Deep in the Catavina boulder fields, tucked into an arroyo, hidden in a grove of assorted desert trees, palms, boojums, and cactus, the mothership rocks in the wind. I open my eyes and I can see dawn has come. It's cold and the sky is heavy with dark clouds. A storm in the desert. Yesterday we crossed the border at Tijuana as smooth as you please. Changed $400 into pesos, got our visas, got out of TJ and onto the toll road winding along high above the Pacific and made our way to Puerto Nuevo for Mother's Day breakfast. We ate at #1 and were the only non-Mexican customers--a good sign. We split a lobster tail, beans, rice, salsa, guacamole, tortillas and chips and coffee with mil and sugar. The coffee had cinnamon in it and was delicious. I had four cups. We both felt a great happiness to be back in Baja, a place we love.
Driving away from the coast we entered into the mountainous Santo Tomas wine region, one of the most beautiful places in northern Baja. Every mile of the drive I passed places I have spent the night, made friends, or had some kind of adventure at one time or another. We stopped in San Vicente and I got a tres leches pastel at a panaderia where I gotten one a few years ago. The same girl was working behind the counter.
It was a long hard day of driving and just before sunset we stopped south of the town of Catavina and pulled into the desert. As soon as I stopped driving my head started spinning and I knew something wasn't right. I walked out into the desert and laid down on the ground for a long time until Bob came and found me and took me back to the car. She drove us back to a place I knew and we drove into the desert under a grove of trees by an arroyo and made camp at dark. I was spinning and freezing cold. She got us in bed and held me close to warm me with her body heat. It was a long night of crazy dreams as though I was feverish. I awoke around 5 AM, still dizzy and feeling very weird. The first thing I though of was New Zealand/Santa Cruz versus Baja and the desert and it occurred to me that places like New Zealand and Santa Cruz, places that are moist and green, give me life. Places like Baja, the desert, are dry and desiccating and suck the life out of me. I have the same experience all of my life in the deserts of Patagonia, Baja, India, you name it--cold dry windy deserts drain me of life; my vata constitution doesn't support them. And places like Santa Cruz, New Zealand, the cool, green places, succulent places, are where I thrive.
Perhaps this will be my final trip to Baja. I graduate in December and maybe we can go straight to New Zealand and I can find a job. Anything is possible.
Punta Abreojos
What Bob and I both love about Baja is the wide open spaces, the lack of development, towns, and people and the nature and waves. But the arid windy desert, the harrowing two-lane shoulderless highway with oncoming 18 wheelers and the ease of getting sick from eating the wrong food or drinking the wrong thing were quickly brought back to my attention in only two days of being back here. I am definitely sick, dizzy and weak and my stomach is a mess, whether from the food or too many desert miles too fast or a combination of things I don't know. We hit the road at dawn this morning even though I was still ill and drove to Guerrero Negro where we had fish tacos at my favorite fish taco stand, filled up with a total of 25 gallons of drinking water and filled the tank. An hour or so later we turned off for a nearly 2 hour long ride through a flat desert wind blasted desert to the tiny fishing village located at Punta Abreojos. A the very end of town we backed in very tightly against a wall on the edge of a cliff dropping off twenty feet to the beach. The wheels of the mothership are only six inches from the edge of the cliff. Very sketchy. We are parked by the lighthouse and it's beautiful. The wind is wild, our tiny niche between the wall and the cliff edge, backed by a tree that hangs over our car and an osprey perched 20 feet away from us is amazing. I have befriended a local surfer who lives in a little house behind us with his wife and child and he is giving us fish he caught. Life is good here. Avanti.
New Morning
I wake up before sunrise to the sound of waves and I am no longer sick. Bob holds me close to her and we stay in bed another hour. Yesterday Bob paddled out and I made friends with a local surfer who gave me the break down on surf and the town. He lives in a little tiny house behind us and runs the water purification plant behind us. The town has a plant that pumps water out of the ocean and filters it until it is potable and supplies the town's drinking water. Diego showed me the different breaks and offered me fresh fish he'd caught. I gave him a loaf of Bob's homemade banana bread. His two beautiful dog's stayed with me. I was so ill last night I fell asleep in the early afternoon and slept through until morning. I heard the dogs growling a few times in the night and it felt good to know we had to big dogs sleeping outside our open doors protecting us.
