The true start to this travelogue begins in Boulder, Colorado, where over ten months ago my boyfriend Sean and I traded our house in for a camper, our budding yard for the wilderness, and a scheduled routine for what has been a true adventure and a luxurious sabbatical from regular life. Our original plan was to rock climb throughout the US and Canadian Rockies for six months before trading in our ropes and rock shoes for bikinis, surfboards, and sunscreen, as we headed south into Mexico and Central America. And, as much as we didn’t care to commit to a plan, we have... with the hiking and glacier climbing behind us, this will be our third month in Mexico with three more to go before we get to our destination – Panama.

The start may have been in Boulder, but my beginning and my childhood home is Alamosa, Colorado, a high desert valley in southern Colorado. The San Luis Valley hosts the headwaters of the Rio Grande, which irrigate numerous potato and alfalfa farms, has 345 days of sunshine, and a vast and open wilderness in all directions. It is home to the oldest church in Colorado, several sacred sites to Native Americans, and relics of the Spanish settlers from an era of long ago. At 8000 people, Alamosa is the largest community within two hours driving in any direction. It was here that I fell in love with the desert and the quiet abundance that it lays on you just by virtue of being there.

By December 2006 we had been trekking and climbing awhile. Already six months of travel, the longest time I have ever taken for myself, was behind us. I had logged five alpine climbs, glacier travel, sport climbing and kayaking. But between these adventures we met friendly and generous people, enjoyed  long visits with friends and family, and after a month of travel from Canada down the pacific coast, we were now in LA and I was ready to get out of the of the cluster/smog/cars/and sprawl and back to the desert again.

We crossed the border into Baja California in the beginning of December and I must admit,  I have never been so excited to leave "civilization."  Even through our endless errands and supply runs, I was fully caught up in anticipation of the desert and it’s dark starry nights  I find that Southern California lifestyle makes one long for the seclusion of Baja. After navigating the border town madness that is TJ and Ensenada, Sean and I settled into a routine of finding remote surfing spots, where we would park the camper for days at a time.

I must admit, it took a few days to get used to the new country I was traveling in. The narrow highways, depleted food stores, people who drive anywhere and at whatever speed pleases them; but even so, my love for Baja was not a slow burn, I fell for it swiftly and hard. Sean and I were in route to a group of surf breaks aptly called the seven sisters for the seven different breaks that are there, when darkness dictated we pull off for the night. We awoke to a bluebird sky, a sun hot, but tempered with breeze, boulders thrown about, and my entire field of vision filled with giant cactus. We had finally arrived in the desert and I was happy.

There is something special about being in an ecosystem where time moves slow and every resource is guarded and utilized to its fullest. It feels pure and clean.  I feel the same thing every time I climb in an alpine environment, surrounded only by only rock and sky. It is clear, and it is cleansing. Maybe in the end it isn't about where you are – the desert or high above the ground – but who you are when you are there.  In those places, who I am is stripped down, open, and able to see things in a most elemental way. This trip has provided that experience for me many times, and in many different ways.

Beyond the fact that the landscape of Baja is incredible and diverse, the surfing has been unbelievable. We spent about one month on the peninsula, mostly at the Wall at Punta Rosarito near Guerro Negro, and at Punta Conejo (1 hour from La Paz). I will save you the long stories of the surfing life: the size of the waves, how I paddled and paddled, stood up and rode; the lull of the ocean, and all the other things that can be better heard on a Jack Johnson CD complete with guitar and melody. I will say that I have learned the ocean is far more complex and fantastic than I ever gave it credit for.

There are a million different types of waves and a million different ways they make you feel. Surfing is a hard sport to learn, but gentle on the soul. I am getting better little by little, and all the while letting myself be a young girl at the beach…pointing out birds, fish and shells; getting pummeled by whitewater because a seal has stolen my attention; losing myself for hours as I watch the ocean change from blue to silver to all the colors of sunset. In short, enjoying the wonders of the world.

We crossed over to mainland Mexico via a ferry from La Paz, Baja. (Nineteen hours, rough seas and no Dramamine anywhere in the camper!) One cannot go far without making distinctions between Western Mexico and Baja. The contrast is remarkable. The central Mexican coast reels with tropical life and is full of sound. Color, birds, and banana plants are everywhere here. Being winter, the fruit is small and green, and the orchards of mango trees and coconut palms are bare. Where Baja was a land of quiet reflections and simple beauty, the mainland is its counterpart. The flora and fauna almost scream to be noticed. Here there are many inspirations which lead into talk of landscapes, quintessential old town squares, music and roosters wandering in the streets. For the time being that can wait. First, I must talk about the food

I am a food junkie. I will not lie. I like to buy fresh organic local food. I love to cook that food into beautiful dishes and enjoy it with friends in extended dinner parties. Traveling has not changed me in that way – not in the slightest, but arriving in Mexico has radically changed the way I go about obtaining food. Canada was no different than the US: large corporate markets, maybe a local co-op or hopefully a farmers market on the weekends. But Mexico is a different animal all together. As many of you know, Mexican culture relies on individual sellers of meat, bread/pastry, sweets and fruit and small mini supers and open markets. It is the same in villages as it is in the cities, although the latter show the effects of NAFTA, littered with giant stores that sell everything from papayas to mattresses. In either venue, shopping takes time: time to find your way through the isles of the huge store; to commute between the smaller ones; to wander from stall to stall in the mercados.

People do take pride in their food, and whether it is a small taco stand or a gourmet restaurant, their hard work is evident. Many times while shopping I have run into small vendors stocking up on their essentials. We look through the bins together, eyeing tomatoes and cabbage – the vendor helping me choose the best ones. These, by the way, are our new staples. After crossing the border  you do not eat what you are used to. You eat what is fresh. I know that sprouts are good for you, but not when they are old. Leave the cushy dream world that is rice and almond milk behind. If you enjoy peanut butter and want to eat it raw and unprocessed, you should have brought it with you. Only the creamy, sugary, candy butter is available. And truthfully, that is OK.

Instead of eating within our cultural cushion (as many do in the states), we support local artisans,  purchase freshly made cheese and warm tortillas directly from a cloth lined basket. The absence of plastic wrap and shipping time is evident in the taste. There is a plethora of delicious pineapples, mangoes, coconuts and melons here. The best part is that they are a wonderful accompaniment to avocados, jicama, and cabbage. The food is local, inexpensive, and most important, tastes amazing after a long day of surfing in the warm ocean.

Mexico is not immune to processed food however, duly noted during my latest shopping adventure. I found an entire isle dedicated to boxed dairy and tang. Another section was filled with enough pressed meat "food" (aka spam style) and cheese to fill a store the size of Lolita's. Need fried pig skin?  Well look no farther. Like anywhere in the states, the choice for healthful eating has to be made, those choices are endless…the only difference is that here there is less talk about it.

So, there you have it.  At least for the moment. We are currently visiting friends in Puerto Vallarta before we embark on our surfing tour of the Latin America coast. So for the moment we have hot showers; a gas stove; and beds to sleep in! We are leaving Puerto Vallarta tomorrow to "surf it up" in Colima and Michoacan before hitting Guerrero…and back to the life of surf vagabonds.  I will send out a separate email with photos at some point so all of my friends will know just how much we are suffering being beach bums.