There are, unfortunately, very reliable ways to have a bad time at Kiwiburn.
Not catastrophic, “you won’t believe this” bad.
Just quietly, persistently underwhelming.
The kind where you get home, tip a small ecosystem of out of your bag, and say,
“Yeah, it was good.”
And mean:
I was within five metres of something amazing at all times and somehow missed all of it.
This outcome is achievable. Reproducible, even.
A signature dish of mild regret, plated neatly so you don’t immediately notice it, but absolutely present in the aftertaste.
Here’s how:
Ingredients
- 1 detailed plan (preferably colour-coded, timed to the minute)
- 2–4 beloved friends (keep sealed)
- Negative three litres of water.
- Three backup phones.
- A working assumption that you are interrupting
- A low-level sense of urgency
- Optional: a beautiful outfit you cannot get dirty.
Method
STEP 1: Establish a Rigid Base
Start strong.
On arrival, make a plan. A good one.
A plan that suggests you are the kind of person who thrives in open environments.
Circle things in the booklet like they are scarce resources. They are.
9:00am — Dancing in the Trees
11:00am — Workshop
11:30am — Rush to next Workshop.
12:00pm — One protein bar.
1:00pm — Have Fun
2:15pm — Wander
Refer to this plan often. This is a science.
Particularly when something unscheduled begins to get interesting.
Check the time on your phone.
In fact keep your phone glued to your arm.
It is your one window back to real world of Instagram reels.
STEP 2: Reduce hydration
Allow the body to concentrate.
Replace water with coffee where possible.
Eat sparingly and without enthusiasm.
Stand up too fast and see God.
Realise that you forgot you were a human body with needs.
Laugh.
Continue.
Step 3: Seal and Rest
Remain with your friends at all times.
They are good. You chose them carefully.
Move as a unit. Pause as a unit.
Attempt to make decisions as a unit.
Go to the toilet
As a UNIT.
Say, “Does everyone want to go?” about things that do not require consensus.
Recreate, with impressive accuracy, your normal social circle in the Paddock.
Or better yet, if you have extra ingredients, become a hive mind (see Hive Mind Special Sauce).
Step 4: Continue Chasing Bright Notes
Assume something better is happening elsewhere.
Follow this feeling.
Leave just before something tips into being good.
Say, “We can come back.”
Do not come back.
Step 5: Gently Bring Back to a Simmer
Approach everything like you might be interrupting.
A group laughing: they know each other.
A game: probably full.
A bar: not for you.
Do a slow lap.
Make eye contact with no one.
Return to your tent.
Charge your phone.
Step 6: Dilute the Experience
Position yourself as an observer.
Consume what is offered.
Step neatly over problems that are not yours to solve.
Maintain a clean separation between yourself and the thing itself.
This is where the flavour really develops.
FOR THE ICING: Split your attention.
Half on where you are.
Half on where you could be instead.
Introduce a low, continuous question:
Is this it?
To Serve
Return home.
Unpack slowly. Maybe two weeks later.
Find dried mud in sealed places. Inside bags, inside shoes, inside things you don’t remember opening.
Let it fall out in small, private avalanches.
When someone asks how it was, say:
“Yeah… it was really good.”
Say nothing more.
Chef’s Notes
This is an old recipe.
Not officially recorded, but widely recognised by those who have made the same mistakes with enough consistency to call it tradition.
It is traditionally served cold, usually after the event, when clarity has returned but usefulness has not.
There are many theories about its purpose.
The most accepted one is this:
It is not designed to ruin your time.
Only to reveal how easily you can remain adjacent to it.
And yes
annoyingly
this is also a recipe for life.
Princess
Master Chef, Renowned for her Bestselling Cookbook ‘I Left the Oven on At Home.‘
