The sun had just set when I arrived at Roxy’s, a cozy little campsite in the heart of Slab City. The Steward of Salvation Mountain had recommended it to me, and I was eager to see what all the fuss was about. As I approached the hearth in the front of the camp, I saw two large fires burning brightly, illuminating the permanent couches that sat on either side. The rest of the seating was an eclectic mix of chairs, some belonging to Roxy and some brought by the guests.

Mondays were acoustic nights, and I was excited to hear what kind of music the night would bring. The air was thick with the sound of guitar strings and harmonious voices.

“Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses. You better love someone before its too late.”

“You have to love like you have never been hurt. You gotta fan the flame of romance, despite the urge to not open up.”

“Cause I ain’t askin’ nobody for nothin’, If I can’t get it on my own. If you don’t like the way I’m livin’. You just leave this long haired country boy alone.”

“Childhood Livin’, it’s easy to do.”

As I sat on one of the couches, I found myself sandwiched between an older gentleman and a tourist from Holland. She and her cousin had been traveling through the States for six weeks, and Slab City was their favorite spot on the trip.

For hours, I sat captivated by the music and the stories that were shared. A couple played Native American chants accompanied by their drums, while songwriters sang of the joys of the alternative lifestyle, sprinkled with references to Slab culture. A woman poured out her heart in her raw and unfiltered quasi rap/pop songs about being separated from her daughter for multiple years.

Another woman, with a voice as rich and powerful as the desert landscape, sang Don Mclean’s “Vincent.” The atmosphere was one of freedom and community, and love permeated everything. As the night went on, I was joined by Pol, the other cousin from Holland. Over sweet Arizona iced tea from his trunk, he told me his story.

He had helped progress and activate the squatter community in Holland, but at 52, he still felt like a kid who never grew up. He lived in a commune back in Holland and had suffered a heart attack two years ago. He questioned what he really wanted to do in life and what was on his bucket list. Two things were at the top: to fly a plane and to come to America. The second brought him to Slab City, and our paths crossed like two shooting stars in the desert sky.

We shared dreams and aspirations for an adventurous life and expressed gratitude for the serendipitous timing of our meeting. As I left Slab City, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the color and life that the community brought to the otherwise mauve desert landscape. I was reminded that there are other options out there for those who don’t want the normal American lifestyle. All it takes is an open mind and a willingness to embrace the unknown.