We drove all the way to Las Vegas yesterday to leave the van with Doug, Chris’ brother, to sell for us as we continue our quest for some place to call home. It’s a bit sad to think this van life chapter is coming to an end…but the excitement of moving on, squelches the sadness. We have 5 hours till the first leg of our flight from Vegas to Los Angeles (LAX) where we will have a short layover before the red eye to San Jose, Costa Rica.
We both slept well on a super comfy bed last night and are biding our time until we get our ride to the airport. I am also carefully monitoring an active volcano just a few miles from where we will be staying, that has been acting up since the beginning of March. This morning a small eruption spewed an ash cloud into the sky, visible for miles. It doesn’t seem like an immediate threat but we will keep a close eye on it. There’s even an App that the government has for alerts to earthquakes and eruptions. Hmm… I guess even paradise has its vices.
We will be happy to get back to a resemblance of normal, peaceful, country where everyone is genuinely happy and wants to find out all about you. It’s so easy to be kind, but I’m afraid that the states has everyone on edge and the insanity continues. I feel like I officially don’t have a home country that wants me, or that I consider “home”. Don’t get me wrong…the country itself is beautiful, even some of the people are too. But in this case, a few bad apples have ruined the whole feel.
We know that there will always be something or someone that will draw us back. We both have parents in the states. Close friends and family that, like us, are aging, and some not so healthy. These same people are always asking us if we feel afraid when in other countries. Honestly, we feel more fear in the states.
The rest of this day is gonna be a real slog until we check our bags and start the airport shuffle. We land early tomorrow morning, and it is the same time, not in some other time zone. Hope we can get some sleep and the flight is smooth. See you all on the flip side in Costa Rica.
We are booking it back to Salt Lake City. We are about 30 miles outside Mesquite Nevada and our camp for the night.
Getting back into the FUSA was quite an experience.
We left San Filipe after visiting with our new friends we met on our beach in Playa La Escondida. They had come down for Laurie’s birthday and happened upon the Hidden Bar, our little beach bar, open everyday except Monday and Thursday. We sat at the table beside them and started talking like old friends. I found out that she had owls as a spirit animal and finally I understood who I was making the owls for. We grabbed dinner with them and then took off the next day.
It’s quite a slog all the way to the border from San Filipe in one day since the roads suck so bad. We pushed all the way to the border and arrived at around 1:30 or so. As was typical, there were no signs directing traffic so we cut into the double lane with a tall yellow curb preventing anyone from cutting in or out except at certain streets. The lanes were moving terribly slow and we remembered that we had global entry and that worked at the borders too. SO we got out of the slow lanes and went into the ACCESO lane.
Well that was a mistake.
So first three Mexicano Border guards desired to take a good look in the van, back utility boxes, bathroom, cabinets and then let us go. Next was the US border agents. It was then the mistake became clear. We were asked for our passports specifically. He said that since we decided to come down the wrong lane, we had to go through a secondary inspection. What? We informed him we had global entry and he said oh, well it’s too late now. We were directed into a stall, told to leave all electronics, including our watches and cellphones in the car and go sit in the office. We were told to open all the doors and hood.
In this room were two rows of chairs, backs to the window so we couldn’t watch them. I sat on an end chair and watched anyway. I had brought back 2 large scallop shells and stuck them in the outside pockets of the trash-a-roo, in plain sight. The inspector asked about them, where they came from? I told him and he was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to have them. The inspector got another inspector who allowed the shells and that was the end of it. Basically we were getting our hand smacked for being in the wrong lane. We were allowed to leave.
A few learned driving habits, good ones, died hard after crossing. In Baja, we MUST come to a COMPLETE stop at all stop signs, and anticipate which crossroads had, or were supposed to have a stop. When coming up on some bad potholes, an accident, or just slowing traffic, the 4 way blinkers come on, signaling an abrupt change in speed. There is no texting and driving since some towns have an access lane for businesses and a thru lane for traffic just passing by. This can create some tricky maneuvering as any car can turn left across all lanes from the far right lanes. Essentially making it a 6 way stop. At anytime, solid lines, curves or coming up on a hill, any vehicle will pass you, and with skinny lanes and no shoulders, this can be quite hairy and not recommended for us Gringos who are used to wide lanes. There are so many others that are just wonky but serve their purpose in Baja.
