I had no idea what to expect.
In my mind, Slab City had always held this sort of urban legend status. Something I knew was real, yet something that felt so far away. Unattainable. A fairy tale that was nice to listen to from old hippies and worn out vagabonds, but even most of the ones who spoke of it had never been.
A place full of hippies, tweakers, and misfits.
"The last free place in America."
Alright, let's get to it. Prepare for lots of pictures.
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| They have a freaking hostel, y'all. And a library. I love it. I also saw a sign for an internet cafe while driving around, and google maps had some other interesting spots listed. Pretty set up for a giant squatter camp. |
You hear a variety of crazy things if you don't take care to filter people out, you know? On all topics, but especially when it comes to things not everyone understands. Things like Slab City. Hundreds of people in the summer, thousands of people in the winter...squatting in the desert...stealing water from the city...deciding and enforcing their own laws. Anyone from a retired snow-bird, looking for a cheap winter, to an artist, to a literal outlaw...you can't know who you'll meet out there until you meet them. So something like that? It's easy to get the rumor mill started. You hear crazy things. Like that everyone out there is a tweaker. Or that people will set your camp on fire or shoot you if you piss them off. Well, actually...turns out that one is true. Yikes. But I can say from first hand experience that the former, isn't. In fact, I met and spoke to about 20 different residents today at different camps, and while there were definitely some strange ones, and those strange ones did warn me about the meth problem, no one I met made me nervous or seemed to be in any sort of condition that these rumors would have you believe everyone there lives in.
From the moment I arrive, I can't stop grinning. I somehow drove straight into a Mad Max universe. It's incredible. I exit a town, drive a few more miles, and suddenly start seeing these awesome, crazy camps, built out of broken things and trash, popping up along the ridges, far away from the road. Flags flying. Painted buses and RV's. The further in I drive, the closer these camps come to the road, until I'm in what feels like a neighborhood of sorts. The whole place, from my first entrance, feels like one giant art project, composed of hundreds of individual projects. And really, it is. It seems that art is life and life is art when you're wading through time out there. From Salvation Mountain, a large art installation devoted to Jesus - a tourist attraction on it's own - to towers of rocks scattered through the desert, to cool camps like the skate park and Dot's place, to East Jesus - a creepy, dark, beautiful, trash art extravaganza. My car creeps slowly down dirt roads marked by handmade street signs, looking at all the lovely art. Some of it politically motivated, some religiously, some of it apparently for the hell of it. The first stop I make is at Salvation Mountain. A full history of which is provided at that link. This particular installation is so interesting to me, because it's this brightly colored, loving monument to God and faith, and I'm sure it's meant to be inviting, and it is in lots of ways. But it's also been sitting in the desert, exposed to harsh elements for years. So I see the love poured in, but I also see the decay. The art cars with flat tires. The tattered and torn fabric of seats. The peeling paint. The rust on cage bars. To me, it feels like a loving devotion which could transform into a nightmare at any moment, and personally, I love it.
I pass by the Church of Enlightenment and come to a T in the road. One arrow pointing to the left for East Jesus, one pointing to the right for The Library. I'm on my way to East Jesus, but I make a note to check out the library next. I can only imagine what kind of odd and wonderful books one might find out here. (Turns out, unfortunately, that the library is closed to the public due to covid, but I love that they have one.)
So far I haven't seen many people out. Lots of camps, and a few cars passing me in the direction of town, but only a couple far-off bodies moving in the distance have caught my eye. I am hoping to meet and talk to some locals, get their perspective on all this, but I want to make sure to do so in a respectful way, which is where I'm at a little of a loss. I don't want to just walk up on someone's house or make anyone uncomfortable, after all.
Right before arriving at East Jesus I see a very colorful camp with hand painted signs outside. "Come meet Dot", "Unique gifts", and a simple "Open" sign sit against walls of prime color. I look in that direction as I drive, trying to see if anyone is there, and suddenly a women is staring back and waves cheerfully with a smile. I wave back, but forge ahead to check out some art.
