Slab City - The Last Free Place

“This place gets under your skin”, said Half-pipe. “I came here once and, well, I just keep coming back.”

I met her over breakfast at a little outdoor cafe called The Oasis, the oldest one in Slab City and one of a few that are still open during covid. Half-pipe is tiny, but anything but frail, with tattoos on the bridge of her nose, and has wintered here ever since her daughter passed. Over chocolate chip pancakes on a beautiful desert morning, she told me what she likes about the place. “Everyone accepts me here. I grieved here and people understood. I confronted who I really am.”

A group of comfortably barefoot misfits played guitars and sang, passing a bong around. There’s a lot of weed everywhere, and cardboard signs saying “I’m out of weed, please help”. One woman, Melodie, was dressed head to toe in woolen clothes she’d crocheted herself. She and her boyfriend were from Tennessee. They had run away from home and disapproving parents three days earlier, selling their X-Box on the way for gas money. The people at the Oasis felt truly hippie, rejecting convention and living off almost nothing; none of the paradoxical conformity of the festival crowd here. Shane, sporting biker leathers, a cowboy hat, and no front teeth, had been on the road for four decades. Jane, in her sixties, with pink windbreaker and umbrella for shade, wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Florida golf course. When nobody fits in, everybody does.

Slab City is an unincorporated community a few hours east of San Diego. Most residents come for the Season, which starts when the temperature dips below 100. Some, like us, are here for a few days. A few Full-Timers bear the searing summer heat by hiding out in solar-powered air-conditioned trailers, illegally swimming in the nearby Coachella Canal which supplies San Diego with water, or simply sweltering under improvised shade structures and waiting for winter to come. It’s home to an eclectic mix of folk. There is no ‘type’, but there is a shared distrust of society at large. Government, taxes, jobs, the American Dream: these are false gods here.

Dr. Spencer, a retired acupuncturist who has built a rickety three story ‘Temple of Enlightenment' over his trailer, told us “If you don’t own anything, they can’t take anything away from you.” He loves it here, “because I’m completely free. I pay no property taxes. I gave up that life and I’d never go back.” He welcomed us in with open arms, showed us around his place, and offered us a spare trailer to sleep in (we politely declined). He then put Roxy and another visitor to work securing his new tree-house 30 feet in the air. Meanwhile, the doc and I built a support frame for his latest array of solar panels. “Free is the best price”, he told me, referring to the discarded wood into which I was driving a fresh pack of Home Depot construction screws with his ancient drill, and I suppose also to the labor I was happily providing. He fed us dinner, a salad picked from his impressively bountiful garden (“they said I wouldn’t be able to grow anything in the desert - look at this!”) and Costco Philly cheese steaks warmed in his solar oven.

Dr. Spencer in his Temple of Enlightenment

This juxtaposition of self-sufficiency and reliance on the outside world can be found everywhere in The Slabs, as they call it there. Slabbers live on the radical fringe of society, yet they rely on it all the same. Many are on food stamps or unemployment. Water is stolen from the canal. Dr. Spencer’s solar panels are from China, and soil in bags was piled up outside, ready to nourish his plants as the desert dust cannot. But every part of society has its hypocrisies, and I’m not here to judge one as being better than another.

Brianna, a trans person who moved here because they didn’t feel safe in Seattle, told us their favorite thing about living here: “Nobody is going to tell me what to do. I can just do nothing all day if I want to.” They proudly showed us around their camp, with art and building projects in various states of incompleteness. The (working) TV in the outdoor living room was artfully perched in a tree. There was an enormous pile of trash out back, which the four in the camp had moved out of the way before settling in.

Setups range from a single tent to elaborate structures with serious solar arrays, from trailers that will clearly never move again to the occasional upmarket RV. Some are piled high with detritus, others kept neat and tidy. Some have signs saying ‘welcome visitors’, others ‘private - keep out’. There’s no private land here but you claim your spot, and perhaps put up a fence or a row of old tires. Law enforcement is almost non-existent. We were told over and over not to leave anything out at night. A loose form of order is kept by the community. At one bar, a drunk man was thrown out for causing trouble, not unlike in any city across the world. For serious vendettas, there’s ‘Slab Justice’: if you cross someone, they might light a fire under your trailer and burn it out. It’s easy to start to feel exposed when you start thinking about crystal meth users and anarchistic attitudes.

After our first night camped out alone and fearing both petty thievery and Slab Justice, we decided to move to a camp called Mojo’s, described as ‘the suburbs of Slab City’. We did this partly for security but also to be part of a community. According to Mojo, who runs it, the first few years were mostly cleaning up trash, then they started building. Now they have a solidly-constructed watch-tower for enjoying sunset views, a communal outdoor kitchen, a hot shower, and even a washing machine. Plus a lot of dogs. Early-evening camp-fire gatherings were a great way to feel at home.

Wandering into the House of Dots, a creatively thrown-together art camp, we found the resident, unsurprisingly named Dot. One room was skeleton-themed, complete with a fridge full of animal skeletons which Dot had collected from the desert. Another was a library of 3,000 books. “I’m an empty nester,” said Dot, “and I wanted something different, so I came out here, and I love it. My son works in tech, and I think he doesn’t know what to think of this, but I’m happy here.”

