My in-laws have lived, virtually off the grid, in a sleepy Mexican beach town for 20+ years. San Felipe, in Baja California, is on the eastern side of the peninsula that dips into the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of California (aka the Sea of Cortez). 

The town was supposedly once filled and fueled by spring-breaking college kids. But in my 20 or so visits over 20 or so years (as an adult, well past my college days), I’ve only known San Felipe as an expat-retirement community, a haven for year-round fishing and host to off-road races. I haven’t seen the spring-breakers, and I’m not sad about that. On race day, or a holiday, “town” can get “busy.” Town being several blocks of shops, bars & restaurants, and busy being loosely defined by the fact that you have to drive one street over because the front-row parking spaces are occupied.

Summertime in San Felipe is hot and not for the faint of heart, especially without air conditioning. So, we usually limit our visits to fall through early spring. But the bath-water temps of the Sea of Cortez helps visitors adjust their mental and physical temps. And at low tide, the beach recedes for yards, and seashells are exposed for miles. Massive clam shells, sand dollars, and other varieties glisten in the sun, beckoning beach lovers to collect them all. The shell collecting becomes addictive, no joke. I have probably picked up hundreds over the years, given some to friends, and kept some. Yet when I go back, guess what, I can’t stop myself from picking up more. Even when my pockets and hands are full of shells, I’ll walk for endless, and I’ll keep trying to pick up a few extra, often at the sacrifice of one slipping out of my palm. I’ve seen other people do it too – “wait, there’s one more right over there” – as they step on and around dozens to get to that ONE shell they must have. Comical, laughable, and perfectly acceptable.

My in-laws are 30 minutes south of town, tucked quietly away from civilization and convenience, with windows that frame a glorious view of the Sea. But you have to get there first. On my very first trip, the driving directions to their house, from town, went something like this; “after the ‘OH SHIT’ dip in the road, turn left at the desert clearing, continue until you see a trailer, turn right at the next desert clearing, drive a bit and you’ll find the house on the left, the one with the cactus fence.” Mind you, this is in the dark of the night, our way lit only by the moon, the stars, and the headlights. The “road” was deep, soft sand, and guess what, there were lots of trailers, and most of the houses had some form of cactus in the front yard. And in the last 20 or so years, little has changed. The directions are virtually the same, except now “OH SHIT” is actually painted on the paved black-top road, for first-timers, I suppose. We laugh about it today, but at the time of that first trip, I’d only known my now-husband for a few months. We were in my car, and my mind raced with thoughts of where we were really going, about how well he had hidden his dark side, that he had managed to trick me into taking this trip with talk of vacation, but instead he was probably going to toss me in the trunk. I wondered if I had told my mother I loved her before I left (this was also well before readily available cell service). Oh, how a mind races when lost in the dark.

On that first trip, and for every trip since then, my in-laws and their loyal collection of adopted stray dogs have greeted us warmly upon arrival. Smiles, hugs, dog-kiss-licks, and cold beers abound. My in-laws live life to the fullest, and they don’t take excuses. They are self-sustaining in their quiet oasis. They rely on solar panels, generators, batteries, water wells, and satellites. They don’t have a need for much, except for adventure and possibly air conditioning. They love to explore; the roughest terrain, the dirtiest roads, and the most out-of-the-way restaurants are their thrills, fueled by Clamato’s, Pacifico, and an ocean view. They rise with the sun, and they don’t stop their day until they say they are done. And when they grow tired of staring at the Sea of Cortez or attending daily “lunch” parties, they get in the car or the dune buggy, and they explore.

If my retirement is half as fun as I perceive theirs to be, well, then I can’t wait. Until then, I’ll continue to enjoy our getaways to San Felipe. There is plenty of room in my life for getaways to sleepy towns. I’ve said it before, and I mean it every time, I like having an excuse to unplug and do “nothing.” When I get to San Felipe, I get to do nothing but enjoy the gentleness of the Sea of Cortez, a cold beer at the Miramar, literally endless walks on the beach, dune buggy rides, and family time.

Authors note – My mother-in-law lost a battle with cancer in late 2018. Her spirit remains in San Felipe, with us on every adventure, shining brightly in each radiant sunrise, and found among the smiles and hugs of her friends.