The last two days of driving Bob and I did a lot of talking about our future, particularly where we'll live. I told Bob that Santa Cruz was perfect for me but she told me she refused to live in Santa Cruz. She told me she felt threatened when I talked about Santa Cruz and asked me not to mention it again. This was a little tough for me because I think of it as my home. I told her I realized I could never live in Baja or the desert. She asked me if I would live in Mainland Mexico and I said I didn't think so. We agreed on New Zealand if we could find work and immigrate there and that we'd consider other places. Possibly Hawaii, Chile, Mainland Mexico, Bali. Bob said that maybe the fact that Santa Cruz was my perfect place and that she would never consider living there was a sign that we were too different and wanted very different things in life. I told her I disagreed.
Today we are happy. The spot we are parked is so beautiful. The weather is cool and pleasant. I feel better. The swell seems to have died and we plan to continue south. Into the desert.
Sea of Cortez
After a morning walk down the beach to check the waves we decide to head on. Our dogs won't let us go and not only follow us through the entire town, trotting beside the mothership, they follow us as we come to speed on the paved road out of town. I feel terrible watching them running at full speed getting further and further behind us but not giving up. I suggest to Bob that we take them along for a couple months and then bring them back but she says no way. So sadly I leave our two new dogs behind. We cross begin to cross the spine of Baja, first arriving at the oasis of San Ignacio and then crossing the high mountains and eventually descending to Santa Rosalia, a favorite town of mine and the location of my second favorite fish taco stand in Baja. We sit in the shaded and lovely town square and eat fish tacos and then stroll up the shaded streets, lined with wooden houses, past the church designed by Eiffel, the architect of the Eiffel tower in Paris, and then up to the French bakery. What makes this town different from every other in Baja is that it was founded in the 1800s by the French who ran the copper mine here. The church, houses and bakery all reflect this heritage.
Putting miles on we eventually come to the beautiful Bahia de Concepcion where I have a favorite deserted beach to camp on. Bob and I make camp on our secluded beach. The water is tourmaline, aquamarine, jade, turquoise--all hues on the continuum of blue--green. There is a rocky island in front of us and mountains and islands in the distance. We swim and then set up the mothership for a relaxing night. This is the first warm, pleasant, scenic spot on our trip so far. I am still tired from being sick but we are both happy. Life is good for us.
Morning on the Sea of Cortez
After 10 days on the road we finally have found that feeling of being at home, of rhythm, of routine. At first the days on the road were endless and draining. Esalen and Big Sur was our only recovery time during the US section of the trip and now, the Sea of Cortez has been the first 'rest' on the Baja section. The stress in the US was mostly due to different agendas between Bob and I. She wanted to get directly to Baja; I wanted to enjoy the US leg of the trip and see friends. And in Baja the stress has simply been the nature of the beast--the desert, the road, the miles. But now we are parked beside a warm and beautiful sea; tonight we arrive at our destination, Scorpion Bay. and we set up camp and call it home for the summer. And we surf. At last.
--
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Big Sur
May 6, 2011
Big Sur
The sound of waves crashing at the base of the cliffs hundreds of feet below, the tinkling of a stream, tittering of birds slowly make their way into my awakening consciousness. I am nested with Bob in the Mothership and the air is cool and sweet. Dawn in Big Sur. We are tucked on the edge of a cliff beside my friend's little shack and I wake up happy and relaxed. My skin smells of the mineral baths of Esalen; a smell that is familiar to me and rich in memories; I smile.
The previous morning I awoke in darkness at 5 AM in the driveway of a friend in Santa Cruz. I rose quickly and we drove along Highway 1, the narrow winding road gashed into the cliffs and mountains along the Big Sur coast, heading south to Esalen. To the right steep cliffs plunging down into an aquamarine ocean; to the left tall green mountains rising up, cleft by steep canyons where rivers plunge down to sandy beaches and oxbow into the rocky ocean.
We arrived at Esalen after sunrise and the first thing I did was have two cups of the most amazing coffee in the world, with half and half and sugar, sitting on the green grass on the edge of the cliffs, looking out to the misty sea. Then we strolled down to the tubs and showered and soaked. Floating in the hot mineral water, looking out to sea, up at the cliffs, drifting, melting into the heat. The joy of Esalen. After breakfast I gave Bob a massage outside in the fresh cool air and warm sun. Then we walked through the gardens along the top of the cliffs, through glorious flowers of all colors and fresh vegetables. When the sun got intense we lay in the shade of Monterrey pines on soft green grass. In the evening we soaked alone in a pool watching the sun set and night fall, still melting into peace and relaxation.
