Take a Break

by Kirstin Street (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Mexico

It’s getting late. The sun is chasing us down as the road turns to mud. We weave through palm trees, past children playing baseball, over dirt mounds and through an enormous, murky puddle. Technology hasn’t let us down yet, and frankly, I can’t believe that this “road” is recognised by Google Maps at all. We arrive at a fork in the dirt, and the GPS signals our arrival. We hesitantly step out of our beat-up Chevy Suburban, which had been bogged in the sand earlier that day, only to realise that technology indeed has let us down this time. All in the pursuit of a free, beach campsite in Baja California, but there is nowhere in sight to pitch a tent. We take in our surroundings, becoming all too aware that we have no idea where we’re going to sleep tonight. We must look like fish out of water; Two Aussie’s, piling out of a huge truck with Nebraska licence plates on a beach in Mexico. To our left is a palapa. Four gringos are polishing off their dinner, licking their fingers and belly laughing over a bottle of wine. Tiny kittens and puppies romp around the table legs in the dirt of this makeshift restaurant. A Mexican woman, who fries up the catch of the day, is conversing animatedly with her guests in Spanglish while whipping up a storm in the kitchen. It’s the last thing that we expect to find at the end of the road, but luckily we did. We explain our predicament to the Americans, somewhat distracted by cuddling puppies in the odd scene that we have stumbled upon. “There isn’t a campsite around here is there?” We ask puzzled, “No, but Maria will probably let you camp on the beach here if you throw her a couple of pesos” they answer. We apologise for interrupting their dinner, which looks positively mouth-watering after a long day on the road, excusing ourselves, but they are intrigued by us. “What are you two doing in San Bruno and why on Earth did you think there was a campsite here?” We relay the adventures of our American road-trip, starting with quitting our jobs in Melbourne, to purchasing a vehicle in the middle of nowhere Nebraska, driving through the Badlands, exploring the geysers of Yellowstone, winding through the Rocky Mountains with hitchhikers in the back and hiking the Narrows of Zion National Park. They are captivated by our anecdotes for close to half an hour before asking for the bill and inviting us to follow them home, where they live next door to an RV Park. By the time we arrive at our companion’s house, they invite us in for a drink which quickly turns into two, three, maybe more. “Oh, you know what, we have a guest room, you seem like good folks, make yourselves at home!” I’m completely lost for words. I can’t believe the kindness of strangers. We insist that we head to the RV Park, and they insist unremittingly that we stay. This is either how horror stories are made or lifelong friendships… we’ll find out. So we stay. The hot shower and cold air conditioning are appreciated more than we can explain. We wake to the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee, and Helen frying up some eggs. “We’re having friends over for a barbecue tomorrow night, and they’re all dying to meet the Aussie nomads so we think you should stay one more night.” So we do. We laugh and drink and feast together. Every time we offer our assistance in the kitchen, Wiley pulls out his favourite catchphrase, “Take a break”. Still a child at heart, he’s in awe of our youthful moxie to leave everything behind to travel and his eyes glaze over as he dreams of a past in which he wishes he had done the same. We still can’t quite believe the generosity of Helen and Wiley to adopt us strays. Just two months later we learn that Wiley has suffered a stroke. It is one of those sobering, albeit cliché ‘life is too short, do it while you’re young’ moments. And so we took a break.