Well, we survived Baja once again. Traveling three months from top to southern tip and back again. We met new friends and caught up with longtime friends. We sat in the emptiness, created in one’s mind, while on a beach. Swam in the salty seas. Played upon the glassy bays with our paddle boards. Ate fresh caught fish, fresh veggies and fruits, and dabbled in new tasty treats while in Oaxaca. Time seemed to slow as we became alive with new experiences, like children in adult bodies, new discoveries fascinated us. Living with purpose, relaxing into a timeless existence. Accepting whatever came our way, without needing to change it as it unfolded. Living in the moment, not the past or future, just in the moment.
Our days start at sunrise in Bahia Conception as the morning light shines in on my open back doors. On this cool dewy morning I wake to smell coffee and the wet air then I stretch to greet the new day. I open my eyes and take in the sunrise. An unusual sight greets me this morning. A huge cloud bank, tightly condensed on the water and up against the mountains that outline the bay. A few obscure paddle craft dot the horizon, enveloped in the thick fog bank, as the sun begins its ascent into the morning sky turning all the dew drops into small diamonds.
The day was only just beginning with the unusual fog, calm bay and absolutely still air heavy in dew.
A pod of 50-60 dolphins swim from one side of the bay to the other. The little dolphins enjoy jumping and I hear giggles from the campers gathered on the beach watching the folly. They shout and point out their location to the paddle craft in the water joining their migration across the open bay.
Yesterday was also an unusually calm day with no wind until very late in the afternoon. Again the dolphins passed by but, to our surprise, two small whales appeared. Probably a fin or pilot whale but don’t let that spoil the fun. On a paddle board, they are massive, thrilling, and a bit un-nerving as they swam within 50 feet or so from my paddle board. My little kid screeched with joy and the older me pulled back the enthusiasm to a safe distance.
It’s not only the mornings that bring us joy here at Playa La Escondida. The moon disappears from the sky as it makes its nightly voyage. Once the gang goes to sleep, which is usually by 9pm, the beach is warily quiet and dark. Looking into the water, allowing a minute for the eyes to adjust, it happens. Bioluminescents!! It’s like seeing a million fireflies all up and down the beach at the water’s edge. Green diamonds and a slash of blue and pink as you drag your paddle through the water. In the jet black of night, with a canopy of stars reflecting on the still water, it’s an otherworldly sight. In the blackness comes the “poof” of a whales blowhole as it exhales. All the sudden you realize how small you are in the scene of things and at that exact moment, standing in the vastness of the stars, you feel like you are somehow integrated into it all.
How do we do it? On the road for exactly 4 years and 8 months and 2 days…Life is too short to waste a moment. If you need to ask, well I’m so sorry for you. This last week/month has been a tremendous insight into so many things. Who really needs to discuss the elephant in the room?
With so many friends of ours that have moved from the US to live in other countries, it’s good to hear the insight from “boots on the ground”. Of course we’ve made a list of things we’d like to have, and those that are a must, where ever it is we decide to call home base.
Can anyone ever really live the “perfect life”?
We asked some and they will say that a “community” is important. We agree. We will say that temperature and climate as a whole impacts our decision greatly. Others claim the silence, cost of living, food, water, power…being off grid. Things, it seems we are conditioned to as “privileged” Americans. I think friends, location to things we like to do, access to water sports, and a small carbon footprint if possible, also are high on the list. Clean air and good health care are not something that can be denied.
How do we proceed? Good question. Perhaps the real answer is that we will never be comfortable in any one place for too long. Perhaps a few months here and a few there. No real commitment and there in perhaps lies the real issue. Why commit? After all, we are wanderers, travelers.
There are a few reasons to find a home base…one a place to feel grounded, your own. We have our place in TRNC, ready in Feb of 2027…but until then? Why do we feel a need to find one place? A place we “own”? A need to spend money? Some will say, if you’re comfortable in your own skin, there’s no need to find comfort from outside. Yes and no. It’s not that comfort we are looking for.
The future is so uncertain. We will most likely agree to rent, long term, and leave when the urge comes. We are not getting any younger and eventually will need a “home”. Somewhere they don’t throw away their old people. A place to travel from.