When we arrived we felt like outsiders, but we soon realized that was our own stuff. Nobody did anything to make us feel that way, but if you want to look like part of the landscape, wear the most tattered clothes you have and grow a beard if you can. We did see quite a few people acting like tourists, cruising the streets on day-trips from LA and snapping photos from the cocoon of their cars. Seeing Slab City this way is like seeing a country from the air. You get a sense of the landscape but you monumentally miss the point: the experience is meeting the people.

On the walk out to the local hot spring, a large and deep bathing pool with 105 degree water, we met a guy who went by Pineapple. He was dressed simply in dirty jeans and a yellow tee, with the obligatory beard and dreadlocks piled atop his head like a blonde squid. “I’m a drifter,” he said proudly, pointing to his tattered backpack as if to prove it. Seeing us looking at the pile of extra clothes and blankets at the front of his camp, he asked if we wanted to take anything. “We’re burning that pile tonight anyway,” he explained. We gave him a protein bar, and continued on our way to soak in the local hot spring. As we dressed after our soak, a woman asked nobody in particular if anyone knew Pineapple. Well, we did. She gave us a little package addressed to him, which apparently somebody had left behind there. We dropped by Pineapple’s camp, and he was delighted to find a bottle of turquoise nail polish inside the package. It was a gift from someone he’d met along the way, and apparently just what he wanted. As he and his friends celebrated his good fortune, he offered us an avocado. We told him we had some already, but thank you. Sometimes those who have the least are the most generous. In that moment of knowing who Pineapple was and being able to take on the mission to unite him with his gift, we suddenly felt a part of the place, spectators no longer.

At the hot spring we ran into Shane from breakfast, and asked him where he got the impressive pair of antlers which were mounted on his truck. He told us a story from his time at the Standing Rock protests. He had brought the antlers back from hunting elk with a bow and arrow on horseback with the Lakota to feed the camp.

Many Slabbers come to opt out of mainstream society. Some because they want to get away from the world of property taxes and other bills. Some because they like the community and feel at home. Others because they have nowhere else to go. A few are probably fugitives, though unsurprisingly nobody told us they were on the run. As a result there’s a careful blend of respect for privacy and genuine curiosity about each others’ stories. How did you end up here? How long have you been here? In stark contrast to mainstream society, talking about money is normal. How do you make money? How do you get by? These are common questions.

We spent five days here, and accumulated many more stories than would fit here. I haven’t mentioned the man traveling in an RV full of 11 kids who told us this was his ‘second brood’ after the original six; or Jack, who had recently moved his camp having been kicked out by another resident who had purchased their lot from the State of California (the blasphemy!); or Flamingo Bar, a trans-run bar on the edge of the city which wouldn’t have felt out of place at Burning Man. I haven’t covered a dozen or more characters, each with their unique and fascinating story. Come here yourself and meet them. Just make sure you get out of the car.

And if you see a guy in a yellow T-shirt with turquoise nails, say hi to Pineapple from us.

Visitors’ Guide

Here’s a quick visitors’ guide if you do plan to visit (disclaimer: I’m very far from an expert on the place but the limited info I did glean is better than nothing).

Accommodation

Best bet is to bring your own setup, whether it’s RV, trailer, or tent, and stay at Mojo’s camp. We just showed up here but you can find it on AirBnb too. Mojo’s has a clean bathroom, hot shower, outdoor kitchen, observation tower, and a fire pit
Another camp option is California Ponderosa, who seemed like a friendly bunch but there seemed to be a little more drama and a lot more drugs than at Mojo’s
With your RV or trailer you can also just set up anywhere you want, but there are safety concerns with being on your own. Apparently you can free camp most safely if you park up off the main road on the edge of the city
Also on AirBnb is one other place called Slab City Hostel which has beds on offer

Food

Bring your own food so you’re self-sufficient
There are normally a few places serving food but most were closed for covid during our visit; the following were open when we went
- Oasis serves breakfast on Sundays from 9 until they feel like stopping
- Ponderosa serves breakfast Wed-Sun from 8-11
- Ponderosa also has a meal plan you can sign up for

Bars and happenings

Ponderosa has a bar with a fire pit, open most of the time, rowdy
Flamingo has a tiny trans-run bar with chill vibes
The Range was closed for covid but it’s apparently a fun time, with lots of open mic live music

Things to do

Wander round on foot, meet the friendly people, be invited on tours of their camps
Soak in the hot spring. We were told (after we went) to wear shoes as there are used needles in there - terrifying if true, but plenty of locals were soaking
Visit the tourist attractions - Salvation Mountain, East Jesus, Carhenge
Support the community by
- Buying keepsakes like stickers and pins
- Leaving a few bucks in tip jars left out by artists
- Giving food, cigarettes, or weed, depending on your definition of ‘support’

Events

There’s an annual rave over Presidents’ Day weekend if you want to party - crazily
There’s a ‘prom’ some time at the end of the Season. Not sure when. Hey, this ain’t Lonely Planet you know

Safety

From what we could gather, it’s pretty safe as long as you use common sense, especially if you sleep at a camp rather than going it alone
It felt a little scary walking around at night, so we mostly avoided that
We were advised that there’s a lot of petty theft, so don’t leave anything out at night (again, much less of a risk if you’re in a camp)

When to go

The Season is roughly October to April. We liked the January weather, with night-time lows in the 40s and daytime highs around 70

TRAVELTom GreenJanuary 5, 2021