Burning Man participants visit the site's temple, which will eventually be set on fire. Visitors leave notes inside and in the walls of the structure, hoping the cleansing fire will set them free.(Photo: Trevor Hughes, USA TODAY)

BLACK ROCK CITY, Nev. — A young woman stepped into the dusty glare of my headlights, and I realized she was topless. And pantsless.

The only things she wore:. A playing card strapped around her waist with a clear rubber band — and a giant smile.

"Welcome home!" she said. "Is this your first time?"

Yes. Yes, it is.

I'm spending the week embedded in the annual Burning Man festival, reporting on the newest tech trends, the dust storms and the luxury camps that drew criticism last year. The temporary city we've created is called Black Rock City, and this week it will be the third-largest "city" in Nevada.

Newcomers like me are pulled from their vehicles to celebrate. In my case, the young woman ordered me to take off my shirt and make dust angels as lights flashed and music drifted on the wind. I banged a bell as my greeters yelled, "Not a virgin," to mark my transition into the encampment.

Burning Man draws approximately 70,000 people annually to the Nevada desert for the almost-anything-goes event. A sign at the entrance warns arrivals that all laws apply, but there's a lot of people and not a lot of cops.

That's kind of the point: Organizers create and encourage a freewheeling experience in which many take illegal drugs, and casual sex is not only common, but widely condoned. Many of the themed camps — the festival encourages people to create "interactive" sites open to all — seem intended to confront and then contort societal norms. But norms are reserved for the outside world, the Default World.

Here, creativity is everywhere. Elaborate sculptures reach toward the sky. Others blast flames. Endless electronic dance music pumps out as neon-lit vehicles circle. Strangers hug you without warning.

A couple relax at Altitude Lounge during preparations for the start of Burning Man. (Photo: Trevor Hughes, USA TODAY)

And the outfits. The outfits! This is a place for extreme personal expression in a way that might make many Americans feel uncomfortable. Here, lots of people go shirtless, and there's a decent amount wearing even less than my greeter.

Media access is tightly controlled, and the organizers use copyright law to enforce the rules. Photographers, for instance, must sign a contract agreeing not to exploit people's images for personal gain. The last thing Burning Man organizers want is to see participants' images used to sell stuff.

And while it took me a whole day to notice, now I can't stop marveling at the complete lack of stuff being sold or marketed. Corporate logos on rental trucks are usually covered up or altered, and there's no one hawking, well, anything.

It's a welcome relief from the constant pressure of consumerism we face every day. Gone are the messages to buy buy buy. Instead, we're asked to simply be. (There's no official Internet provider, and mobile phone coverage is iffy.)

Don't get me wrong. Virtually everyone has spent a lot of money to be here, and spending a week requires lots of logistics. I watched as participants stocked up on cheap plastic junk in Reno, pouring millions of dollars into that city's economy while allowing Burning Man to maintain its reputation as the world's largest Leave No Trace event.

Here, the entire economy is based on the concept of gifting. People give you things out of the kindness of their hearts, with "gifts" ranging from sculptures to free booze to Tantric massages.

Sunday, a young woman handed me a beaded bracelet she'd made, with each colored bead a piece of Morse code.

Unfurled, if you know how to read it, the bracelet quotes Shakespeare: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."

For the next week, this remote Nevada desert is the biggest stage of all.

Hughes is USA TODAY's Denver-based correspondent. You can follow him at @trevorhughes

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