800 kilometres across Yellowstone National Park

This earth originates from the greatest depths, yet it is newer than everything around us. In Yellowstone, we stand inside the caldera of an active volcano; the ground bubbles and steams. The heat from beneath gives the region its trademark feature: its colours. Yet in the end, that wasn’t the most fascinating part in this leg of the journey.

KM 900, 2.1 million years ago

First, however, a brief jump back in time; for Yellowstone is past and present all at once.

2.1 million years ago the Earth saw the birth and largest eruption to date of the Yellowstone volcano: the Huckleberry Ridge eruption. Two further eruptions followed. The last outbreak, which actually contributed to the caldera’s current shape, occurred just 640 000 years ago, known as the Lava Creek eruption.

We slowly drive into the park, approaching from the south directly from Grand Teton National Park. The road winds uphill. Behind us, a never-ending tailback of cars struggles up the slope. At over 2000 metres, the Land Cruiser’s engine no longer delivers much power, especially when climbing, so we push forward slowly yet steadily at 40 km/h. We quietly enjoy the landscape and keep an eye out for wildlife. The enthusiasm of the drivers behind us, who are taking the brunt of our black exhaust fumes, seems rather limited by comparison.

Lewis Falls comes into view, the river meanders through the tuff just like the road. Tuff is a rock formed from consolidated volcanic ash and pyroclasts. Reaching the ridge above, we stand at the edge of a round basin. Yet unlike so many volcanoes we have visited across the continent, we see neither a beginning nor an end at Yellowstone.

Yellowstone’s volcanic caldera measures 48 by 72 kilometres. Beneath the caldera lies a hotspot, the point where hot mantle material rises from deep within the Earth. The ridge we crest every time we drive through Yellowstone Park is the rim of the supervolcano. Below it bubbles a massive magma chamber, and its enormous forces can be felt all the way to the surface. At such hotspots, the Earth’s surface regenerates from ancient, molten rock. And this plateau rises and falls by several centimetres every year.

We have arrived in the present of our journey: where stone comes to life.

Some elements of a typical volcanic landscape are visible to the naked eye. Over 10 000 hydrothermal features shape the terrain. Geysers vent steam as if mini-factories were at work everywhere. Mud pots bubble away, and bison warm themselves on nature’s underfloor heating. Other features can only be felt: thermal springs warm the rivers to the perfect temperature for fish. And in winter, the interior of the caldera shelters a warm zone here and there where animals can escape the deepest snow.

And then there are the living organisms that only truly thrive in near-boiling water: thermophilic microorganisms. They not only withstand boiling water, but also feel right at home in extreme acidity. However, they like it hot but do not tolerate temperature shifts. In the hottest water live mainly transparent and yellow microbes, with the transparent ones glowing blue to the human eye. Along the cooler edges, orange, brown, and green groups gather. Together, they create an impressive, colourful, living spectacle.

Yellowstone National Park covers an area of nearly 9 000 square kilometres—2.5 times the size of Mallorca. Established in 1872, it is considered the first official national park in the world. However, the welcome news of nature conservation had a dark prelude—for animals and humans alike.

We drive along the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway over Dead Indian Pass towards the North East Entrance of Yellowstone National Park. The tragic name of the pass stems from the displacement of Native Americans from their ancestral lands. The Nez Perce fled from the Yellowstone mountains to the Great Plains during the Nez Perce War of 1877. In doing so, they outsmarted the US Army: they led them to believe they were taking the easier southern route. Instead, they climbed the steep pass. By the time the soldiers realised, the Nez Perce were gone. Apparently, however, a Nez Perce was ultimately killed on the pass—giving Dead Indian Pass its name.

The region around the Rocky Mountains was inhabited by various Indigenous groups. For a long time, they were tolerated in these barren and challenging areas because settlers were slow to reach them. Originally, the concept of a “national park” arose in the early 19th century as a place where Native Americans could maintain their traditional way of life. But the idea shifted: Native Americans were forced onto Indian reservations, and from the national parks emerged the dream of creating an untouched wilderness. Until then, the American wilderness was viewed merely as a vast, lawless hunting ground.