I started to type out what East Jesus is and what it stands for and what they're about, but it turns out, they have a dot org! Would you look at that. If you're interested in this art project, I highly suggest giving their about section a glance over here. I'll leave the descriptions up to them, and stick to sharing the pictures I took, in this particular case. East Jesus shares the fascinating sense of decay that Salvation Mountain does, but without the feeling of devotion. All these impressions hitting even harder, by the fact that entire areas are closed off due to Covid, and in the hour I'm there, wandering around, I'm kept company only by the banging of metal signs against metal gates, headless manikins, and countless variations of windmills, spinning frantically in the active breeze, clicking and whirring to each other.
I exit East Jesus and head towards my car, but I soon remember the woman waving to me from her camp. I stand at my door, keys in hand, and briefly debate my next move. Ah, screw it. I'm here to learn about this place, and if anyone's open to telling me, seems like it'll be her! I pocket my keys and walk back towards the brightly colored signs.
My steps slow as I approach the camp. "Hello?" I call out shyly. I wait a second and call again. Suddenly the woman appears from thin air. "Oh, my! I thought I was losing it! You were perfectly hidden behind that manikin there, I couldn't see you at all! How're you?"
"I saw your signs as I drove in and I just figured I'd come say hi. Wasn't exactly sure what this was, but I saw your open sign."
"Absolutely, come on in!"
I walk around a fence of leaning boards, held together by yarn.
"So this is my art camp and studio. I'm one of the largest art camps out here in the Slabs. This trailer is my studio, that one over there is full of clothes I'm messing with designing, I was building a shower here, but I'm gonna pull it all down, I don't like how it turned out. Come through here, check out the archive!" She motions to areas one by one and rattles off what they are or what she plans for them to be, and leads me through some curtains and deeper into her camp. Now that we're in the belly of it, I can see that there are 6 trailers, set up in a sort of perimeter, with some couches and dressers and a general hangout area in the inner circle. Inside the circle, there's the bottom half of a popup with a large king size bed on it.
"What, is that where you sleep?"
"Yeah! I used to have these hanging around it," She lifts some sheer, pink and purple curtains in her fist, "but the wind snatched them down. Need to set it all back up."
"Oh my gosh, you've got a princess bed out here, that's amazing."
"Yeah! I love this setup for sleeping. Come check out the archive!" She leads me towards another bus. "I've got about 3,000 books in here. Took me around 6 months of collecting to get to this point. Go ahead," she motions for me to enter.
It's awesome in there, all the walls are lined with books, and there's a couch in the back (occupied by some skeletons), and a reading nook with lots of pillows in the front. I feel like I would spend all my time in a place like that.
She shows me around her camp some more, and we slowly migrate back to the art bus by the entrance. "Have you visited any other camps yet?" She asks me.
"Unfortunately not, I wasn't really sure what was okay as far as walking up. I don't want to freak anyone out, or piss them off. Especially taking pictures like I am. I stopped over here because it seemed, based on your signs, that'd you'd be open to talking."
She nods in understanding and confirmation, "Yeah, I like when people stop in. It's funny, cause members of other camps are always asking me how I get people to come in, but it's hard, man. People are scared. They've heard too many bad rumors about us out here. Most of them want to just run up, take a pictures, and run away. But I'll tell you now, if people have big decorated camps, then they want you to notice, and they'd probably be happy to talk to you. You should check out the Skate Park when you leave here. They like visitors." She gives me directions and I continue pestering her with questions.
She tells me in the summer there are typically about 300 residents of the Slabs who tough out the heat, but in the winter it swells to about 3,000, and things get crazy. You have to be careful of people encroaching on your camp. We talk about traveling kids showing up without cars or tents and expecting it to be easy. About people asking to help with her camp in the winter and just kind of moving in, but that she doesn't mind.
"You know, people will tell you it's hard to live out here, or it sucks, but that's not true. There are difficulties, but it's freedom."
We chat a bit more, and I buy a magnet from her before I leave, a small thank you for answering my many questions. Time to go find the Skate Park.
