What follows is a small excerpt from my diary as we road tripped down the Baja Californian coastline over New Years. There were many special moments during that journey of desert plains and campfires and secret beaches, but these two in particular will remain engraved in my memory forever.
29th December
There’s a glowing fire next to me, burning into my skin, scarlet licking flames with faces of snakes exploding into roaring bursts of fire. It had been one of those days. We had woken up a bit sour-faced in Ensenada after a night of fitful sleep, of loud trucks rattling the bedroom walls. We left the house without looking back and found a small café by the roadside, had us some weak milky coffees and headed on our way. It took a while to leave Ensenada, one main street of glossy commerce – McDonalds, Burger King, Sears – sitting its fat fake ass upon the Mexican desert coast.
Ensenada Sunrise
But once we were out, it was swooping. These were lands of deep red mountain gorges carved into the hills by centuries of rain, small spiky bushes tufting out and between them the valleys into which we soared in our little car, stopping at a peeling vintage gas station called El Palomar, the tiniest gas station this side of the border, a cornucopia of trinkets inside. From there, we headed left off the highway and into the national park lands of Pedro San Martir.
The landscape gave way to sprawling fields of tumbleweed, massive sharp puffs that caught on the barbed wire and sat baking under the hot sun. Trees started gaining shape and form, cacti towers spilled out and unfurled into wands which drifted and sent their seeds out on the breeze.
And then, as unexpectedly as can be, right after helping some young boys feed water to their charred engine, the snow set in. We couldn’t believe it at first. The air had gotten crisper and yes the pines were out – but, snow? In the middle of the desert, with the sea to both sides? There was no mistaking it however, and here my heart really began to fly in my chest as I smelled it, felt it, we rose and rose and it could have been any mountain road in Switzerland, and all of a sudden I was filled a wave of splendid nostalgia for my other homeland mixed with joy for having found it here in the middle of nowhere. We had our mouths open and eyes squinted against the sky and the dazzling diamond snow, and even the yellow lines painted on the road were utterly perfect.
We set off into the park to find a spot to relax and cook our lunch. The astronomical observatory was closed this time of year – the staff were on vacation or doing odd jobs around the snow – but little matter. We drove slow, happy, warm, pulling over and carrying our gear as we slipped in the deep crunchy snow, getting our sneakers cold and damp, and found two secret picnic tables hidden out in the wilderness.
Those tables were meant for us, I believe. A slice of the mountain plunged towards them making small mounds of boulders and pine, and the bright sun shone through the leaves in speckled rays which lit right upon our seats. We chopped up our market bought aubergines, vivid mauve and straciatella white and green, sliced up some juicy tomatoes, set them upon the grill (which we had proudly learned how to start just a few minutes earlier), sprayed on the olive oil and sprinkled some salt and pepper, and let it stew. The rice was next, a boiling vegetable paella which turned thick when ready and to it we added the soft vegetables, stirring the pot into a delicious risotto, and as a coup de force added some baby sun dried cherry tomatoes which quite frankly were the best tomatoes I had ever had. We lay the beans to cook as we started eating out the metal pan with our spoons and it was simply heavenly. You are where you are and that’s that. It was a home base that felt like home without knowing or needing to know why.
As the sun began to set, the mountains lit up in layers like a Japanese landscape painting and we sat on the mountaintop watching the pines in the distance illuminated stark black and sharp. It was perfectly silent save for a lone woodpecker doing his thing.
Red sky at night, shepherds delight, oh and how the shepherds must have been singing with that sky. We were here, and we were home… Look around, the woodpecker said, for there is nothing more than this.
And now here I am, a sweater wrapped around my head as a turban, zipped into my sleeping bag and six or maybe even seven layers of sweaters to boot. Top bunk. The fire is still setting off some bangs. I hope to sleep better tonight, for tomorrow morning we’ll cook up warm oats with almonds and sliced green apples and then set off back into the desert and leave this snowy wonderland behind us…..
30th December
I woke up early, snug in the sleeping bag, the ends of my head chilly cold in the morning ice, and restlessly started tossing and turning to heat up as I waited for the sun to rise. A little while later, we bundled up and ate breakfast outside in the frost as we watched a small squirrel cheekily evade the local dogs as it darted from tree to tree across the frozen snow, searching for food.
Now we headed inland and the road was open and free. I had my first ever sighting of the Cirio tree, an odd plant with a thick trunk tapering off into small yellow clusters of flowers that only grows in this desert. Upon closer inspection, they were more like trees covered in small green leaves than actual cacti. One in the distance had drunkenly fallen into the outstretched arms of his compatriot.
As we neared Cataviña a more surreal landscape began – huge boulders piled upon boulders, thousands of ancient cacti reaching majestically towards the midday sun, firmly in place till the end of time. It was like landing on another planet peppered with these huge rocks, red chalky hills, endless highway.
After checking into our hotel – literally an oasis between a place called Rancho Coconut and a Pemex shack – we went back to a turn on the road that had seemed friendly and drove into it, taking the river road into the desert, winding until we carved around a grandfather rock and parked in front. We greeted him, the place, the desert. Then, we listened. Meditated for a while in the hot breeze, and drifted starstruck between lunar boulders; I tinkled my little tin instrument, hummed, observed in awe the reptile skeleton of a fallen tree, and then headed up another mound of rocks.
Sacred experiences often deny words. Divinity poured down over the desert that afternoon. The clouds were alive, tumbling and rolling, picking up blues and purples the shade of corals and threw them out over the valley, emerald rays pouring down in godly shafts, rainstorms in the distance glowing in an eerie beautiful pale sun, and us there on the rock, watching it all, part of it, little children in the majesty of nature. That divinity had no place for human ego and desires, they simply could never exist there because they’re not that real in the first place.
At one point, the wind died down and a small bird starting singing. The cloud cover lifted and filled the desert with a soft beige light and all was still. I shed some tears. There was so much motion in the stillness. So much patience. No rush, no running, no fretting, all had its place in life and death. All that had ever existed and would ever exist was there with us. It seemed silly all of a sudden to seek and thirst for so much when you look upon a sight like that.
As we walked slowly back to the car, a light drizzle poured down from the thick clouds and cleansed our faces and our souls, and we headed back to the hotel, the odd world of the inside, of other people, and we quickly ate our dinner and retired contentedly to bed.