What has become of this wilderness is something we want to see with our own eyes.

The drive continues, leaving the ancient lakes behind, we follow the rivers nestled in lush green valleys. At first, the landscape is flat; then gentle hills begin to appear, the road winding its way through them. The hills grow higher, the valleys deeper. Spring has only just awoken. The first wildflowers are sprouting along the roadside, and the last of the snow is only slowly melting. Rushing rivers taper off into gentle streams before they become freshwater springs.

Then, sudden calm: a vast plain opens up before us, the Snake River flows leisurely southwards, and behind it—there—towering mountain peaks rise abruptly into the sky. The rock glints grey in the last rays of sunlight against a pitch-black sky: a thunderstorm is brewing. It is the calm before the storm in the Grand Tetons.

KM 810, 10 million years ago

We stroll through the town centre and window-shop at the luxury boutiques: cowboy hats, furs, and boots. What was once an important hunting ground for the indigenous population has transformed into a jet-set destination for both summer and winter. Here, the Rocky Mountains are accessible to everyone. And as soon as you drive out of Jackson Hole, the Tetons show off their absolute best side.

The Rocky Mountains were formed by tectonic shifts around 80 to 50 million years ago. However, as we know, the Earth kept moving—and continues to do so—and it wasn’t until barely 10 million years ago that the Teton Range began to take shape.

Along the roughly 60-kilometre-long Teton Fault, the mountain range lifts up bit by bit with every earthquake, whilst the basin of Jackson Hole sinks on the eastern side. Geologically speaking, because the Teton Range is extremely young, it has almost no foothills. What’s more, erosion simply hasn’t had enough time to round off its jagged, dramatic peaks.

Today, we hike right over the moraines left behind by the ice. Our first hike in Grand Teton National Park is enchanting: taking a longer route around Emma Matilda Lake, we find ourselves scrambling over rocks, stones, and fallen tree trunks. The less-trodden paths receive very little maintenance here. There are bear tracks everywhere, though we only spot the creature itself once we are safely back in the car. A black bear pops up for a brief second, standing on its hind legs to get its bearings. But before we can even process it, he’s vanished back into the brush.

The other hike around Jenny Lake is much busier. People pass us constantly, and apart from birds, we hardly see any wildlife. Yet the shimmering blue of the lake practically begs for a swim on our first warm, sunny day in the US. We certainly aren’t going to pass that up.

We really enjoy the more secluded corners of the Grand Tetons; the rest of the park suffers from the usual hustle and bustle typical of US national parks. During our first few days, we notice that even in the middle of severe thunderstorms and pouring rain, people still ignore the danger and walk out onto the viewing platforms.

On the way to Yellowstone

The storm quickly passed after another few days in Grand Teton. It’s time for us to move on, leaving the peace and quiet of the more remote areas behind. The road slowly climbs steeper up the mountainside. We head further north along the eastern flank of the Rocky Mountains.

A bustling modern highlight awaits us. What exploded into existence 2.1 million years ago is today even called the Serengeti of North America. We are entering the active volcano of Yellowstone National Park, where not only wild animals await, but also crowds of visitors on the hunt for the perfect experience.

Our time travel through the layers of the Earth begins in the depths of the high-altitude desert. The high plateau in the US Midwest was once a tropical sea lined with ferns instead of palm trees. Today, only knee-high, dry scrub remains. The warmth that this area once radiated is almost unimaginable for a snowstorm is blowing past, forcing us into another cold night at the lowest point of the valley.

Yet, today’s barren desert landscape provides the perfect preservation for the remnants of the ancient dinosaur world. The exhibition at the Dinosaur National Monument is merely the most spectacular example, but there are numerous other treasures hidden in the stone throughout the entire surrounding area.