At night we returned to Lance's shack on the edge of the cliffs, high above the Pacific for wine and music, playing electric guitars and rocking out. And now full circle another day has come. We rise and make coffee and eggs and eat at a little table on the edge of the cliff. And then once again it's time to hit the road. We drive down the coast, up and over the Coastal Range and south to Carlsbad, California. And tomorrow we cross the border into Mexico for a summer of surf. Avanti!
Big Sur
The sound of waves crashing at the base of the cliffs hundreds of feet below, the tinkling of a stream, tittering of birds slowly make their way into my awakening consciousness. I am nested with Bob in the Mothership and the air is cool and sweet. Dawn in Big Sur. We are tucked on the edge of a cliff beside my friend's little shack and I wake up happy and relaxed. My skin smells of the mineral baths of Esalen; a smell that is familiar to me and rich in memories; I smile.
The previous morning I awoke in darkness at 5 AM in the driveway of a friend in Santa Cruz. I rose quickly and we drove along Highway 1, the narrow winding road gashed into the cliffs and mountains along the Big Sur coast, heading south to Esalen. To the right steep cliffs plunging down into an aquamarine ocean; to the left tall green mountains rising up, cleft by steep canyons where rivers plunge down to sandy beaches and oxbow into the rocky ocean.
We arrived at Esalen after sunrise and the first thing I did was have two cups of the most amazing coffee in the world, with half and half and sugar, sitting on the green grass on the edge of the cliffs, looking out to the misty sea. Then we strolled down to the tubs and showered and soaked. Floating in the hot mineral water, looking out to sea, up at the cliffs, drifting, melting into the heat. The joy of Esalen. After breakfast I gave Bob a massage outside in the fresh cool air and warm sun. Then we walked through the gardens along the top of the cliffs, through glorious flowers of all colors and fresh vegetables. When the sun got intense we lay in the shade of Monterrey pines on soft green grass. In the evening we soaked alone in a pool watching the sun set and night fall, still melting into peace and relaxation.
At night we returned to Lance's shack on the edge of the cliffs, high above the Pacific for wine and music, playing electric guitars and rocking out. And now full circle another day has come. We rise and make coffee and eggs and eat at a little table on the edge of the cliff. And then once again it's time to hit the road. We drive down the coast, up and over the Coastal Range and south to Carlsbad, California. And tomorrow we cross the border into Mexico for a summer of surf. Avanti!
The Road Goes on Forever
May 3, 2011
The Road Goes on Forever
The semester ended with a whimper rather than a bang. I walked away from my last class at 7 PM on Thursday night and got under way in the mothership from downtown San Antonio. The roof was loaded with four surfboards, an ice chest, big Rubbermaid tub, a propane grill, and a gas can. I drove west on Interstate 10 until 11 PM and feel into sleep on the side of the road in a rest area somewhere in west Texas. The next morning we drove across the desert and arrived in Tucson in the evening. Our friend, Jennifer, had homemade margaritas and guacamole waiting. In no time I was feeling happy and unwinding from the road. We talked for hours with her husband, Greg, a neurobiologist specializing in pain, who runs a lab at the university in Tucson researching migraine headaches. He fascinated us with an explanation of his research--although the brain itself can't feel pain, he has found that the receptors in the meninges (the covering of the brain) are sensitive to small changes in ph, and that a shift to acid may be responsible for migraines. We talk about the brain and neurotransmitters and chemistry as the margaritas go down smooth and delicious (and strong) and then run out for chimichangas.
That night we slept in a little guest house with the windows open to the cold desert night. In the morning I woke up at 5 AM to watch the mountains in silhouette and an hour later make fresh coffee and eggs with Jennifer. Bob and I were back on the road by 8 and driving hard. That evening we drove in to Joshua Tree National Park and camped in Hidden Valley campground at one of my old favorite sites. We took a long walk in the desert to a cave I know of with petroglyphs. Bob walked barefoot in the desert. That night we it was cold and beautiful, the stars were bright. I fell asleep before I could even say goodnight. Awake with first light, I stepped into a cold desert morning. The battery was dead. After a jump and a cup of coffee we made the drive to Yucca Valley to replace the battery and then down to the town of Desert Hot Springs to soak in the hot mineral baths in the cool morning, looking up at the 12,000 foot snow covered mountains across the valley.
