My road trip adventure to the ‘last free place in America’

Sitting baking in 40°C heat beneath a makeshift shelter is Wizard, a man with a long white beard and piercing blue eyes, calmly smoking a pipe.

We had been told to seek out this jolly character by a fellow road-tripper we’d met at a bar in the small town of Bombay Beach, California, just a short drive away. We rejoice when we find him exactly as described.

Wizard serves as one of the gatekeepers of East Jesus, a wacky, sprawling sculpture garden within the off-grid artist community of Slab City, known as the ‘last free place in America’.

Slab City lies just north of the US–Mexico border in Imperial County, spread across 640 acres of arid, desolate public land where a former military base once stood.

Since the 1940s, it has become a refuge for people living on the margins — transients, squatters, migrants, retirees, drawn here by the absence of rent, rules, and utility bills.

Depending on the season, anywhere from a few dozen to several thousand people pass through.

In winter, the population swells with ‘snowbirds’ escaping colder climates before retreating north once the heat becomes unbearable.

Life here exists on the fringe, both geographically and philosophically. Of the roughly hundred permanent residents, many remain out of necessity rather than choice, surviving on social security in a place with no electricity or running water.

My friend Jen and I were in the middle of a road trip in her van, which she had been living in (with her cat Chip) since Covid.

After driving down from Colorado to Phoenix, where I flew in from New York, she was keen to hike around Joshua Tree National Park. I was more interested in visiting the alternative communities that have sprung up across the California desert.

And so we found ourselves in Slab.

We offer Wizard some water to take the edge off the heat, but he asks for a beer instead. Alas, we can’t help, but we leave behind a bottle of cool sparkling water just in case he changes his mind.

‘Go and explore and enjoy!’ the well-known Slab City resident tells us, ushering us toward East Jesus.

The 40-acre site is home to more than 200 sculptures crafted from discarded materials, ranging from old motorboats to wine bottles, and it makes for a thoroughly surreal place to wander.

At a giant elephant sculpture made from old car tyres, we spot a dildo dangling from its crotch.

Nearby, another piece catches our eye: a ramshackle pirate ship fashioned from mismatched planks, complete with a wooden sword for those who fancy playing Captain Hook.

After bidding Wizard goodbye, we continue our drive through Slab City, mesmerized by the quirky abodes lining the dusty tracks.

The House of Dots is another popular attraction. Lived in by longtime resident Dot, the converted caravan – painted turquoise and pink – is crammed with art and bizarre trinkets, from taxidermy to vintage fashion.

Turning a corner, we spot a woman sifting through bags of discarded clothes in search of a new outfit. The heat is unbearable without air conditioning, so we stop to offer her a cold drink.

She thanks us, and though hesitant at first, the gesture breaks the ice, and we begin to chat. Appearing to be in her early forties, the desert dweller explains that she once worked in marketing in Seattle before growing weary of city life and eventually settling in Slab City.

‘It’s a tough life here, but we make it work,’ she says, taking a swig of juice. ‘Not many can survive the summer heat, but I’ll stick it out.’

She goes on to explain that there is no natural running water in the community. Residents must haul in their own supplies via tanks, draw from nearby canals, or rely on communal sources to stay hydrated and wash.

Night-time, she warns, can be sketchy. With no electricity, darkness brings its own risks, and it’s often safest to stay put.

Crystal meth is fairly common, as is alcohol, accounting for many of the area’s social problems — though there are no official crime statistics.

From the outside, this California encampment appears little more than a scatter of RVs, scruffy tents, and half-collapsed structures balanced on sun-bleached concrete slabs amid swirling desert dust.

Yet linger long enough and a more intricate community emerges – one populated by vivid characters and otherworldly creations that leave a lasting impression.

‘This is the land of the free,’ the woman chuckles as we drive away toward Palm Springs, a polished enclave that could not be more different from Slab City’s ever-evolving, experimental canvas.

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