KM 0, 150 million years ago

The wall of bones

You would almost think that the dinosaur bones are simply lying out in the open everywhere, and that you could trip over them at any moment. While the truth is a little more complicated, the idea is not entirely far-fetched.

The area known as the Morrison Formation was criss-crossed by a large river. During droughts, the animals came closer to the water, and when they died, they were covered with sand and mud as the water level rose. Starting about 65 million years ago, tectonic shifts pushed the entire slab upwards; since then, the wall has stood at an angle of 67 degrees. The bones that lay on the upper edge thus gradually came to light through erosion—and became discoverable in the first place.

The quarries in the midwestern states of the USA are steeped in history. Because the region had shallow seas and plenty of shale, limestone, and sandstone, the fossils were well preserved over centuries. Added to this, as the North American continent was forming, plates collided and pushed the Rocky Mountains upwards. This tilted all the layers up and brought them closer to the surface.

After the snowstorm that hits Colorado in mid-May, we emerge from the valley of the dinosaurs and set out on a search of our own. Not for dinosaur bones—as that isn’t allowed to keep—but plants can turn to stone too, after all.

With that, we leave the Jurassic period behind and dive—or rather dig our way—into the Eocene.

Once all the dust has been brushed off our clothes and the shower has washed the rest from our bodies, we head off to the Fossil Butte National Monument. To the place where crocodiles swam in Fossil Lake 50 million years ago.

The surrounding area is famous for flawlessly preserved fossils of plants, insects, fish, and reptiles. Every now and then, even a mammal.

Fossil Lake was a meromictic lake; so the water layers never mixed. The bottom was extremely salty, which prevented organic decay. The freshwater animals living in the lake were therefore unable to eat the dead animals lying in the salt layer. Additionally, the bottom was low in oxygen and a thick microbiotic algal mat grew. Thanks to the cyanobacteria, the dead animals were quickly enclosed by the mats and shielded from the light. Thus, the perfect conditions for fossils were created.

Furthermore, limestone settled on top of it like a heavy blanket—layer by layer—and preserved the fossils exactly as they had died.

Today, brittle, smooth clay slabs with remarkable remains can be found throughout the area. In the Fossil Butte National Monument, the finds are protected and can be admired in the small visitor centre. Next door, there are private quarries that lease their land for searching. This means you pay a fee and can then search for a couple of hours and keep everything you find—unless the value is immensely high.

We save ourselves this expensive bit of fun. After all, we still have all that petrified wood, where firstly, we do not know what to do with it, and secondly, we do not know where to store it yet either.

As a side note: according to alternative medicine, petrified wood gives strength and helps with weight loss. Unfortunately, we have not noticed the effect yet; the car weighs more and more, and it seems to need more fuel rather than less. However, we are not giving up hope.

“You can’t miss Utah” – you hear it from all sides. Every traveller we meet recommends that we absolutely must go there. The red rocks that define the national parks are said to be the highlight of the USA. The clear night sky is supposedly one of the most beautiful in the world. The off-road tracks running through the state are considered some of the most exciting and varied anywhere.

Full of expectations, we too set off on our journey to the USA, looking forward to Utah above all else. In the end, however, the red state did not overwhelm us; if anything, it was rather disappointing.

The desert state of Utah is home to five of the most beautiful and famous national parks in the USA. Consequently, it is one of the main travel destinations for both domestic and international tourists. Everyone wants to be photographed under one of the massive stone arches in Utah at least once, especially since a trip to the USA remains a once-in-a-lifetime experience for many.

Where does the red come from? The geology of Utah’s rocks

Don’t get us wrong. The nature in Utah is enchanting. The red colour of the earth is caused by oxidation. When the earth erodes, the iron comes into contact with oxygen and oxidises into a red colour: hematite is formed. Hematite is a powerful pigment which then, through further erosion, settles on the sand and rocks. Everything appears red.

