destination – GK Jurrens

The Salton Sea

Read about the weirdest place I’ve visited in nine years of RV travel.

The Salton Sea is the site of one of America’s worst environmental catastrophes.

But there’s good news, too.

An underground (unpublicized, before or after) group of “conspirators” gather to explore their creative and intellectual freedoms. This annual celebration of life lasts months and features a renegade celebration of art, music, and philosophy that takes place on the literal edge of western civilization to amplify the largely unknown and ignored ecological crisis that is the Salton Sea. They call it the Bombay Beach Biennale, or BBB.

***I covered a lot of ground in a single morning and half an afternoon. About two hundred miles with a lot of stops, mostly photo ops.***

I spent a day circumnavigating the Salton Sea in Central Southern California. Last Wednesday served as a suitable capstone to what is likely our last major exploratory trip. We’ve enjoyed nine years of “most-time” RVing and full time for the last couple of years after selling our condo in Southwest Florida.

We’ve seen so much splendor across our great nation. It was time for me to experience something… different. And, y’all, did I ever get my wish granted! Keep reading about my experience in a unique and bizarre place that wears its hardships on its philosophical shirt sleeves (sorry about the cliché)!

So, why did we park our RV in a town a hundred miles east of San Diego this week? Because I envisioned visiting the site of one of America’s worst environmental catastrophes. I’d read that almost nobody comes here anymore. That it hinted of what a dystopian post-apocalyptic landscape will look like if we continue to fail as our beloved planet’s steward.

It hinted of our future as a species—a grim future. I had to see it for myself.

**Rio Bend RV Resort west of El Centro, California offered us a pleasant experience for three days while I ventured off to explore the Salton Sea area.**

**I would soon discover how dramatically different the Salton Sea shoreline was from this delightful little desert oasis.**

With 115 miles of shoreline, the Salton Sea was once a popular waterfront playground destination in the 1950s for throngs of tourists, movie stars, and politicians. Its genesis was an accident of nature. Its fate would be defined by gross mismanagement of natural resources.

A levy on the Colorado River broke in 1905 under the onslaught of floodwaters. That filled this below-sea-level basin (the “Salton Sink”) that lies on the San Andreas Fault within the Salton Trough between four different mountain ranges.

It took several years to repair that collapsed levy—to redirect the precious water to other more affluent areas in Southern California and Arizona. Of course, water is liquid gold in these parts. And this is an impoverished area. The water followed the money, away from those unable to pay dearly for it.

But by then, this large lake, a “sea” was the real deal at fifteen miles wide and thirty-five miles long—but shrinking over subsequent decades. With no inlets or outlets, this landlocked sea stagnated. Desert conditions caused it to recede from evaporation. This has caused a toxic chain reaction of catastrophic events in the entire area. And it’s been getting worse every year.

Kay had booked an RV site for us in a town called Thermal, north of this salty and dead sea. They advised we bring our own water as high levels of arsenic plagued their water supply.

Aresenic? The frickin’ poison? Yep. Instead, we booked a site west of El Centro, about 25 miles south of “the sea.” They still advise caution. We’re using our own tank water as a precaution.

I allocated just one day to venture around a significant geographical area, so I only experienced a fraction of what the Salton Sea area offers. That exposure, however brief, left an indelible impression.

So, I drove our Jeep from El Centro, southwest of the sea, north along its western shore, and stopped at Salton City, population ~5,000. I found it to be a rather unremarkable small town to which the sea had distanced itself over time. The ancient sign below, at least seventy-five years old, pointed the way to the Salton City Beach. Or so I thought.

*I’m guessing this mobile home near Salton City Beach (but no longer anywhere near any water), augmented with a deluxe covered patio, could be purchased for any reasonable offer. May need some T.L.C.*

I meandered westward down crappy roads covered by windswept powdery sand, but couldn’t even get within a half mile of any water. So, I snapped a few pictures and headed farther north.

I continued on up through the city of Coachella and had lunch in Indio. I found Indio to be a lovely city southeast of the affluent Palm Springs area, but still less than twenty miles from the north shore of the sea. I asked my server about it. She said, “No idea. Nobody ever goes down there. It’s nothing.” She was wrong, as I’d find out when I drove down the eastern shore of the sea. Just… wow!

Bombay Beach, California, is the lowest (elevation) community in the United States. First, the statistics. It’s at 223 feet below sea level. I believe the only place lower is Death Valley at minus 280-ish feet. The population of “Bombay” is declining—from 231 at the 2020 census, down from 295 in 2010, down from 366 in 2000.

This place is eery, although the temps were in the pleasant mid-seventies. The locals don’t use the word “Beach” as part of the town’s name anymore. Either it’s too anti-climactic or serves only as high-camp humor for the cynics, as reflected in some of their beach art. More on this later.

They named the only bar, the most active place I saw, when the town was a famous water ski destination back in the 1950s (**“Ski Inn”**). Now, though, they just call it **“the Skinn.”**

*A handful of locals hunched over the bar inside had no interest whatsoever in talking with outsiders (like yours truly).* Message received.

