I was six years old the first time Baja got under my skin, and it never really left.
My family traveled to Mexico often. My dad had been making surf trips south of the border since he was a young man, chasing swells down the coast. My mom had her own deep pull toward the peninsula, and it was her love for Baja that shaped my teenage years more than anything. San José del Cabo, Punta Chivato, Rosarito: these weren't vacation spots to us, they were a way of life. A different pace. A different air.