For two weeks, we put life on pause and enjoyed a nomadic fantasy, driving down to Baja. The roads were desolate, endless, and empty. Joshua trees and cacti spanned the horizon; home was a world away.
As the days went on, our skin grew accustomed to the sunscreen, salt, and sunshine. Our hair became matted with wax. Body odor and beer became a lingering, consistent smell. Days unfolded effortlessly as we explored the coast for more swells.
Eventually, good waves would show up with our current destination, wherever that happened to be. It was then we could slow down and appreciate Baja’s simple pleasures like waking up to the brilliant orange sunrise and a humid breeze. Trucks, tents, and van dwellers became our neighbors as we settled into the campsite. While it had only been a few days, the surrounding faces already felt friendly and familiar. We exchanged stories of the various, sometimes hazardous, routes south and why we’d come to Baja. Everyone had the same reason: find empty waves off the beaten path.