Nearly two years in constant motion, sleeping, working, and living between different cities and counties, and the concept of travel vanished into the inherent nature of our routine.

There have been several side quests along this main saga that did not fit into our way of surviving in the places where we moved our caravan. The verb “to travel,” in the Clandestine vocabulary, became simply getting to know new places for the purpose of leisure and rest.

Seeing instead of knowing.

When we move to the next point on the map, we immerse ourselves completely in that territory. We cover the urban perimeter through our work and explore the open and hidden paths of the natural borders that surround it.

You have to visit the same trail in all four seasons before you can say that you truly know it.

Despite our willingness, some destinations are more challenging for our modest infrastructure and Clandestine’s current conditions of subsistence. Considering the vastness of the West Coast, California alone becomes a universe that could take a lifetime to know in depth.

The complexity between our circumstances and our objectives pushed that imaginary boundary northward, oppressively in our direction: the frontier.

That mythical territory fed our imagination, just as it did that of the pioneers 180 years ago. Oregon represented the promised land, the deep West.

Our Oregon Trail came from the South, not the East, and that makes perfect sense to us. The new routes of the West keep the frontier in motion, and this seems to be the flow of our time.

We had longed for the journey north for years before finally making this side expedition over the past few weeks.

The 2,675 miles of this story will be told here, in Clandestine.

Like many of our generation, our passion for the West was nurtured by literature, music, and cinema. There could have been no other world for us. When the stars aligned with circumstance and we took to the road, our imagination was set on exploring American society from an ethnographic perspective.

In the beginning, we stayed mostly in campgrounds, given the balance of cost, location, and environment they offered. California, where our journey began, has an extensive network of national, state, and regional parks, which usually charge $20–$50 for a patch of ground where you can pitch your tent.

Although that was entirely unnecessary for experienced hobos, the strategy made sense at first, as it reduced the expenses that come with maintaining a fixed home, gave us mobility—we could be anywhere, north or south, isolated from people or close to their communities—and immersed our routine in the natural world, to which we had always felt drawn.

But that last aspect, which at first seemed little more than a bonus alongside those practical advantages, eventually revealed itself to be the very purpose of the journey.

After the first weeks of waking among fields, beaches, and forests, we were already deeply moved by the landscape and by the wildlife. Our love of the road gradually became a love of the land. Our search for purpose became a search for beauty, for life.

We heard the call of the wild.

As the miles went by, we kept discovering new species—and, many times, they discovered us. We also came to know more intimately those who had already crossed our path.

Somehow, the simplicity of natural life gave fullness to what we were doing. We were confused souls who had searched for fuel in movement, only to find it in contemplation: in the pursuit of beauty and in our integration with the land.

Clandestine is the expression of that. These roads are old, and the landscape even older. Yet there is still something to be said, and much to be revealed, about this place.

We call this project a magazine because its form follows the nature of the journey itself: non-linear, fragmented, and always unfolding. The multi-platform distribution of our perspective follows the same concept. Fragments of this way of life, new true stories from the road, and portraits of the incredible creatures we encounter along the way.

Perhaps someday all of this will take a more cohesive form. Until then, it remains a reflection of the endless variety of experiences that this road offers us.

We invite you to sit by the window.

Are you willing to constantly negotiate with life? Are you willing to be truly open to the unknown—without direction, a set path, or any idea of ​​what comes next after you make a decision? Are you willing to fully exercise your free will?

I ask myself these same questions every day to make it work. Living unstructured is difficult, stressful, and exhausting, it requires constant attention and a sharp eye. If you blink, you might miss it. Relying entirely on yourself is a true test of who you are.

It is important to have at least some idea of ​​who you are before trying to answer these questions. Discovering yourself while simultaneously discovering life’s direction isn't easy, yet it is deeply rewarding; even when you think you have all the answers, it becomes clear there is still so much left to discover.

Do not dismiss the unknown, do not approach it naively, and do not give in to fatigue. This is one of my greatest realizations: if exhaustion outweighs motivation, the new becomes mundane. It is crucial to view everything through the eyes of a child—through the eyes of someone seeing life for the very first time. Hold onto this advice.

However, even with the right mindset, there are weeks that feel like years and months that feel like decades. This erratic perception of time can lead you down a winding path of comparison, impatience, frustration, and false impressions. Don’t be fooled by it. Time is passing just as it always has. It might seem to fly by or drag on for an eternity, but time moves at the same pace, nothing has changed. Except for you.