Utah was once a vast desert near an ocean. Due to the oxygen-rich surface water, the hematite oxidised more easily, and over time, red sandstone was created. Depending on whether other minerals are present in the mix, the oxidation colour deviates from the typical red: there is yellow, orange, or brownish earth. Added to this is bleached white: since sandstone is highly permeable, the hematite can be washed out further over millions of years until no pigments are left in the rock (you can find more details on the geology at Wilderness Commonsense).

We wanted to see this wonder up close. Our first destination: Zion National Park. The disillusionment at the entrance: people everywhere, no parking spaces, and traffic jams at the toll booths. Hiking? Unthinkable; we couldn’t even pull the car over for a moment to use the toilet. Of course, it was the weekend, which intensified the tourist crowds even further.

It is only when we get to Utah that we encounter another mass phenomenon. Many hiking trails—both inside and outside the parks—require a permit. This allows the crowds to be managed and the resulting environmental damage to be minimised. In principle, it’s a good thing.The catch is that simply to get hold of this permit, you have to enter a lottery. To participate, you pay a small fee of around 10 USD. If you happen to be one of the few lucky winners of a ticket, you then have to pay all over again just to actually step onto the trail.

The boom in outdoor experiences has meant that access to nature must be treated restrictively, especially on spectacular routes. The masses of tourists, whether international or national holidaymakers or hikers, must be managed if we want to preserve these attractions for future generations.

However, the lottery website Recreation.gov is also facing criticism because it is run by a private contractor that pockets these non-refundable fees. The majority of the fees do not even seem to reach the parks where they are actually needed.

Utahs national parks require either a lot of patience or precise planning

We had heard about it, but experiencing it on the ground was more jarring than expected. The crowds, the permits that are far from easy to secure, and the need to plan months in advance changed the way we travel. Most of these permits are released in the winter. If you aren’t sitting directly at your computer to book them, the entire season sells out instantly.

There are 4×4 routes in Canyonlands National Park where we had heard from others that they were allowed to drive spontaneously—whereas we, at the start of high season, wouldn’t have found a single free slot until more than two weeks later.

Doing anything spontaneously is no longer really possible in the USA—certainly not if it is anywhere near a hotspot. There are still beautiful hikes that are accessible without any trouble, or other stunning landscapes, but you have to invest a lot more time to find them.

The conditions we encountered on the ground dampened our mood a bit as we travelled through Utah. Yes, the rock formations are impressive, especially in the right light when the sun is just rising. But photographing the stone arches in Arches National Park in the dead of night without any people requires split-second timing—and during twilight, it is near impossible.

In Bryce Canyon National Park, you have to be careful not to fall victim to an overly enthusiastic photographer who wants to get right to the edge and pushes through with full physical effort—after all, not the entire cliff edge is fenced off.

Yet just driving into a park spontaneously and deciding on a whim where to hike was out of the question. Although Easter had just passed, several park rangers confirmed that it was now this crowded all year round.

We adapted our route. We looked for alternative tracks, including backcountry roads, and steered clear of several major highlights. We skipped the Grand Canyon, just across the state border in Arizona, partly because the North Rim was still closed for the winter and completely inaccessible. A pity, as this more remote section would surely have been a highlight too.

Utah is and remains beautiful, but it is well worth travelling entirely out of season—especially in autumn before it snows. Because as soon as the snow lands, everything is closed for the winter until late spring.

The newly retired man with two cars

An old man was sleeping in the red, two-seater Corvette. We had already suspected as much, but it wasn’t until our new neighbour arrived that we could confirm it.

This new 66-year-old neighbour – let’s call him Dave – is privileged compared to the man in the Corvette. You see, Dave is parked here with two cars, effectively just waiting for his house to sell. To tie him over, he bought a white van two months ago for 5 000 US dollars. The black Kia saloon parked next to it is what he uses to get around town.

