A few minutes ago, I told Andrew's dad I probably should go home at some point. His response to that was, "the Mexico house?" It's true; I've been in Mexico more this year than anywhere near "home."
After the Rim Fire kicked us out of the Tuolumne River guide house, Andrew, myself, and a couple friends packed up and headed south for the next few weeks.
Crossing the Mexican border has become something of nostalgia for me. My phone is turned off, driving becomes an adventure, my window is down welcoming the smell of trash burning (which I've come to love - weird?) and my cravings for tacos multiply.
Andrew's family has a house 10 minutes south of Rosarito at K55 and I wish I lived there full time. It sits over a right point break and just a minutes walk to the beach break. We never got the promised hurricane swell, but it was fun long boarding. Then there's Splash, just up the road, for a good night out to eat fish burritos for $2.00 and margaritas for $3.00.
Why would I be anywhere else? More photos from Scott Leduc:
"In Baja, we are disconnected from everything and everyone except each other. The biggest decisions we have to make are where to surf and what's for dinner."
All of a sudden I am craving tacos. And that burning trash smell reminds me of the nostalgia of smelling diesel (school buses and dad's trucks)
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