Apparently, numerous artists (painters, sculptors, multimedia…) and participants gather and stay in town for several months each year while they collaborate on art and events, culminating in an invitation-only celebratory weekend.

That includes a world-class philosophy conference with major scholars from universities such as Oxford, Harvard and more.

Activists, artists, writers, and independent researchers also present topics related to the festival’s theme. Who knew? Is that not so… Californian?

Some of the art seen everywhere around town on any surface, especially down on the beach, seems rather “on the nose” philosophically. Bear with me for a moment. I gotta get this out.

Much of the art I explored by driving my Jeep around the beach (some of it is rather large scale) seemed to represent one of two different schools of philosophical thought.

First, some artists offered existential expressions. Some were obvious in portraying this philosophical theory that emphasizes the existence of the individual as a unique agent with free will and responsibility for his or her own acts. Though such an individual lives in a universe devoid of any certain knowledge of right and wrong.

Or even nihilism, which is defined as the relentless negativity or cynicism, suggesting an absence of values or beliefs.

Yeah, this place is really “out there.” Fascinating, and unique in all the world! These heady concepts seemed all too appropriate in this incredibly hostile local environment. I possessed the sensation of skulking around in the mind of Albert Camus, author and philosopher (see link below if interested in exploring existentialism or absurdism – sorry, I’m kind of a philosophy geek)!

***Every structure in Bombay looks to be fair game for conventional or surreal art.***

**Is this grafitti, art, or a satirical political statement on this once luxury vehicle?** Eye of the beholder.

And these “artists” aren’t gonna help us figure this out. Quite the opposite of self-serving narcissism – they not only don’t seek credit, they seem to revel in keeping us tourists guessing. **Refreshing. I love it!** Even the neighborhood behind this car is part of the artist’s “canvas.”

This “composition” covers the better part of a small-town block. The sign serves as its title, **“Bombay Beach Drive-In” (theater).**

There is no movie screen (implying nothing worth watching?). It’s as if all the people escaped the barbed wire perimeter, but left their useless possessions behind, the carcasses of a couple dozen cars. My interpretation, but again, consistent with the BBB’s theme.

I noticed numerous buildings in the area, and mobile canvases as you see above (truck trailer) covered with an art form that, to my uninformed eye, bridges the gap between murals and graffiti.

I tried chatting with a few locals at the only bar in town. But I guess they’re tired of explaining to tourists what perversion attracts them to this bizarre community. After all, it perches on the edge of a huge toxic body of water that emits poisonous vapors and swirling clouds of lethal dust. I’ve never felt more like an outsider!

I’m told the somewhat unpleasant smell on the shore results from high levels of hydrogen sulfide overpowering the lake’s low levels of oxygen.

To make matters worse, the surrounding area (Imperial County to the south) faces clouds of dust billowing away from the dried-up portions of the lakebed. Not so bad until you realize that fine dust contains toxins such as arsenic and selenium. They say the effects have been disastrous for locals. I get it. After just one day there, I can only imagine (as I continued to cough for two days after leaving).

In hiking along the seashore, I found two contrasting textures underfoot. One was rough, and I’m told they’re countless petrified fish carcasses. The other texture comprised sand so fine and smooth that it puffed up like powder around my shoes as I walked. Thankfully, it was not windy on Wednesday. Not sure if I breathed something in that irritated my lungs (arsenic? selenium?). God, I sound like a wimp. Just reporting my experience, kids.

I guess you really gotta wanna live here. Oh, and down by the shore? Dense hoards of tiny flying bugs assaulted me. Their only apparent purpose? Keep the tourist population down to a manageable level? Dunno. They died as soon as they found their prey, landing either on the hood of the Jeep, in my hair, or in my beard. Thankfully, they weren’t the biting kind. Had to get the car washed today to scrub off their futile but persistent little carcasses.

**Yup, the vibe here is one of neglect, but intense intellectual curiosity.**

***Looked like a few boys were setting up for some sort of event. They were up on a roof, so I didn’t try to talk with them (most unlike me!). Oh, and they didn’t want to be photographed. Hmmm..***

Now for some really fun stuff. And it was AWESOME. I drove the Jeep up over the dike that stands between the town and the sea. I don’t think its purpose is to keep water out as the sea is receding… a lot. But maybe it’s a measure of protecting the town (what’s left of it) from the toxic dust clouds, maybe the odor and bugs, too. Not really sure.

I saw a sign for an “art tour,” but I preferred to strike out on my own. There was nobody around, anyway. Art was all over in various media, so I just drove around, stopping frequently to take pictures. I poked around town, and down on the beach. Other than a handful at the bar, I only saw one obvious local who didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Okay, then.

***A dike (levy? berm?) separated the town from the sea. There were steps here and other places to drive up and over to the mile-long beach.***

Though there were no locals out and about, I saw a handful of tourists like me—less than ten in three other vehicles. That’s it. I thought, “What do the locals know that we stupid tourists don’t?” Like what I learned AFTER visiting that charming little burg’s erstwhile beachfront?

No, this isn’t a working lemonade stand. It is an artistic display on a dune overlooking the beach. It is a signpost for positive thinking during the darkest of times, and apparently getting darker..