Dave spends his first night in the parking space next to us, and introduces himself the following evening: “I’ve been on my own for six years, let me buy you a beer.” He worked in construction his whole life. With his earnings, he bought a house built in the 1970s, and now he’s selling it to move to a cheaper state. While he waits for a buyer, he lives out of his car, showering at the gym thanks to a 10-dollar monthly membership, and hoping a buyer comes along soon. Once the house sells, he says he might give his new-old white van to a homeless person. Why he can’t just keep living in the house in the meantime is something he can’t quite explain to us.

The beer is finished. By now, more vehicles have gathered in the gym’s large car park.

A green bus painted with yellow sunflowers is parked more crookedly than straight on the level tarmac. A cat stares out at us from a crammed white delivery van. A modern Sprinter parks around the corner, and a woman gets out of the vehicle with a cat in her rucksack. An old caravan, which looks completely abandoned and unroadworthy, is gone by the next morning.

Several SUVs and saloons are parked in front of the gym. People come and go all night long. Some drive home, but many simply climb into the back seat. Sunblinds hold makeshift curtains made of scrap fabric in place to cover the windows. What keeps the sun and the heat out during the day hides the dimmed light inside the vehicles at night.

Between the library and fast food: our own daily routine

We feel uncomfortable opening the roof tent in the middle of the city; besides, everyone here is trying to fly under the radar. An open roof tent would be far too obvious – and there are fewer and fewer places where people are allowed to park overnight. So, it’s better to remain inconspicuous.

The circumstances aren’t exactly cosy, but we learn a lot: about our car park neighbours, about Salt Lake City, about the gym bros, and where to get cheap food. Over time, you also learn how to spot the cars people are living in.

There are no exact figures for the number of people actually living in their cars. It is incredibly difficult to quantify. Some have genuinely become homeless and can no longer afford rent, but at least still have a roof over their heads thanks to their vehicle. Many others choose this lifestyle entirely by choice.

Do overlanders in their state-of-the-art Mercedes Sprinters fall into this category? Not really – there is a vast difference between still having a shower and a kitchen waiting for you at home, even if it is a car, and having to retreat to the cheapest gym every evening for running water while living off supermarket takeaways.

The scale of “vehicular homelessness” – as the phenomenon is known in the US – varies between 400 000 and over a million people, depending on the source. It largely comes down to the definition. Some include voluntary life in a car, while others only count the homeless who, despite losing their flat, can still afford a vehicle and its insurance.

According to the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) , 771 000 people were homeless in the US in 2024. Of those, roughly half are said to live in their vehicles. A car is essential in a country where everything is built around driving. As a result, there are many who have jobs but simply cannot afford the price of housing, and so choose to sacrifice a home rather than their vehicle.

The abrupt end of the red Corvette

When you live in these car parks, it suddenly becomes entirely obvious which cars are inhabited. Some examples stand out straight away, like those barely roadworthy bangers that belong in a scrapyard. But then there is the blue saloon, the brand-new red Jeep Cherokee, or the beautifully converted old Ford truck. Or indeed, the red Corvette that parked by the kerb under the tree every single night.

The sports car’s tinted windows only let you guess who is sitting inside. No one is ever seen getting in or out. In the morning, the two-seater is gone. The car seems far too cramped to live in. But when you have no other choice, you find enough space even in there. But what do you do when, one morning, a lorry rams your car and the police have it towed away? Where will the old man sleep tonight? We never found out. Dave could only confirm that our suspicion was correct: someone was sleeping in the Corvette too.

We mention this to some local acquaintances. The librarian in Salt Lake says she had heard of it but had never actually noticed it. It’s hard to believe when you think about just how many there are. Sadly, even people with good jobs are affected by homelessness.

Just sorting out the daily logistics is complicated: food, toilets, showers. On top of that comes the bureaucracy, because they don’t have a fixed address.

We have a genuine luxury setup by comparison, and we chose this lifestyle. Being forced to spend every evening alone, never knowing if the police will knock on the window or if the car park will be closed off, wondering where and what you can eat, is definitely nothing to aspire to.

