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Extraordinary Encounters
«A vida não è de brincadeira, amigo… A vida è a arte do encontro»
Translation: Life is not a game; life, my friend, is the art of meeting.
Vinícius de Moraes, the renowned Brazilian poet, masterfully describes those encounters and the great crossroads of life that, like sudden winds, can revolutionise an existence, flinging open windows to unexpected futures.
My time in Baja California was a mosaic of encounters: some I would have preferred to avoid, but others were precious gifts. They enriched my life with unforeseen episodes, like hidden gems that shine only when you least expect them.
Some encounters were with humans, others with different living beings… and these extraordinary and moving encounters, I had with cacti.
The small and tiny resilient one among the rocks.
It was April 2016, and for the first time in the deep Vizcaíno Desert, a very cold night had just ended, with temperatures dropping to -5°C, and I woke up to find ice on my tent.
After a warm coffee, I began walking, mesmerised by the beauty of the dawn colours against the pink rocks. Suddenly, a splash of colour caught my eye… there, wedged in a narrow crevice between two massive granite boulders, lived a cactus.
It was tiny but possessed a perfect, symmetrical form. Its spines seemed like a dense armour, forged in deprivation. And yet, against all odds, it was alive, pulsating with energy.
Its roots had defied the impossible, slowly carving their way through the stones, fighting against the harshness of the world to claim their space. I bent down to observe it closely, not daring to touch its defences.
In that moment, I recognised the reflection of my own inner battles. At that time, I often felt crushed under the weight of difficulties, and more than once, I had doubted whether Baja was truly the right ground to cultivate my hopes. Perhaps I had too many expectations, and I had made too many mistakes…
That cactus hadn’t chosen to be born in a prison of rock. It hadn’t waited for perfect conditions or a gentler climate. It had simply accepted its harsh reality without giving up, and from that same hostile stone, it had drawn the strength to push upwards.
On its rough summit, a tiny pink bud peeked out—a miracle of absolute delicacy, protected by sharp, ready spears. I stayed there for a long time, contemplating that fragment of pure tenacity.
It taught me that resilience (a word so often spoken about) doesn’t mean not feeling fatigue or pain.
It means finding a way to transform the obstacle into your point of leverage.
I stood up, carrying that image imprinted in my mind.
The desert no longer seemed like a hostile place, and I had sown something good for my future.
An ancient witness to the passage of time
The Toyota carried us with its steady stride. Over the years, I had become well-versed in those lands, but this part of Baja was new to me. It was the first time I was tackling this remote route, with no sign of human life for hours. The goal was to reach the ocean and spend the night there.
We had been driving for hours through wind-sculpted rocks and thorny bushes when, suddenly, the horizon broke, and the landscape transformed.
There it stood before us, like a solitary guardian—a green giant.
It was a majestic cardón, its arms reaching skyward towards the cobalt blue heavens.
I turned off the engine, and we approached slowly, almost with reverential awe and deep respect.
Its leathery skin told incredible stories spanning at least four centuries—four centuries of rare rains, scorching suns, and starry nights. Its deep, dark scars were true maps of survival.
I stopped at its base, instantly feeling infinitely small, fragile, and, above all, fleeting in this existence.
The air around it seemed suddenly cooler, almost sacred.
I reached out a hand, lightly brushing my fingers against its rough, hardened surface. I felt the sap flowing slowly—a green heartbeat, strong and primordial.
In that gentle touch, human time lost all meaning… It had already been there when ships first explored these remote shores, and it will still be there (I hope) when our footsteps have been erased by the wind.
I closed my eyes and listened to the silent wisdom of that ancient vegetal sage... There was no need for words to understand its profound message: withstand the storms, grow with patience, and always reach for the light.
I opened my eyes one last time to etch this magic deeply into my memory.
We turned to continue our journey, the Toyota rumbled back to life, kicking up dust as we left the giant behind—an immovable and eternal guardian of the Baja California desert.
In Rome, I treasure a print of this wonder.