Black Rock City is a mirage, a theatre of dreams, a testament to impermanence.

It appears in the Nevada desert for three weeks a year, then disappears, leaving no trace of its alleyways, gigantic wire-frame statues - its jazz cafes and lamplit streets all gone.

Nothing of its being remains, not one piece of litter, not a half-buried bottle. And when the wind arrives, which it surely will, even the tyre marks in the dust will be no more. Yet, for its brief existence, this is probably one of the most enigmatic cities in America: this is where the American dream breaks through the ether of an idea and for a short time becomes a living form. Black Rock City is the home of the Burning Man festival.

In 1986, Larry Harvey, a Californian, hooked up with a few friends to burn an effigy of a man on a beach. The mysterious rite became a ritual and moved to a larger setting. It has now established itself in the Nevada desert, where, around the beginning of September, Black Rock City rises out of the dust as some 50,000 people arrive with water, tents and goggles (necessary if a dust storm sets in).

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The meaning and the purpose of the festival is left open. Some say it’s about the burning of the ego, others that it’s an ancient act of cleansing. For some it is pure tourism, for some a lifestyle choice; for others it will be like sampling an exotic cuisine. Harvey told me only that we need more ritual in our lives. He was - rightly, I think - unwilling to define the Burning Man’s significance.

I love English festivals - from the fêtes to the huge gatherings at Glastonbury and Reading - but there is a sense that the music festivals in particular are losing their innocence as they dance ever closer with the mainstream and the marketeers. The aftermath of too many of these events is fields full of litter.

At the Burning Man, you will incur the wrath of those around you if you drop so much as a used match on the ground. You are not permitted to take in loose glitter or, indeed, feather boas. There is little need of money: you are expected to bring enough food and water to sustain your stay.

Everything at the Burning Man is “given”, and by being there you agree to take part in that giving. The ticket price covers the basics: the huge communal circular marquees, some power points, the latrines and so on. But there are no wagons selling Thai food or doughnuts; there is, in fact, nothing on sale. As you walk around these extraordinary streets, however, every so often someone will yell: “Hey there! You hungry? Come and pull up a chair.”

Fabulous quantities of sofasmaterial-ise as RVs are unpacked; bars appear, nightclubs, a roller-skating rink ... all of these things are provided by the people who come to the festival. Even the fleet of sewage wagons that drive around all day, pumping out the latrines, are manned by volunteers; the medical and security staff are volunteers, too. And if you decide to try to buy a ticket for next year, you will also have to decide what it is that you are giving to this gathering.

Before reaching the festival, I met a group of young British people outside a supermarket. Like me, they were stocking up for the week ahead. They presented me with a small sachet of salt; that was their gift. Over the week, I was given sweets, occasional bottles of wine, several books, two baseball caps and several meals.

AT THE festival entrance, there is an initiation ceremony. Having been left in no doubt about the event’s “leave no trace” policy, I am then instructed to roll around in the dust and sand. Driving in, we pass posters quoting the American poet and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson: “For we are not pans and barrows, nor even porters of the fire and torchbearers, but children of the fire, made of it.”

In the distance, about half a mile away, is the vague outline of an enormous encampment, which, as we approach ever nearer, takes on the appearance of a science-fiction city; when we arrive, it’s like walking into the bar from Star Wars. About 40% of the Americans here between the ages of 18 and 45 have tattoos. Clothes are strictly optional - and, where they are worn, combine colours and designs in ways that fascinate and delight. I have never seen so many fabulous hats.

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