The problem is far bigger than many people think. It’s barely noticeable at first, until you train your eyes to see it.

Then, suddenly, you see inhabited cars everywhere.

No welcome sign hangs along the wall, nor is there much else to indicate the next country – just tiny Mexican shops trying to sell the last authentic tacos to anyone passing by. The border guards make you feel that warmth and hospitality are no longer free of charge here.

The land of endless opportunities definitely does not welcome us with open arms – at least not at the Mexico–US land border – yet they let us in at least. And so, we drive down the highway straight into the future, into the Golden State of California.

A look back, a look ahead

They certainly know how to do museums, the US-Americans; that is the realization of the day. The USS Midway impressively demonstrates the sheer military might this country already possessed at the end of the Second World War. Veterans who actually served on the ship when the average age of the soldiers on board was barely 19 recount how the days in the brightly lit yet gloomy lower deck felt never-ending. Only the privileged aviators ever saw the sun, right when the aircraft were catapulted into the air. Things probably aren’t much different for young soldiers at sea today.

In the evening, a never-ending shooting star illuminates the sky over San Diego. But the largest vapour trail we have ever seen is not of natural origin. It is a Falcon 9 rocket. SpaceX is sending the next batch of Starlink satellites into orbit; just like every week, two 20-year-old night walkers explain to us. The very first day makes us realize: the tracks of the future are being laid here – whether we like it or not.

The journey back then turns into a genuine ghost train ride. Cora’s school friend, who grew up in LA, has organized everything: a quick hello via the app, the doors unlock, and we climb in. A silent intercom seems to whisper to us: “Make yourselves comfortable on the velvety soft leather seats of the Jaguar. Don’t forget to fasten your seatbelts.” The modern ghost, guided by sensors, radars, lidars, and cameras, accelerates and smoothly merges into the traffic.

The Waymo taxis are an absurd highlight. The creepy part isn’t how they drive – they drive shockingly correctly, defensively, and pleasantly. The truly spooky part is looking at the empty driver’s seat and seeing the steering wheel turn as if by magic. And yet, you get used to it far too quickly.

This sci-fi feeling fits perfectly with the colourful bustle around the Hollywood stars. On the Walk of Fame, we don’t stumble over any real celebrities due to the security presence, but it is a proper obstacle course dodging delivery robots rolling along the pavement like Wall-E.

Escaping to the General

In the evening, we are glad to be chauffeured home by a friend. Waiting for us there is the Chinese-Vietnamese mum with spring rolls – the best dinner we will have in the entire USA.

We are buzzing with new impressions of everything modernity has to offer. But after this high-tech world, we feel drawn right back to nature. We flee to where, for easily 2000 years, General Sherman has been watching over things to ensure everything is as it should be: to the giant sequoias in Sequoia National Park. It turns out we haven’t quite mutated into city people after all.

How safe is it to travel through Latin America and especially Mexico by vehicle?

‘You know, I opened this campsite to take away travellers’ fear of Mexico,’ Raúl tells us at his ranch in the north of the Baja California peninsula. The ranch is less than an hour away from the border between Mexico and the USA. Many people fear this border. There are travellers who believe that as soon as they drive across, they will be mugged, and a corrupt police officer will be waiting on every corner.

We are at the end of our journey through Mexico. Raúl’s ranch is our final stop before the border crossing. And to be completely honest: he doesn’t need to convince us anymore; Mexico enchanted us a long time ago. Staying with him is the unexpected, crowning final.

We spend Good Friday eating fish tacos around the campfire, together with his family and friends who have come here for Easter. The horse ranch is so idyllic that instead of staying for one night, we end up staying for another four – delaying our border crossing into the USA for as long as possible.

Is it really that dangerous to travel through Latin America?

Mexico is the final Latin American country on our journey to Alaska. Before entering the southernmost country in North America, we are warned constantly – far more than with any of the other countries. The last time we experienced this level of intensity was before Nicaragua and Venezuela.