Living serendipitously on the road, like a rolling stone. Being without direction. No fixed course. Making the unknown your true north. Embracing the journey. Making the road your home.

The observations and perceptions feel eternal when one chooses this path in life. I feel that the more I reflect on the answers, the more questions arise. It is nothing that a sharp intuition cannot handle, living out free will to the fullest demands exactly that. When you least expect it, your consciousness is fully engaged, and things simply unfold.

I notice that the connection with nature deepens on the road, becoming even more vivid and poignant. It is almost as if the decisions made along the way aren't even thought out, let alone rationalized, they are simply made. Your thinking becomes an instrument of living, everything merges into one. You act in alignment with what you feel, naturally and intentionally radiating that energy outward, continuously manifesting a powerful connection that nurtures the potential within you. It is truly magical and transformative. You are finally complete. Whole.

On the road, life makes sense, even when it doesn't. You find your way even when all seems lost. The "how" ceases to be the main character, the "if" combined with the question mark vanishes, turning your doubt into an affirmation. The direction reveals itself, and finally, you move forward. You move forward with your life.

Living the Art of an Unplanned Journey!

I wrote this over the course of 2025. It was the best year of our lives, a journey of going and returning. Experiences that were both individual and shared, synchronized yet timeless, yet perfectly intuitive, aligned with destiny, since here neither anything nor anyone suggests mere chance.

We already celebrated our first anniversary on the road on February 5th, and today, after 528 days we ask ourselves once again “What it is like to live an Unplanned Journey?”

Ultimately, the adventurous phrasing of my answer makes me reflect and realize that we are not aimless...

Normal people must be organizing their weekly routines, negotiating with their responsibilities, and, in between, seeking more immediate distractions and pure entertainment. I spared her the displeasure of my disagreement this time; it was easy enough to remember when I, too, followed this same arrangement with the seven-day cycle — not so long ago.

Though I have not left behind my fellows of the so-called working class — quite the contrary, I have walked deeper into it, with a collar growing bluer with every mile — I have certainly left behind the obligations of their calendars, and that is a small glory that makes the sacrifices of life on the road worthwhile.

I write these final words while still being chased by the same clock, however. The weight of obligation remains, but at least I can choose beneath which sun I will sweat today.

Walls in the South will not contain the eastern flow either, and those who cross over there give way to new adventurers who will continue to explore and settle these lands.

Its decline has been declared dozens of times, and its vast land has been divided and claimed just as often. But like the great fish and the great birds that dominate this part of the globe, prosperity here demands a soul oriented toward change, toward transformation.

The West remains a land of wanderers.

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times, they are a-changin’.

— Bob Dylan, The Times They Are A-Changin’ (1964)

What initially drew us to the road was a hunger for adventure and, although natural landscapes were on our radar, our imagination of what an “adventure” would be had a more urban setting and a storyline more focused on discovering American society during our pilgrimage through the West.

We decided to hit the road during the wettest and coldest season on California’s Central Coast, at the beginning of February, in the middle of winter. This was due to destiny, as that was where the conditions aligned with the incentives for such a radical change. Practically speaking, we thought it would be good to start within the most extreme context (among the predictable ones), and from there everything would become less uncomfortable (little did we know).

Looking back at the first photographs (at that time they were more scarce and specific), I realized that the first thing that caught my attention and justified a portrait was the encounter with some birds having lunch on the wet grass around the first campground site we stayed at, in Pismo Beach.

But the two little birds that captivated my attention on the first day, after the first night (when I didn’t take many photos, as I chose to treat that moment with tenderness and simply be there), were as if wildlife had come to me before I reached it.

Clandestine emerged from the desire to document and narrate this journey into the unknown, in search of a new way of living life. As time passed and expectations were replaced by experience, our purpose became clearer: to hunt for the beauty of the natural world, pursue the landscapes of the West, and find its incredible creatures.

After so much time on the road, this desire for adventure and beauty has completely entered our hearts, and the fear and uncertainty of day 1 have transformed into fuel and excitement now, on day 500.

They travel on the road to redemption

A highway out of yesterday, that tomorrow will bring

Like lovers and heroes, birds in the last days of spring

We’re only at home when we’re on the wing

On the wing

— Rush, Dreamline