A place that targets health and well-being over treating dis-ease. A kind and stable government.
We are wrapping up a week in Tulum, where we ventured out to see if we could find a place to call home base. Once again, the homes were lovely, one we both were ready to buy. The next day we went out again to look and we stood in the jungle for about half an hour and we both began to feel ill from over heating. We took it as a sign that this is not someplace we could enjoy for long. Oh well…on to Oaxaca for 2 weeks of fun!!
There is a strong draw, felt by a number of nomads, to explore the wild spaces rarely visited by “tourists”. One reason is the lack of transportation capable of handling the washed out, wash board dirt roads found in these areas. Another, the urge to stay in the familiar, attached to cell phones, TV and the comforts of the brick and mortar of a home. When we tell some of our journeys, they all gasp and wonder where we ever got the need to wander.
There is a pull to the desert that has enveloped Chris and I. A need for open spaces, a dry climate and room to roam freely, sometimes without seeing another soul for days. The chance meetings often turn into deep conversations and a fire side chat recounting trials and tribulations of life on the road. We share our stories, sometimes harrowing and unbelievable. Perhaps it’s a draw to face death at every turn, or perhaps the thrill of adventure and to push the envelope beyond the comfort level of the normal human. This takes us to today, four and a half years of being free and able to travel at will, one with our surroundings.
In February of 2021, we hooked up with a caravan of three, Chris and I and two other gals, and crossed the border into Baja Mexico, for the first time. There’s a call we lean towards and freely give into, that paves the way for our wander lust. Baja seemed like the great western frontier that we needed to explore and conquer. Armed with only our cell phones and a good translation app, Garmin GPS, and a competent van, we set out to explore a country unknown to us; a 1,000 mile journey full of new flora and fauna, animals and sea life. I found it so inspiring that I wrote a book while traveling through Baja for 3 months. Fast forward to January 2025 and here we are again.
It’s been a tough 2 years emotionally. After loosing our corgi Gandaulf, we sold our first van and all the toys we had accumulated during our travels and set out to travel around the world. Seven months traveling around Europe and another four months in SE Asia, Indonesia, and Malaysia, then back to the States where we purchased another van to complete the Canada/Alaska trip we missed out on during our two and a half years living on the road.
Alaska and western Canada is another frontier of sorts. Not like the desert but just as grand and open. The roads in each very similar; pot holed and delaminated. The punishing washboard roads in dire need of repair, are enough to put any van build or truck to the test. there would be whole days of traveling 3-400 miles and never cross another vehicle. We were never sure if the paved sections of the roads were better than the dirt roads, both held their own dangers. The grandeur of the Alaskan and Yukon outbacks are hard to match, even in the deserts of the south western USA. Still, the desire to revisit Baja California, Mexico and the desert was strong.
Today, January 6, 2025, I’m writing you while enjoying coffee and the warm sun of La Paz, Baja California Sur, surrounded by fellow travelers. We’ve traveled 1350km so far, with another 300km to go. The roads to this point have been narrow two lane highways, with little to no safety lane and often no shoulders. There are times when we must come to a complete stop to walk the van through deep potholes and slow to a crawl when passing trucks come barreling around blind corners. There are constant signs of accidents, both with roadside crosses and mangled guardrails, straightened out or completely ripped from the supports and trailing off into deep ravens as if pointing to the site of a wayward vehicle leaving the road and plummeting to its end. Often times, there will be stretches of road that have carcasses of dead cows, horses or the unidentifiable remains of some unfortunate animal, usually struck at night by a speedy semi, as they come to the flat roads to sleep. It’s a constant reminder that it only takes a second of misfortune to end a life.
So our nomadic wandering continues with so much more to see and experience. We may be absent but we are always present where ever we find ourselves. Living in the moment, sometimes with no set direction but forward. Always savoring the newness of each destination and rolling with whatever may come our way.
To say our lives are boring, would be the biggest lie anyone ever told. Today we find ourselves on a pilgrimage down to Baja California. Driving through the barron desert of California’s Mohave. The vast emptiness is overwhelming and all encompassing. Creosote, desert rose, sage, Joshua trees, and various other spiny shrubs, dot the desert floor. Whips of dust circle and rise into the sky in thin tornadic spouts. The desert has a beauty all its own.