We were told we would experience countless police checks. That the military would have a heavy presence. That we would encounter widespread corruption or indigenous communities demanding money to let us pass. That there would be many closed roads and, of course, cartel violence.

Notice a pattern? It’s essentially the same list as before. Definitely nothing we hadn’t already known or heard about.

Since we were approaching from the south, the negative reports didn’t put us off as quickly as they did many other travellers entering from the north. We had heard similar warnings about almost every country – and after more than 200 police checks in Venezuela, it takes a lot to ruffle our feathers.

Even so, just for fun, we decided to keep track of the checkpoints again. The result? In just under two months, we drove through 34 checkpoints. We were pulled over at 12 of them, and we had to open the boot at 7.

Was money demanded? Not by anyone. Not a single time. Not even remotely.

Between cartel violence and everyday routine

Mexico is not a safe haven – certainly not in certain tourist regions or in the immediate vicinity of the notorious drug cartels. All the same, the day-to-day life of most people is not characterised by violence.

The people we met have adapted to Mexico’s peculiarities. They have all been checked by the police at some point and asked for a small “donation”. There have been curfews due to escalating violence, and they too know countless stories about what the cartels are up to. Their lives are admittedly a little closer to these problems, but even for them, it is not an unremitting daily reality.

No one we interacted with told us about extortion or paying protection money – something we witnessed first-hand in other countries. That this exists in Mexico is indisputable. The fact that the drug trade and the illegal criminal underworld generate vast amounts of money, undermine politics and justice, sow violence and complicate matters is a reality. Especially in impoverished areas where young, unemployed people are promised fast cash. Furthermore, the cartel world is regularised and glamourised through narcocorrido songs, which even make it into the pop charts.

However, in a country inhabited by 134 million people, this is not the reality for the majority. It is the media’s attention that remains glued to it – and the cartels know exactly how to generate that media spotlight. A striking example was the death of El Mencho in February and the subsequent roadblocks across the entire country. If cartel members know one thing, it’s how to bring a state to a standstill in no time.

Even in the state of Jalisco, the main headquarters of the Jalisco Nueva Generación cartel, there is a life that happens entirely outside of the drug trade. The majority of people live completely normal lives – just always a tiny bit closer to the dark side than is the case in Europe.

Are rural roads really that dangerous?

Before we entered the country, we were often advised to stick strictly to the toll roads (cuotas) in Mexico, as they were safer. Hmm. If they mean safer from the countless speed bumps (topes), then it’s true – and you save a lot of time, though they are also horrendously expensive. If they mean safer from police checks, we actually encountered most of them on the toll roads rather than in the small villages. We did, however, avoid driving across the mountains where cartels are known to fight over territory.

Just like in South America, we constantly kept ourselves actively informed: by asking the police, the locals, other travellers or via travel apps. This gives you a good picture of the current situation. If you ever have a bad gut feeling, it is always best to find an alternative route.

We leave Mexico with tears in our eyes. Because here, too, we experienced the hospitality of Latin America in its absolute abundance. The long Easter weekend at Rancho La Bellota was a worthy finale. There is no better description for the people of Latin America: good food, deep conversations, plenty of laughter and an incredible warmth.

If we take a single insight home from this journey, it is this: the vast majority of people are, at their core, simply good.

On the road with stragglers, leaping pupils and a rather skinny giant off Baja California

We are almost too late – and we feel it, too. But well, we are only almost too late. Most of the grey whales have already moved on by the time we arrive in the bay of Bahía La Almeja. The fisherman takes us out anyway. To where the sea flows into the bay. On the off chance, maybe one of these whales will show up after all.

The grey whale that is a straggler

During the summer months, the grey whales dedicate themselves to feeding in the nutrient-rich Bering Sea. But they spend the winter months in the warmer waters of Baja California. They give birth to their calves in the bays, because there they are protected from killer whales.

