And then—because Baja is just magic—they came back that evening. Right before sunset, when the whole ocean turns to gold. So obviously, we paddled back out again. The dolphins were jumping, the sky was on fire, and we just kept thinking: how is this real life?
A Van Brings You Here, But the People Keep You
I think that’s why we keep coming back. Not just for the dolphins or the perfect temperature or the fact that we get to live on a beach for months at a time—but because of who we share it with.
Over the last three years, we’ve built a little van family down here. What started as a random group of travelers crossing paths in Mexico has turned into something so much bigger. These aren’t just our Baja friends—they’re our everywhere friends. The ones we spend holidays with when we’re back in the U.S., the ones we call when we need a reality check, the ones who feel like home no matter where we are.
It’s wild how quickly strangers become your people out here. Maybe it’s because we all share this weird little lifestyle, or maybe it’s because something about Baja just makes you open up and let people in. Whatever it is, I can’t imagine spending winter any other way.
Grateful for this Life
Every year, when we start making the drive south, I get this feeling in my chest—like excitement and nostalgia and some kind of deep, overwhelming gratitude all rolled into one. Like, I know I’m about to step into a life that makes me feel so alive.
Because it’s not just about Baja. It’s about who we share it with. It’s about waking up to dolphins and watching the sunset with your best friends. It’s about knowing that no matter what, there’s always a beach down south waiting for us, with an open seat around the fire and people who feel like home.
But more than anything, it’s about knowing that even when we pack up and drive back north, we’re never really leaving this life behind—because home isn’t a place. It’s people.
Five years of living life on the road, and I still can’t believe this is real.