Huh? The smaller sign to the right says, **“the last car parked here is still missing.”**

Bombay is not a small beach! Makes my Jeep Grand Cherokee look small, doesn’t it? Part of it was hard-packed although lumpy (petrified fish carcasses?), and part of it was powdery sand and windblown smooth. But down here on the beach? That’s where a collection of unique art pieces perches on the precarious shore of this noxious sea.

*How **nihilistic** is **this** piece? One of the more iconic displays on this beach.*

*I found this small label on a larger display – an old newspaper dispensing machine, the kind we used to see on every street corner (see below).*

On the outside was this sticker with a much larger signboard emblazoned with just two words: “FREE” on the front, and “FACTs” on the side. Thinking it was an antiquated version of FAQs, I pulled the handle to open the box. Inside? Empty? Too “on the nose?” Dunno. I’m just a dumb tourist.

*It looked to me like this “artwork” was at least forty years old.*

*Ahead of its time? Not for me to say. Like I said, just a tourist.*

*Above is the FREE FACTs dispenser, humbly sinking into the sand at the base of an elevated aircraft sculpture constructed of 1960s car parts. Probably some meaning to that, too. If so, it escaped me.*

*Okaaaaay, so what the hell is IID? **Infinite Improbability Drive** (for you Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fans)? Maybe.*

My favorite guess after researching IID? This artist is trying to blame (ever so bluntly) the area’s maladies on the **Imperial Irrigation District** (homage to the politicians who so mismanaged this environmental disaster over time by re-routing the area’s fresh water to those with the cash-ola to pay for it. That fits with the spirit of BBB held annually here in Imperial County. And I suspect the word “Imperial” was intended to have two meanings. I think I broke the code!

*The sign says, **“Drought Resistant Landscape.”** Yeah, all dead.*

I think this hints at **the insanity of unrealistic expectations.** The human species, nevertheless, always seeks a greater level of happiness, of satisfaction. You guessed it – no water in that faucet. **Fake news**? No happy ending? Like I said, **this whole place feels so dystopian (dire; grim).**

**Uniquely Salton Sea!** As the water, shore, and air above it continuously devolve into a toxic waste dump for pesticide and fertilizer runoff from the surrounding fields (thousands of overdeveloped acres), the ocean will remain?

Perhaps that resource—the ocean a hundred miles away—is the only thing man’s screw-ups cannot completely annihilate? Definitely a political statement, but did I get it right? No idea. I’m not invited to the BBB, you see, nor am I willing to subject myself to, or seek out, their entrance requirements (see link below).

*I strolled through the marina, including where the water is supposed to be. Paddle boats and canoeing were once popular activities in the 1950s and ’60s here.* Fabulous shoreside resorts have long-since come and gone.

This is obviously staged, and has been for many years. I’m guessing this is some sort of nihilistic statement, lamenting joyful activities gone awry as the environment failed us arrogant humans, or something like that (for the record, that is NOT my philosophy!). I felt so weird walking through and around it. Actual water = fifty yards away, and receding more every year as this small sea continues to evaporate. But there WAS water here in my lifetime. I envisioned I was some distant future archaeologist strolling around in my own distant past. Weird, right?

The red circles are at least two tiny gnat-like flying bugs that found my tiny iPhone lens before expiring. They swirled all around me everywhere on the beach, but not in town (on the far side of the dike).

**I got nothin’. Though, it did remind me of one of the Planet of the Apes movies, though.** Maybe yet another meaningless artifact of foolish humanity that surely meant something at one time (yeah, I’m really getting into this “role” that I’m playing!).

Although it probably wasn’t necessary, I was glad to have the 4-wheel-drive-low feature of the Jeep as I drove down on to that huge beach that alternated between powdered sugar and clumpy petrified fish carcasses.

I saw another car and a van down there, too. But I ventured farther than that smattering of other tourists. I don’t know how many sculptures and standalone creative displays are down there, but I’d guess dozens, all spread out. These pictures are the only way to even try to convey this experience.

*Check out the rough and hard and lumpy texture of the beach as I got closer to the current shoreline. Petrified fish carcasses? Not sure, just damn hard on the ankles.*

*I thought that was a real bird out there. The damn thing never moved. Because it is a small steel sculpture. I didn’t see any wildlife. At all. The water looked… syrupy.*

After spending a few hours in Bombay, I drove down the rest of the eastern shore and back to our campground west of El Centro (Seeley) to the lovely Rio Bend RV Resort. A stark contrast. Quite the day, kids!

I got what I needed, a first-hand experience of what felt like a dystopian post-apocalyptic landscape, a unique experience visiting an area very much off the beaten path. Nothing in my seventy-five years of life compared. But… once was enough.

For those of you who have been there, I trust you can relate to this report. If you’ve been there, but not for many years, the area continues to devolve, I’m told. I found it both sad and heartening. The creative philosophical types that spend a lot of time there, either full or part time (I think I missed the seasonal party), gives me hope that no matter how bad things get, we as a species find a way to convert lemons into lemonade.