Back on the road we stopped at the first In N Out Burger we came to and I had a cheeseburger, and a chocolate shake. Bob had 3 cheeseburgers, and we split the fries. We found a hair in the last burger and they gave us back our $13. By Santa Barbara I was really tired. We stopped at a friend's house and dumped the boards and all the rooftop luggage to be more stream-lined and then pushed on to Santa Cruz, driving hard and fast up the coast. We made Santa Cruz at 8:30 PM and stopped at La Cabana taqueria on Mission street for a wet super burrito. It was delicious; I was home. Just a little bit further, up Western Avenue to my friend's house where we crashed on the side of the road, in the mothership, exhausted.
This morning I awoke at 5 AM and stuck my head out of the big sunroof hole in the roof and smelled the deliciously cool, fragrant air of Santa Cruz and I knew I was back home. Peter brought us coffee and homemade popovers for breakfast and then he and Bob drive north up the coast to Ano Nuevo to surf and I drove to Felton to visit with my friend Cedar and pick up a 9'6" single fin Doug Haut board she gave me. I was stoked. Back down in Santa Cruz Bob and I met another friend of mine and got my chef knives sharpened and a crate of fresh strawberries, another super burrito at La Cabana and visited with more of my friends. Finally we got a chocolate eclair from Kelly's French bakery and came back to Peter's. It's been a long day. I am about to crash hard and Bob of course, as ever, is working on the roof of the mothership. Bob is amazing. This morning when we were walking I looked at her and realized how precious and fragile and tender she is. I wanted to just hold her and love her and care for her.
Tomorrow at 5, while she sleeps, I'll drive us down the coast to Big Sur and Esalen, where we'll spend the day, soaking in the tubs, eating, relaxing and rejuvinating.
The Road Goes on Forever
The semester ended with a whimper rather than a bang. I walked away from my last class at 7 PM on Thursday night and got under way in the mothership from downtown San Antonio. The roof was loaded with four surfboards, an ice chest, big Rubbermaid tub, a propane grill, and a gas can. I drove west on Interstate 10 until 11 PM and feel into sleep on the side of the road in a rest area somewhere in west Texas. The next morning we drove across the desert and arrived in Tucson in the evening. Our friend, Jennifer, had homemade margaritas and guacamole waiting. In no time I was feeling happy and unwinding from the road. We talked for hours with her husband, Greg, a neurobiologist specializing in pain, who runs a lab at the university in Tucson researching migraine headaches. He fascinated us with an explanation of his research--although the brain itself can't feel pain, he has found that the receptors in the meninges (the covering of the brain) are sensitive to small changes in ph, and that a shift to acid may be responsible for migraines. We talk about the brain and neurotransmitters and chemistry as the margaritas go down smooth and delicious (and strong) and then run out for chimichangas.
That night we slept in a little guest house with the windows open to the cold desert night. In the morning I woke up at 5 AM to watch the mountains in silhouette and an hour later make fresh coffee and eggs with Jennifer. Bob and I were back on the road by 8 and driving hard. That evening we drove in to Joshua Tree National Park and camped in Hidden Valley campground at one of my old favorite sites. We took a long walk in the desert to a cave I know of with petroglyphs. Bob walked barefoot in the desert. That night we it was cold and beautiful, the stars were bright. I fell asleep before I could even say goodnight. Awake with first light, I stepped into a cold desert morning. The battery was dead. After a jump and a cup of coffee we made the drive to Yucca Valley to replace the battery and then down to the town of Desert Hot Springs to soak in the hot mineral baths in the cool morning, looking up at the 12,000 foot snow covered mountains across the valley.
Back on the road we stopped at the first In N Out Burger we came to and I had a cheeseburger, and a chocolate shake. Bob had 3 cheeseburgers, and we split the fries. We found a hair in the last burger and they gave us back our $13. By Santa Barbara I was really tired. We stopped at a friend's house and dumped the boards and all the rooftop luggage to be more stream-lined and then pushed on to Santa Cruz, driving hard and fast up the coast. We made Santa Cruz at 8:30 PM and stopped at La Cabana taqueria on Mission street for a wet super burrito. It was delicious; I was home. Just a little bit further, up Western Avenue to my friend's house where we crashed on the side of the road, in the mothership, exhausted.
