Life’s a (Trip To the) Beach: Hot and Hard Lessons in Minimalist Thinking

My partner and I bought a white 1995 Ford F-150 in Mexico City last year. On October 10, 2020, we filled it with all of our worldly possessions and our little black rescue pup — Rue Billy — and we drove it to the beach. Rue sat between us for two days as we slowly made our way through the mountains to Acapulco, then along the coast to Puerto Escondido, which is now home.

Fonzy, the old white truck, overheated and broke down every two hours along the journey, white smoke billowing from the hood like a fucking truck-cartoon. Every hill was approached with care — emergency lights flashing — as we crept up the incline at 20 mph, waving apologies out the window to passing cars, watching the needle on the heat gauge wiggle at the upper limit of “normal.”

In the end, we made it. Now, we’re two blocks from the beach, and Rue is three times as big. We deal with intense mid-day heat and terrible wifi in exchange for life in paradise. It’s an exchange I’m happy to have committed to. We bought land and feel very settled. This is the first time since graduating high-school that I’ve thought to myself, “I’ll be here for at least 5 years,” and that feels good.

Roots grow fast in the dry Oaxacan dirt.