We head out to the entrance of the bay at full throttle. Long ocean rollers stretch along the coast towards Santa Margarita Island. In the middle, you can barely feel the swell, until a larger wave breaks prematurely after all. Our captain is constantly keeping watch – for the whales and for the waves.

Meanwhile, the peak season for humpback whales is in full swing. Along the southern coast of Baja California, splashing and slapping hits the water from all sides. The young calves are learning to leap, and the adults have to show them how it’s done.

Humpback whales can be found in all the world’s oceans. We have encountered them in Central America before, but we didn’t experience a spectacle quite like the one in Baja California there. The days fly by – or disappear with the current – as we look out at the water, constantly keeping watch for the active giants.

The calves, barely five metres long, are still acting clumsily, while the mother, nearly three times their size, literally catapults herself out of the water. A splash that we can still hear a kilometre away on the beach. The exact reason for the whale breaches is unexplained; it could be against parasites, as play, or for communication. But if that isn’t loud enough, they slap their fins. Individual slaps with the pectoral fin or the fluke onto the water’s surface sound almost like a belly flop from a three-metre diving board.

A song without end

Once we’ve seen more than enough from the beach, we venture out onto the water by boat. Ideally, we would have paddled out directly on our own SUPs or something similar, but there was nothing to be found. And there it is again: mother and calf swimming peacefully along with the currents. Every now and then, a male joins them. Mostly, they are tolerated by the mother cows for protection against killer whales. Because orcas simply like young whale calves – their favourite part is the tongue.

Humpback whales are also present underwater. Albeit far enough away that they can’t be seen, they can certainly be heard. Thanks to a specially shaped larynx, humpback whales can reuse once-inhaled air over and over again to perform long songs. Yes, exactly, entire songs – even with recurring verses. And they learn them from an early age, so that the same population sings the same song – despite the annual adaptation of the hit.

The clock that urges us to continue on

For hours – if not days – we gaze out into the water. The whales, dolphins, rays and fish, the sea lions and sea turtles, the seabirds and crabs provide the best entertainment. Boredom never strikes; it is only time that flies by in a whirlwind. The clock is ticking; it is time to move on.

It is with a heavy heart that we leave the beautiful beaches of southern Baja California. We set off in search of other giants, namely those from the world of plants. To do so, we must swap salt for dust. Fortunately, we know that at our destination, a plunge into the cold sea water awaits us once more.

Then it simply swims past me. The first metre: leathery skin up to ten centimetres thick, speckled with bright little dots like water droplets. This pattern is as unique to each animal as a human fingerprint. Two, three, four metres. There fish still hasn’t passed me. Five, six, seven metres. The tail fin, as tall as a human, glides past me.

And just like that, the massive whale shark has vanished back into the murky sea. I swim after it, which requires a fair amount of stamina. Fortunately, I am wearing fins, otherwise I would hardly be able to keep up with its leisurely cruising speed of about 5 km/h.

Baja California and especially the Sea of Cortez resemble a cold, gargantuan aquarium. We spend all day at a wide variety of beaches – even the annoying sand that constantly steals into the inside of the car is absolutely worth it.

We are constantly looking out at the water. You must not let yourself get distracted, because you regret it instantly. Right by the shore, pelicans and ospreys crash headfirst into the surface in a steep dive to grab their snack and immediately safeguard it from the gulls.

Out on the horizon, sometimes near, sometimes far, a humpback whale calf practises its first, rather clumsy breaches, while the mother right beside it elegantly demonstrates how it is done. No sooner has the whale submerged than dolphins leap past, and shortly before sunset, more and more mobula rays catapult themselves out of the water like skipping stones. In between, a sea lion pops up briefly or a sea turtle comes to the surface to breathe. You quite simply have no chance of getting enough of it.

Only in the evening, when everything is dark, does it seem the right time for a break. Until a loud splash on the water somewhere serves as a reminder: the whales are still swimming past.