This morning I awoke at 5 AM and stuck my head out of the big sunroof hole in the roof and smelled the deliciously cool, fragrant air of Santa Cruz and I knew I was back home. Peter brought us coffee and homemade popovers for breakfast and then he and Bob drive north up the coast to Ano Nuevo to surf and I drove to Felton to visit with my friend Cedar and pick up a 9'6" single fin Doug Haut board she gave me. I was stoked. Back down in Santa Cruz Bob and I met another friend of mine and got my chef knives sharpened and a crate of fresh strawberries, another super burrito at La Cabana and visited with more of my friends. Finally we got a chocolate eclair from Kelly's French bakery and came back to Peter's. It's been a long day. I am about to crash hard and Bob of course, as ever, is working on the roof of the mothership. Bob is amazing. This morning when we were walking I looked at her and realized how precious and fragile and tender she is. I wanted to just hold her and love her and care for her.
Tomorrow at 5, while she sleeps, I'll drive us down the coast to Big Sur and Esalen, where we'll spend the day, soaking in the tubs, eating, relaxing and rejuvinating.
Penulitmate
Penultimate
4/29/11
Tomorrow we leave. This morning spring has returned and the air is filled with light and is fresh and cool. I drink an espresso with hot frothy milk and feel the aliveness of the morning. Bob is making homemade biscuits and preparing for the trip. My final research paper is written and printed, ready to turn in. The semester is over. I listen to KCRW 24 Eclectic and reflect on all the times in the past I have made this same trip; the trochal pattern of the years, driving from Texas to California, across the endless desert, the Basin and Range, either straight to San Diego and down to Baja, or up to Santa Cruz and the Sierra. Since age 23 I have been repeating this same drive, over and over, countless times. Sleeping in m car, watching sunrises and sunsets over the desert, feeling the cold chill at dawn, the thrill welling up inside me when I hit the coast of Cali, or the tears of joy when I reach the east side of the Sierra, and especially when I get back to Big Sur and Santa Cruz. I have three homes of my heart; the places where all my history happened--Santa Cruz/Big Sur, Yosemite and the Sierra, and Joshua Tree. My heart quickens and I feel the joy of coming home again, once more, to the places and people I love the most.
They used to be climbing trips and backpacking trips and now they are surfing trips. I first passed through Santa Cruz when I was 18, hitch hiking from San Francisco with a girl I met who took me to a legendary place called Esalen in Big Sur. We spent three days naked, making love in the redwoods and swimming in icy cold rivers. When I was 23 Santa Cruz was another magical, legendary place I heard all about while climbing in Yosemite. I hitch-hiked there from Yosemite to try and enroll in UC Santa Cruz. I can remember the excitement I felt walking up the little trail beside the stream and trees on Bay street up to the campus for the first time. I was wearing my Asolo Yukon hiking boots and carried my tent, stove and sleeping bag in my Gregory pack on my back. I was self-contained and ready to sleep anywhere night found me. The counselor took a look at me and told me college probably wasn't a good idea for me and maybe I should go back wherever I came from and think about it. I hitch hiked back to Yosemite but was already under the spell of Santa Cruz.
A year later I officially made Santa Cruz my home for the first time, enrolled in Cabrillo College, lived in my car, started a band with a friend and fell madly in love with Santa Cruz. I commuted back and forth to Yosemite to climb; the world was such a fresh, young, amazing place then. I had never seen such an amazing place as the west coast of North America of planet Earth when I was 23 years old. I had seen nothing like it growing up in Texas. I had only dreamed that the rest of the world existed, this ocean, these mountains, this desert, these people, the throbbing pulse of the 24 hour non-stop music, dancing, and party in San Francisco. A feeling that something very big was happening and that I was right in the middle of it, with my finger on that pulse.
After a year in Santa Cruz something, my wanderlust maybe, pulled me away to Latin America for almost three years. And then I was back again just in time to feel the Loma Prieta earthquake knock it down and me along with it. And back in the Valley climbing. Then once more, I was off to college and then Central America for a couple years. Back again. Then off to Europe and Turkey for a year or so. Back again and off to New England, India, Thailand, Nepal, a life of yoga and ashrams for several years. And then again, finally back, back to my dear, dear beloved Sierra, to Santa Cruz and Joshua Tree, for years of climbing and backpacking, still living in my mothership. For 10 years I lived in the mothership, between Joshua Tree, Yosemite, Santa Cruz and Baja, climbing, backpacking and surfing, and finally coming full circle to discover Esalen again and finding my way to Burning Man, a home, a community, a culture I never knew and always yearned for.
