were coming.

Hiking the Way of St. James is like no experience I've had. Each morning, you wake up with the sun, walk an hour or so, stop in the first small village you come to for a cappuccino, hike for most of the morning following small yellow arrows that occur every half-mile or so, make a quick stop for lunch, hike a few more hours, and then end the day before it gets too hot. A shower, a nap, some dinner, reading, and conversation with people from around the world, and then bed.

Each night, you stay at Albergues, or Pilgrim's hostels that are only for those with official credentials that they are walking the trail. The Albergues are never more than 7 Euro a night, and most are more like 3 or 4. The economics of the journey are fundamentally disimilar from anything else I've experienced. There are plenty of ways to spend money if you'd like, but the trail is so powerful and overwhelmingly cerebral, emotional and experiential that there is little that purchased items could possibly add.

Today I'm headed to Burning Man, another community of seekers who create a truly alternative, albeit temporary, environment. For a week each August/September, tens of thousands of people come together to form "Black Rock City" in the desert of Nevada. Going means bringing literally everything that you need to survive -- food, water, shelter, lights, etc.

But the point is not survival, it's celebration and letting go. Burning Man began as a ritual among friends to let go of the past, celebrate the present, and look with joy to the future. People go all out preparing for the week, building incredible works of art, setting up massive dance parties, and more. No commerce is allowed during the week, with the exception of buying ice and coffee. The emotional culmination of the week is Saturday Night, when the man burns to symbolize a return to the earth. By Monday, every trace of the 50,000+ people is gone.

We get so use to commerce and transactions at the center of our reality that it is easy to forget that entirely different, deeply meaningful alternatives exist. They may not be permanent -- indeed, they may draw power from their impermanence -- but they are a reminder that ultimately the human experience is more complex and wonderful than the accessories that surround it.

Photo credit: Nathaniel Whittemore