Bombay Beach
Off the tropi-desert California highway 111, in the midst of the Sonoran Desert, is a desolate, mysterious beach I will never be able to un-smell. Bombay Beach is what would happen if John Waters directed The Hills Have Eyes while jamming to the Beach Boys (which, for the record, I would ABSOLUTELY watch). I half-expected a pompadour-clad, 50s pinup zombie to appear from one of the vacated, dilapidated campers as I struck up the nerve to get out of my car. I’m getting ahead of myself.
On the northern side of the Salton Sea, in Imperial County, CA, is a tiny community, located 223 feet below sea level, making Bombay Beach the lowest neighborhood in America, in more ways than one. The less than one mile census-designated place (CDP) (too creepy to be an actual town?) is made up of less than 300 people. Where those almost 300 people were during my brief visit is beyond me and too terrifying for me to ponder further. I cannot escape the fear of pin up zombies behind every corner....and the urge to write that B horror film.
Ugh, still getting ahead of myself. Before I set off on my grand, no rules, just road adventure on Sept. 2, I referred to one of my all-time favorite websites to get things organized: Atlas Obscura. It’s the weirdo’s guide to traveling obscurely and avoiding spots overrun with tourists. Cool kids only.
Before traveling to a new city, I search AO for deliciously kitschy and interesting recommendations. They have yet to lead me astray. While coasting from LA to Phoenix, I decided to make a couple of pit stops. Bombay Beach is nothing I expected or wanted, but I have to share with my devout readers (hi, Mama) just what I experienced.
I blindly followed Google Maps consistently inconsistent instructions down a dirt road. To my left was a Breaking Bad inspired camper, with Breaking Bad inspired folks doing what I can only imagine were Breaking Bad inspired activities in what little shade the RV offered. Moving right along.
I was expecting to meet a shoreline at some point, but, instead, received a “you have arrived” signal from dear Siri in the middle of this teeny, tiny, traumatizing neighborhood, surrounded by run down shanties, graffiti-consumed campers, and odd yartwork (yard+artwork; artwork set up in one’s yard). Normally, this is my JAM. A weird town straight out of a Stephen King novel, complete with silly artwork and zero logic. I love it.
But this place was different. There were no people. Zero people. No one. Nada. Just little ol me, my sweet Toyota Camry, the leftover dumpling I was saving for a road trip snack, and that soul-sucking, nose-burning, need to take off my clothes and leave them for the birds stench for what felt like a 30-mile radius.
I kept driving until I was met with a wall of sand and dirt. I climbed some suspicious stairs and saw the “beach.” I couldn’t stomach the smell, so I stayed in my car while researching what in the WORLD was up with this place.
I’ll let you do some independent reading to get the gritty details, but the short story is that the Colorado River flooded in the early 20th century FOR TWO YEARS, creating the dirty monstrosity that is the Salton Sea, biggest, baddest lake in Cali. We all know developers didn’t let that sit long before they pounced on the opportunity to create a haven for beach-goers. With seagulls flocking, fish thriving, condos building, Bombay Beach was born.
This wasn’t a modest beach town either. We’re talking yacht clubs, resorts, hotels, and bars. People spent summers basking in the sun at Bombay, until Mother Nature did her dirtiest. After mass animal death (bye bye birdies), zero drainage for an enormous water source, and occasional flooding, Bombay cannonballed into a smelly slump, never to recover.
People left, buildings were boarded up, and you can still find fish carcass covering the rank sands. The folks of Bombay Beach (if there are residents - I’m not convinced) have turned certain abandoned structures into pieces of art, and, since we try our best to find the silver lining on this blog, let’s remember that even the smelliest, saddest sites can offer enough inspiration for someone to create.
I’ll think of the folks of Bombay Beach often and wish them well in their incredible artistic endeavors that left me unexpectedly moved.
And I’ll be checking out this documentary because I cannot get enough of this place.
Bethany Swoveland is a poet and digital artist in Texas. She’s available for freelance work and can be reached at bethanyswoveland@gmail.com. Sign up for Bethany’s monthly email newsletter here.