And then, as always, that wanderlust, that inexplicable drive, took me away again, to India and to graduate school. And now, by tomorrow night, I will be on the endless Interstate 10 drive once more, on the way to Santa Cruz, to Cardiff, to Baja, to waves and friends, at last.
Only this time, for the first time, I am not just me; now I am with my beloved Bob. On the road again.
4/29/11
Tomorrow we leave. This morning spring has returned and the air is filled with light and is fresh and cool. I drink an espresso with hot frothy milk and feel the aliveness of the morning. Bob is making homemade biscuits and preparing for the trip. My final research paper is written and printed, ready to turn in. The semester is over. I listen to KCRW 24 Eclectic and reflect on all the times in the past I have made this same trip; the trochal pattern of the years, driving from Texas to California, across the endless desert, the Basin and Range, either straight to San Diego and down to Baja, or up to Santa Cruz and the Sierra. Since age 23 I have been repeating this same drive, over and over, countless times. Sleeping in m car, watching sunrises and sunsets over the desert, feeling the cold chill at dawn, the thrill welling up inside me when I hit the coast of Cali, or the tears of joy when I reach the east side of the Sierra, and especially when I get back to Big Sur and Santa Cruz. I have three homes of my heart; the places where all my history happened--Santa Cruz/Big Sur, Yosemite and the Sierra, and Joshua Tree. My heart quickens and I feel the joy of coming home again, once more, to the places and people I love the most.
They used to be climbing trips and backpacking trips and now they are surfing trips. I first passed through Santa Cruz when I was 18, hitch hiking from San Francisco with a girl I met who took me to a legendary place called Esalen in Big Sur. We spent three days naked, making love in the redwoods and swimming in icy cold rivers. When I was 23 Santa Cruz was another magical, legendary place I heard all about while climbing in Yosemite. I hitch-hiked there from Yosemite to try and enroll in UC Santa Cruz. I can remember the excitement I felt walking up the little trail beside the stream and trees on Bay street up to the campus for the first time. I was wearing my Asolo Yukon hiking boots and carried my tent, stove and sleeping bag in my Gregory pack on my back. I was self-contained and ready to sleep anywhere night found me. The counselor took a look at me and told me college probably wasn't a good idea for me and maybe I should go back wherever I came from and think about it. I hitch hiked back to Yosemite but was already under the spell of Santa Cruz.
A year later I officially made Santa Cruz my home for the first time, enrolled in Cabrillo College, lived in my car, started a band with a friend and fell madly in love with Santa Cruz. I commuted back and forth to Yosemite to climb; the world was such a fresh, young, amazing place then. I had never seen such an amazing place as the west coast of North America of planet Earth when I was 23 years old. I had seen nothing like it growing up in Texas. I had only dreamed that the rest of the world existed, this ocean, these mountains, this desert, these people, the throbbing pulse of the 24 hour non-stop music, dancing, and party in San Francisco. A feeling that something very big was happening and that I was right in the middle of it, with my finger on that pulse.
After a year in Santa Cruz something, my wanderlust maybe, pulled me away to Latin America for almost three years. And then I was back again just in time to feel the Loma Prieta earthquake knock it down and me along with it. And back in the Valley climbing. Then once more, I was off to college and then Central America for a couple years. Back again. Then off to Europe and Turkey for a year or so. Back again and off to New England, India, Thailand, Nepal, a life of yoga and ashrams for several years. And then again, finally back, back to my dear, dear beloved Sierra, to Santa Cruz and Joshua Tree, for years of climbing and backpacking, still living in my mothership. For 10 years I lived in the mothership, between Joshua Tree, Yosemite, Santa Cruz and Baja, climbing, backpacking and surfing, and finally coming full circle to discover Esalen again and finding my way to Burning Man, a home, a community, a culture I never knew and always yearned for.
And then, as always, that wanderlust, that inexplicable drive, took me away again, to India and to graduate school. And now, by tomorrow night, I will be on the endless Interstate 10 drive once more, on the way to Santa Cruz, to Cardiff, to Baja, to waves and friends, at last.
Only this time, for the first time, I am not just me; now I am with my beloved Bob. On the road again.
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