I follow more of the handmade signs through the many criss-crossing roads, and find the camp I'm looking for. When I pull up, there's a man outside, but by the time I get out of my car, he's disappeared. I walk to the edge of an old swimming pool, now a gratified skate park, and stand for a bit, checking it out and wondering if someone will come out to see who I am. But no one does. I hear loud music coming from what looks like a kind of thrown together shack, with lots of mismatched scrap wood and a door that hangs crooked and doesn't match up to the building on any sides. I walk towards it, thinking it will be much harder to call out over the music, but I try anyway. After two "hello"s the door opens and a man with curly hair and no shirt steps out.
"What's up, nerd?," he says, walking towards me. I remind myself I'm wearing a "Nerdnite" shirt and chuckle.
"Hi! I was just talking to Dot and she said you guys don't mind company."
He immediately launches into the history of the Slabs and starts showing me the things they've been building recently, from their wood fired pizza oven to their brand new stage. He says they cook free dinner for the community every night, and in the winter, they do breakfast, as well. They put on open mics, and screen movies. They provide drinking water to anyone who needs it, "even people we've had to kick out can still get water from us, because out here, without it, you'll die."
He opens the crooked door and takes me inside, where four other people are lounging on couches or sitting at a bar with a kitchen behind it. The space inside is much more developed, bigger, and cleaner than the outside led me to believe.
We all take turns asking questions, them to me about my story and life, and me to them about theirs.
After about an hour, I run out to my car to grab a drink, and on the way back in I hear a voice behind me, "Do you want some fruits and vegetables?" I turn around, wondering who the guy is talking to, but I'm the only one out there, aside from the dude hanging out of his truck. A church logo stamped on the side.
"Me?"
"Yeah, do you want some fruits and vegetables? It's free. Take a box."
"Uh...sure!"
I grab one and take it inside. "Hey, I brought you guys something! I figured since you make dinner for everyone each night, you might want it. Someone in a church truck just offered it up."
A few of us crowd around the box, unpacking it like a Christmas present, and passing an apple to everyone inside (now a few more then the original five).
I sit at the counter for hours, a revolving door of conversations turning non-stop. People offer me a variety of things. Soda, weed, water, more apples, beer. My favorite was when they asked if I'd had my electrolytes for the day and placed some supplements on the counter in front of me, encouraging me to take some. More and more people come in, including 2 small, grubby children in nothing but diapers, and fill up the couches and the counter. The room gets more rowdy as the afternoon wears on, and I find it harder and harder to want to leave. But eventually I have to.
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| Interesting snaps from a roadside camp |
I go around the room saying goodbye to the people I spent the most time with, and eventually head over to the guy who originally welcomed me. "Hey man, thanks so much for talking to me and being so open and welcoming to visitors."
"Thanks for being open to what we're doing here."
"Absolutely. I really don't want to leave, but I've gotta return my rental car."
Some visitors sitting near by pipe up, "Eh, just abandon it and stay. What's the worst that could happen."
"Yeah," says the guy, "You could just stay."
"Ugh, I really can't. But I love it here, you might see me back towards the end of winter. I'll be sure to stop in."
"Well you already did everything you need to do to stay in our camp with us. You came in, you got to know who we are, you were respectful. We'll welcome you back. In fact, do you want to reserve a spot now? It gets crazy in winter!"
I thank him with a laugh, but insist I must decline.
I won't be done with school for another 6 months, so I couldn't ask them to save me a spot when I can't commit to anything right now, but with the way things are going, it seems likely I'll find myself back in this strange wonderland. As a resident said to me, "Slab City is like heaven on Earth, meets Mad Max," and that's exactly right. I can't wait to greet them all again down the road.
As I leave Slab City, I veer off the road and into the desert, looking to make one last stop before the two hour drive back to my current reality. The residents clued me in to a hot spring in the desert, off the beaten path. At first I intend to just check it out and maybe stick my feet in, but once I'm there, I realize this hot spring is just like the rest of the city. You're all in, or you may as well be out. I strip down to my underwear, figuring a short soak in this water is the perfect way to end the day.
I'm grateful for another adventure had and successful, and I'm sure I'll be back. Thanks for having me, Slab City!
i don't know anyone that went there. I saw the doc. Nice to read someone else's experience. It's a dismal place. Good pics too. The meandering bored lost hope is palpable. Why people glorify this spot, saddens me.
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