The breezes are warm, filled with the smell of warming earth I noticed a small crocus poking its head from its slumber in the earth Soon it’s soft purple face will open to drink in the sun The hard ground softens The days grow longer The grey of winter is being dyed pale green as the trees begin to bud The air fills with the sounds of the small birds that have so much to sing about I lie in the grass Gazing at the endless sky I melt into my gaze And then… Into the very ground that supports me We are ONE I feel the spirit of the mother course through my veins She beats in my heart My breathe becomes the wind itself A sense of being Of existing Of love We are ONE
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.
The immense energy builds The water retreats from the beach leaving a shimmering ripple on the sand The wave pulls up Up and up building up a frothy top Gravity takes control and the wave crashes A thunderous clap as the top of the immense wave hits the calm water below It rolls slowly to the shore loosing its energy as it passes over the sand The calm and stillness take over A lone surfer paddles out and meets this energy Riding its strength and power
The sky beyond the waves is vast and encompassing I stare into it with a deep inhalation As I release I am pulled into the vastness of the deep blue I enter the energy and light As finite as the line between sea and sky is I transcend into the oneness of it all The breeze blows across my skin…hot with sun My toes bury deep in the sand I am connected earth, sky and water I am the link between them all I breathe again and slowly pull my conscious back to this moment I can feel the interconnectedness of it all and I am one with it all and at peace Johnna
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.
I’ve been sitting on this lovely mesquite wood since I pulled in a day before Chris could join me. I caught an awful cold which continued to infect my lungs and finally today, I feel human again. It’s been a long month. I brought out my axe and picked the wood I thought I could split and had at it. I managed to take 7 of the 10 pieces of gnarled mesquite wood and cut it down for smaller wood and kindling. Invited new friends, and had a night of hearing the new version of campfire stories.
We all are from different places and times, some old some a little younger. Some have physical property, land with or without a dwelling, and some have what we’ve arrived at this beach in. No matter, we are all a family unlike that you find. A community of like minded individuals, that, for whatever reason, have the need to wander.
For some it’s a place that is not too pleasant in winter months, some who drive south into Baja as an escape from the gloom and cold winters. For Others, just an escape from some demons chasing them, known or not. For us it’s a chance to take a camping vacation on the beach, where we can stop and unload and finally sit still for more than a day.
Baja Sur is like the old western movies you see. Gauchos riding amongst the cactus and mesquite, Palo Verde and Palo Blanco trees dotting gnarled rocky desert landscape. Tall pilars of crumbling hills and buttes stacked on the ground like the fins in a dragons back. Hot arid air burns the skin and in the city is often full of Mexican polkas and meriotche.
We’ve moved to Loreto, about 2 hours further down the coast, to visit our long time friends who live here now. They live in the Historic Centro of Loreto, a maze of streets that eventually lead to the main Malecon. Bahia Loreto fronts the Malecon and is often a churning white capped sea. There are many gringos mingled with the local Mexicans living in the historic district. Loreto is more like an oasis than the desert. The Centro is centered around one of the 3 missions in this area. A mix of shops and cafes line the Centro. Coffee shops and artists round out the collection. Arched trees provide shade and beauty.
Time to stop and live outside the van for a week or so.
Well, we’ve made it down into Baja California Sur, Mexico. The journey down took the best part of a week. There are numerous military check points along the way, mostly just curious federales except coming into San Ignacio, those guys are jerks.
The driving was a bit hairy after we connected with the main highway Route 1. The road is plenty wide enough for our van and a semi…as long as everyone stays in their own lanes. The last trip up and over the mountains and into Santa Rosalía was the last of the dangerous stretches of windy mountain passes for a while. We were told there’s an accident almost everyday.
Our push to get to Mulege and Bahia Concepcion paid off in spades until Chris came down with the same cold I was battling and we opted to get a hotel room in Posada Concepcion to get some rest and take some long hot showers to try and get on top of our sickness. After a day I pushed on to the beach to set up camp, Chris stayed behind for one more day.
View from the hotel room
A nice camp spot was saved for me by Frank and Linda, right on the beach only 20’ from the high tide line. The beach is made up of broken shells that have been pulverized into course sand. There are starfish, pelicans, seagulls and turns, dolphins playing in the bay and dozens of paddle boards and kayaks skimming the water as far as one can see. The gentle lapping of the water along the beach lulls me into a trancelike state until the seagulls cry snaps me back.
Our camp
Every morning, several beach dwellers take out kayaks and fish. Upon returning, they clean and fillet the fish they caught. This daily ritual has attracted 5 large brown pelicans and 2 seagulls. The fisherman feeds the pelicans and the seagulls scream at them, sometimes pestering them enough they get a small morsel. Lazy birds.
Everyday a gentle breeze picks up in the early afternoon, turning the glassy waters of the bay, into small wave trains that lap at the shore and make for some fun paddle boarding. There’s little trails leading up into the hills that surround the beach, a larger area with a dozen or more palapas, outhouses with smelly pit toilets, we use our own and take the cassette once every 3 days and dump it in one.
Colorful Bay of Concepcion Bay of Glassy waterSun sparkles
On any sunny day, the bay turns aqua green with deep blues and turquoise. Dancing in the water are sun sparkles, glitter from the sun. If you squint your eyes those sparkles become sun drops splashing into the bay. I squint and watch these little jewels of light as they dance on the top of the water. Another day another sand dollar.
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.
Two Travelin' Chicas... 