Prologue: This journal was kept during an “off” roadtrip to the dusty desert of Baja California. It is documentation of how one French American couple decided to challenge their relationship though the ultimate test-2 weeks locked in the car together without ample opportunity for showers.
We started our trip early on the morning of June 22 after multiple packings and repacking of the off -roading necessary items: sand ladders, tire repair kits, sunscreen, and 20 cans of tuna fish. We called ourselves FARG-French American Road gypsies………
6/22/02 9:28pm
The sun has now nearly set. With Cat Steven’s soothing voice on the radio and rolling hills still visible from the side window, all the troubles and stress of the day melt away. Anatole turns his head and says to me, “Heidi, we are on vacation.” And so we are.
The further we drive the further away our lives seem. The insecurities of relationships, the pressures of work, the monotony of the daily routine all seem like another life. We are starting an adventure, and like the beginning of reading any great adventure book, the best part is not knowing what will happen in the next chapter.
6/25/02
I write this from a sheltered haven high up in Cañon de Guadalupe. We are at an oasis high in northern Baja’s desert. The oasis retreat is called “Campo Numero Uno” but to call this heaven a mere “camp site” is absurd. I sit in a thatched hut called “El Mirador” that overlooks palm trees, pools of water, and a vista that extends hundreds of miles. A few steps down from the sheltering leaves of a “palapa,” is a private bath in the rocks filled with water from nearby hot springs.
Our drive into Mexico was rather effortless. We drove into Tecate without a single stop or check. After reading up on the trauma of border patrol, I was almost disappointed at how easily we had smuggled in numerous bottles of wine and thousands of dollars of camera equipment.
It may seem trivial to be excited to be in Mexico even though it was just a few miles away from the USA. But a few miles can make a world of difference. Just smelling the street aromas in Tecate told us that we were not at home. Tiny tortillarias lined the street, Mexican rock blasted from stereos, and the old Bajacalifornianos in cowboy hats joked loudly in Spanish from their front steps.
The drive to our little paradise in Cañon de Guadeloupe from Tecate was surreal. Towering piles of red rock lined the narrow road. We went higher and higher cutting dangerous turns through the rocky mountain roads. Anyone brave enough to look over the cliff would see multiple old cars and buses strewn across the side the bottom like cast away toys. Seeing the failure of past drivers gave us a new sense of awe to our journey. After the highway we had to turn off onto an old dirt road to take us the rest of the way.
Arriving at Campo Numero Uno in Cañon de Guadeloupe we met smiling Arturo (“el dueno” or the owner) and some of his compadres, one of them an old Mexican cowboy named Demetri. Demetri took one look at our young eager faces and warned us. About danger, about heat, about bad fish tacos...... He gave us three pieces of advice. “Let out the air from your tires-you will travel much more smoothly,” “Don’t drive at night,” and “Whatever you do, DO NOT get lost!” With that advice and a strong wish of “Buenas Suertes”, Demtri disappeared into the sunset. After paying far too much for our campsite and a couple of beers, we realized that perhaps we did come across as a little gringo in our enthusiasm. But no matter, we were happy and felt confident we could tackle any upcoming challenge on our adventure.
6/26/02 9:30 am
San Felipe-oh San Felipe we never thought we would see your glorious shores!
We left at 10:30 am yesterday, relaxed and confident. Wanting to please the old cowboy, we did as Demetri instructed and let the air from our tires. Washboard roads and large rocks were no grave obstacle! We were just cruising along the dirt roads now! Cruising....cruising....... squeak squeak, jingle jingle went the car ...cruising....cruising along .....yes just cruising. After far too many hours of dusty road cruising we realized that we probably were on the wrong track to San Felipe. How many wrong turns had we taken? Upon reaching a desert military camp we asked two young boys for the road that led us to the pleasant shores of San Felipe. Pleased to useful, they offered several and argued among themselves as to the best route. (Dios, how many roads were there in the middle of nowhere?). We decided to take the most “direct” route. Needless to say there was nothing direct about finding it. We found ourselves driving in circles-squeak squeak jingle jingle -always arriving at the same spot. For the rest of my life I will maintain that I could have gotten us out of there and on the freeway if Anatole had only listened to my ability to read the desert. My prior episodes of getting lost in the shoe section of Nordstroms is completely unrelated to my ability to find the beach from the 112-degree desert. ……….. (finding the road to San Felipe involved mirages, flat tires, and more trauma that is documented in complete travel section)
6/29/02 Time-who cares
Our destination: Bahía Conceptión. For 5 years Anatole has been dreaming about this very beach were we spent the night-Punta Perla. 5 years ago he passed by this paradise with his brother Honoré and always swore he would return to stay the night and swim in the warm waters. Return he did-with a beautiful Baja babe (ahem-that’s me) at his side. Our little teal tent is staked into an isthmus. We have the Sea of Cortez bordering two sides of us and little islands floating as far as the eye can see. The upper hills are painted in red and burgundy. Vivid green Cardón cactus stick up from the lower hills contrasting greatly with the red rock underneath and above them. The water is different shades of turquoise and blue and clear enough to display striped fishes, orange crabs, and light green algae at its bottom.
I sit 2 feet away from the lapping tide wearing only a hat on my head. I look out and see Anatole in the middle of our bay casting line out into the saltwater hoping to catch our lunch. Could anything be more perfect? Someone once told me that the best things in life aren’t things. Embraced by simplicity and beauty I couldn’t agree more.
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