Many years ago, Jason and I drove through the desert, from the lush, clean city of San Diego into the seedy town of Tijuana and down into the depths of Baja California. The drives were long and the terrain monotonous, and by the half way point, cacti started to look like emaciated Giacometti figures. Suffice to say, I’m not a big fan of the cactus. But every now and then, I see a tall, willowy cactus and I’m reminded of that long drive through the desert. Eagle-Eye Cherry on the radio, re-fried beans in every rickety old town, dodgy motels, stunning beaches –– just the two of us –– and the cacti.