When Burning Man is over and everybody has to leave the most outrageous, filthy, stimulating place on Earth, a thing called “decompression” happens. Basically, we all have to adjust to being in the real world again, and that can be tough.

What often helps is to stop at a glitzy casino in Reno, swim in the hotel pool and begin reacquainting oneself with unavoidable aspects of modern life that were blissfully absent from the desert: money, advertising, consumerism, all-you-can-eat buffets.

This year, I wanted to take it up a notch. “Instead of doing Reno, how about Las Vegas?” I suggested to my partner, Jonah. It was especially tempting because our remote town in Humboldt County, California, just got its direct flight to Vegas back. So two days after we returned from Burning Man — and with dust still clinging to our nail beds and neurotransmitters — we repacked for a trip to Vegas, baby. It was either the best or the worst idea, I remember thinking as we boarded the plane. It turned out to be both.

The start of the trip was straight out of a nightmare. We arrived at our Polynesian-themed hotel, Tahiti Village Resort and Spa, exhausted and desperate for sleep. We had chosen it because of its quiet location south of the Strip, its relaxing lazy river and spacious living room and kitchenette. But at midnight, when we hoped to be checking in, the short line came to a standstill. Apparently, the resort was overbooked and staff members were scrambling to find available rooms even though the system indicated there were none.

It didn’t make sense, but somehow after about an hour we received a room key. We weren’t bothered so much by the dated buildings or the timeshare vibe as we were by what turned out to be a rush job on preparing our room. We were not given towels, and the fitted sheet on our bed was tucked in sideways, which we didn’t notice until several hours later, when we woke up with our feet touching the mattress pad. Then, we learned the water had been shut off.

Although the Tahiti Village did offer us a late checkout at no charge, the damage was done. Two incredibly sleep-deprived people were now bordering on insane, especially Jonah, who has always been particular about sheets. 

We slept in the next morning, then walked to a nearby Denny’s for a patty melt, egg and hash brown brunch. The grease seemed to reinvigorate us, so we headed to the lazy river and found it bustling with young families who had claimed every pool chair and inner tube. This would never have happened at Burning Man, where everybody shares what they have and there’s (almost) always enough of everything.

After circling the river twice, we decided to get radically self-reliant and stole tubes from a table where they sat claimed but underutilized. There was no one there to stop us. Then we floated around the overcrowded river, feeling undeniably refreshed by the tepid water even as we suspected it contained at least 5% urine.

For the afternoon and evening, I had overbooked us with activities, mostly because Jonah had never been to Vegas. I wanted to show him why it’s my favorite place ever, and how with all the flashing lights and crazy art and heart-stopping performances, it actually feels a lot like Burning Man. Except, of course, that instead of pretending money doesn’t exist, the point in Vegas is to spend as much as possible.

As we walked along the Strip, we passed by art pieces that had come directly from Burning Man, such as “Bliss Dance,” a 40-foot sculpture of a woman now perched within MGM Resorts’ dining and entertainment district. Jonah recognized it because the sculpture also made an appearance on Treasure Island when he lived there in 2011. From afar, we also admired the largest LED screen ever built, also known as “The Sphere,” as it morphed into a tennis ball, an eyeball, the planet and other round stuff. The Venetian’s new state-of-the-art entertainment arena opens Sept. 29, and it is bigger and flashier than anything we saw on the playa this year. 

As the temperature crept over 100 degrees, we ducked into FlyOver Las Vegas for a virtual flight over the American West and a stiff and delicious cocktail. Then we continued north and dipped into the new Museum of Illusions, where we stood in rooms that seemed to break the laws of physics, stared at impossible shapes and into mind-bending mirrors, and took photos for the gram.

Next we hailed a ride up to Area15, the psychedelic entertainment complex with a sculpture garden full of retired Burning Man art. We wandered through before entering Meow Wolf’s Omega Mart, a seemingly normal convenience store that carries highly unusual products and contains portals to other dimensions. I had been once before, but the project is so sprawling and elaborate that we stumbled on a couple of things I had missed the first time. First, there was the “Infinitizer,” a small room with mirrors and oversized face sculptures lit up by trippy LED light projections, the brainchild of psychedelic art gurus Alex and Allyson Grey. We also happened on a neon-festooned speakeasy — Datamosh — hidden behind the pharmacy and serving things like “meowitos” and a Japanese-inspired lager called “Day Ghost.”

“The known world slips away when Day Ghost is uploaded to your bodily machine,” the menu explains.

After wandering for hours, we grabbed sushi at the new hole-in-the-wall place across the complex, Kaia Handroll, and took our seats at Liftoff, a circular bar that gets carried up 100 feet by an apparent UFO, giving patrons views of flashing lights for miles. This reminded us of climbing various art pieces at Burning Man for a glimpse of the desert all sparkly at night, only this time we were forced to wear seatbelts. Still, I came very close to losing my shoes, and that was exciting.

From there, we ventured over to Lost Spirits Distillery, and if there’s one thing you splurge on in Vegas, make it this. Equal parts rum tasting and immersive theater experience, this dreamy maze is modeled after Barcelona’s bohemian 19th-century El Raval neighborhood, featuring rum tasting stations, classy watering holes, a wondrous distillery and several stages where edgy circus acts make the audience gasp and swoon. 

Those who purchase box seats or dine at the playful 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea restaurant are treated to a clarified milk punch painstakingly concocted with things like creme de cerise, evaporated cognac oil and navy rum aged inside a “spirits reactor,” which distillery co-owner Bryan Davis invented to make 6-day-old rum taste like it’s been around for two decades.

Performance spaces include a town square illuminated in glowing lanterns, a jazz club behind a red curtain with a white piano, and a late night seance table. It doubles as an intimate stage where aerialists, contortionists and belly dancers perform in unspeakably close proximity and a medium reveals attendees’ secrets while channeling a long-dead spirit through a seriously creepy doll. 

For the rest of the trip, our discussions centered on the magic of the distillery rather than whatever it was we did at Burning Man. But Vegas did continue reminding us of Black Rock City. 

On Sunday, the temperature dropped and our hotel emptied out, leaving plenty of tubes and pool chairs available at the lazy river. We spent the day there recovering, and in the evening we hailed a ride up to Fremont Street to catch the lights show. We grabbed a delicious but affordable meal at 8 East, a pan-Asian restaurant at Circa, the newest hotel in the downtown area, then played blackjack at the cheapest tables in Vegas: $1 a hand at the Downtown Grand Hotel & Casino. 

We drank mango beers at Hogs & Heifers Saloon, where scantily clad women dance on the bar and announce obscene things with loud speakers (this also happens constantly at Burning Man), then caught a ride down to New York-New York, where we saw the newest Cirque du Soleil show, “Mad Apple.” The pole dancer who spun high above us was mesmerizing, and the audience gave a series of standing ovations to the comedians, dancers and acrobats in the upbeat, NYC-inspired performance.

On our final day, we walked through the desert heat to Sky Zone, a trampoline park near our hotel, where we spent an hour bouncing around, climbing walls, jousting on a balance beam over a foam pit and careening down a giant slide. We had done similar things at Burning Man, and were thankful that these activities were available in the default world, despite the fact that this time we were surrounded by small children. Before leaving for the airport, we returned to the lazy river once more, washing the last of Burning Man’s mud from all our cracks and crevices and out of our lives forever. 

The improperly tucked sheet was also a distant memory, and when we got home, we slept for a week.