As we make our way, small desert communities spring up in the middle of nowhere. Towns like Needles, Searchlight, and Topok breakup the monotony of flatness. We wonder what the inhabitants do for fun? Chase jackrabbits…wander around in altered states of mind. Sit on porches rocking in old wooden rocking chairs. Commune with the vast sky? There’s a certain peace found here in the desert emptiness, vastness that is beyond measure. A kinship with Mother Earth, a pleading of the poor souls living among her scorched soil and dwarfed trees and plants.
For the next few months we will enter this environment willingly, searching…searching for that kinship, immersed in the life of leisure. Healed by the salt air. Lost in days unknown, time lost, only day and night. Wander around with like souls just living life on the peninsula’s terms. It’s time to disassociate from the tension and unknowns of life in the US.
We are looking for somewhere to call home base. Someplace we can travel out from or just hunker down and become part of a community. Who really knows. What I do know is, we have wandering spirits that are hard to quench, hard to convince to stay in one place…wanderlust.
Today I woke up to 41 degrees in the van…who knows what it is outside. With everything we need in our little capsule of steel and rubber, there’s no big rush to go outside and find out.
The sun is making its way into the sky, creeping slowly from behind the snow capped peeks, but has yet to shine on the opposing peeks across the river valley.
Our camp last night was right beside the Matanuska River, surrounded by Alders, sporting their new yellow fall colors, Drayas, also in showy white tops, and Fireweed that has lost its towers of red flowers and turned to tangled white silky seedpods. The mountains surrounding this valley are topped with snow from the thunder storms 2 nights ago, accenting the harsh, craggy peeks.
Yesterday, we drove up from Ninilchik to the Russian River Ferry crossing and joined the throngs of fisher people hoping to catch a nice coho salmon, or at least hook into one of the giant red sockeye on the Kenai River. These fish are huge! As your standing in the water, these fish are lined up, heading upstream. Every now and then, one will breech the surface slowly or jump out of the river all together. With your concentration on your line and indicator, this is quite alarming at first, but soon becomes the norm and you settle in to the rhythm of casting.
It’s time to begin our month long procession east then south, out of Alaska, into Canada, and finally, the lower 48. Time to say good-bye to the wildness of this beautiful land, where it is easy to forget your worries, clear your mind, and refresh your inner most being. To the fresh, crisp, cool air, the bears, moose, squirrels, seagulls ravens and bald eagles, all etched firmly into my mind, a sorrowful good-bye. A fond farewell to the mountains and glaciers, turquoise rivers and milky white glacial streams and waterfalls, thousands of lakes and fiords. To leave behind the thousands of miles of pot-holed, wavy, and frost heaved roads of dirt and tar.
Although the journey has not ended just yet…we’ve traveled almost 6,000 miles since Salt Lake City. We’ve driven on almost every road in Alaska, been from the Continental divide (Antigun Pass) to Lands End (Homer). We’ve traveled by ferry along the Inside Passage between Juneau, Skagway and Haines. Took a wild ride down the Tatshinini and Alsek Rivers, played with icebergs and bergy-bits. We’ve had our share of bear encounters, some too close for comfort. I’d say it’s been a wild and encompassing ride for sure with still more to come.
It’s been 12 days since we left Salt Lake City. Twelve days of constant driving, sleeping, hiking and driving some more. Yesterday, we crossed from Canada into Alaska. The grandeur of the views before us just kept getting more and more grand as we pushed through the rolling hills, and back to the Great Northern Rocky Mountains.
White Pass was a long mountainous pass with switchbacks and craggy glacier choked peaks jutting up from the valleys…with rivers flowing out of these behemoths in cascading waterfalls. Scattered snow melt lakes dotted the landscape, each with its own color of blue, green or milky white. The subalpine trees sprung up from rocky out crops and random high spots, stunted by the harsh winter months and many feet of snow. Small creatures darted from tree to tree, outcropping to outcropping. Birds flitted from tree to tree, with some doing crazy mid-air acrobatics, chasing insects we can’t see.
We exited the ALCAN Highway in Tagish, connecting with the Klondike Highway for our last push into Skagway, Alaska. The history along this stretch of road dates way back to the late 1800s when the gold rush took over this part of Canada and Alaska. The Tlingit people trapped this harsh land for survival. The Russians came to harvest what they could from the gold rich mountain streams and lakes and to buy pelts from the Tlingit people.
