By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
This is Ancient country. All red earth, and granite rock speckled pink and brown. Protruding out of the landscape sits Jilakin Rock, and at the foot of it lies a shimmering saline lake, stretching out across flat plains like spilled salt on a table. This is Kulin, West Australian wheatbelt country, a 3 hour drive inland from the world's most isolated capital city of Perth. For the last week the site has been transformed into a parallel universe, granted a new context outside from horse races and wheat production. A town of yurts, teepees, tents and swags, have sprung up by the thousands. The landscape is now accessorised with sculpture art, and bodies wearing art, and structures designed to be impermanent; the quiet serenity replaced with giddy conversations and a constant thud of music coming from any or all directions. Welcome to Jilakin Rock City. I’d been primed for a journey to Blazing Swan, a regional Burning Man event, by a previous participant who had simply said “it’s hard to explain, you just have to experience it for yourself”. An experience that promised to exceed language, where any attempt to describe it would fall flat, like a photo of a spectacular full moon taken on a mobile phone. Upon passing through the entrance, a volunteer introduced a small group of us to the events 11 principles, which include consent, radical inclusivity, gifting and self-reliance. They drew a line in the sand and encouraged us to leave our daily woes behind. Then we collectively jumped over the line and into JRC. Crossing the threshold from ordinary life to this extraordinary experiment in community, I found many of the things I had expected - a kaleidoscope playground of costumes, parties, food, and fire. Lots of fire - dragons made of recycled metals breathing it toward the sky, a flaming crucifix atop a church built from timber and scaffolding, a golf cart outfitted with flamethrowers. The feature though, being two large, wooden structures, built for the sole purpose of being destroyed - a swan shaped effigy, which goes up in flames to cheers and whoops, each crack and pop of the wood an orchestra hitting all the delighted crowd’s favourite notes; and the temple, with its interior walls built as an invitation for messages and prayer, a burning of quiet and reverent reflection. The 4,000 strong crowd all gather on Jilakin Rock to watch the burns. From a birds eye view, our colourful bodies are collected together in such a way it looks like a field of wildflowers have sprung up out of season. What I hadn't considered were the finer details. Out here, the sky is vast and expansive, and sunsets show up in their most complex hues of pink, purple and orange. As I move through the event and encounter friendly faces, the sense of community is tangible. A playful post office team deliver poetry to strangers by messenger bike, a steampunk themed camp serve up pancakes each morning, and a band of rogue nuns sit atop a motorised cooler handing out ice to any campers in need. The nights stars shine strong and bright with no city haze to hide them. Walking out to Jilakin Lake on the last day feels like walking on compressed snow, the salty earth crunching beneath my shoes. I’m alone out here until a land yacht whizzes by, sailing out toward an endless horizon. There is something both found and lost at this site. A sense of connection, and of possibilities - is this what regular life could resemble if we all came together under the same guiding principles without phone reception? With the packing down of camps, the sound of mallets on tent pegs, power tools dismantling art installations, and car doors closing, the ordinariness of daily life can be felt creeping back into our world. The parting sentiment of “see you next year!” comes easy, and the procession of sequins and glitter depart the granite monolith we've come to know as familiar. There is something to this temporary tryst of ancient land and contemporary community. But it's hard to explain, you just have to experience it for yourself.