In 1942, the Alaska Highway was being completed which brought more and more people into the small villages and allowed for stores, saloons and hotels to spring up creating a booming mercantile market that allowed for easy sale of pelts and goods needed for gold mining. All this collapsed as the gold dried up. The roads to the villages still remained so the Tlingit continued to occupy the infrastructure that remained and created a lucrative trading business of beaver, lynx, bobcat and other large game animal hides. They supplied gas to westward travelers in their fancy new cars, a place to sleep and eat. Some of these towns, such as Dyea, have streets and street name signs, but the buildings have long since returned to the earth. Only trees, pictures on posts, and a boreal forest stand where the buildings once did. It is left to the imagination once again.
We chose to stay in the historic district/town of Dyea last night and tonight. Our camp sits on a tidal river. We learned that there are 22 different species of mosquito in Alaska, and I think we encountered half of them. A strong breeze did keep the rest of them away. We were entertained by a couple of bald eagles hunting on the tidal flats. We were not so amused by the little chipmunks that thought it would be fun to get up under the hood and strip some felt insulation off an intake for the fresh air by digging it off fuzzy piece by fuzzy piece. We decided to tape the shit out of it to prevent any more marauding.
Skagway
Today we packed up, went into town, and got showers at the Skagway Rec Center…much needed. You can pay $10 and stand under all the hot water you want! They even provide towels…bonus. Now all clean and wearing clean clothes, we are going to “paint the town” of Skagway.
We’ve got under 500 miles to go before our turnoff to Skagway. Today’s been a long slog across rolling hills and thickly forested landscape. The rain came down heavy almost from the time we hit the road. The burn scars became more and more prevalent as we came up to Fort Nelson, which is where you finally turn WNW towards Alaska.
It is incredible how straight roads can be. The roads are just tar strips atop a berm built up to aide in run off. These ribbons of black go for miles on end, or perhaps more fitting, kilometers on end, cut through a huge swath of trees. This is by design I’m guessing, to avoid vehicle big game accidents. I’ve heard a story of a guy who watched an elk and calf bolt out of the thick forest and straight across the road in front of him. He didn’t see the bear chasing them until he slammed in his brakes to avoid a deadly collision with it.
There are mystery roads all over. Dirt roads that just veer off into the thick vegetation. No signage and no squiggly line on the gps. Sometimes you can see a river or a lake as you blast by, but other times they just go into the darkness.
Provençal parks in Canada, are like our state parks in the USA. They are dotted all over the map with no real rhyme or reason. Tonight we are at about 4200 feet/1280m. We just got back into the northern Rockies. The horizon changed radically from rolling hills to steep passes and snow capped jagged mountains. We picked a place called Stone Mountain Provençal Park and Summit Lake Campground. Had the weather cooperated, we could’ve blown up our pack rafts and paddled around for hours exploring the coves and shoreline. Perhaps in the morning, the sun will grace us with its shining face and we can start the day off with a paddle.
We took a break from travel today. 2 nights in the same place…yay! We managed to push through Idaho and Montana to burn the miles we had to in order to get caught up on our travel itinerary to Skagway, Alaska.
Canada has been just as beautiful as I remembered. Towering mountain ranges, frozen solid in ice and snow older than I can imagine. Huge glaciers clung to the rocky cliffs and high mountain valleys and passes. Rivers of aqua green and olive, lakes of turquoise, icy waters as clear as glass. Shear cliffs of curved and bent rock from the beginning of the earth. Further north west, turning into an undulating green valleys slowly rolling to a high peak and back down the other side. Scars of forest fires that scorch the land and leave the once majestic towering pines like burnt matchsticks.
Willow is performing brilliantly. We’ve had quite a bit of rain since we crossed into Canada. Last night we sprung a leak from our fan, I’m guessing from driving sheets of rain. It stopped as the rain tapered off. We’re settling back into van life after a pretty rocky start. But this I can tell you…our bed is super comfy, a bit of a pain in the ass to make each day but so cozy. Weather permitting, we will do more home cooking in the van. We’ve just been a bit hurried to this point.
