It almost feels strange to wake up, open the curtains at the hotel window, and see once again a barren landscape stretching all the way to the horizon. It feels strange after yesterday’s full immersion in the city, cars, and people, and yet at the same time it seems like a familiar sight, as if it were normal—and evidently it had been—to wake up in the desert and see nothing but nature from the window.

But we’ve seen so many different landscapes; we’ve said it a million times, and perhaps we’ve always used the word “desert” simply to describe the endless desolation of the places we’ve traveled through.

Today we're going into the real desert.

Let's load up the cars and hit the road: no gas this time—we'll fill up before entering Death Valley because a gallon there costs, on average, twice as much as in the rest of California—and that's already one of the highest prices of the trip.

We drive through the Mojave Desert, catching sight of the endless fields of wind turbines and the aircraft graveyard, where, after a certain number of hours of service, these white giants are parked until they are dismantled.

One last stop at Walmart to pick up lunch, and then we're off again.

As we approach the valley and begin climbing the first of the two mountain ranges separating us from the park, the temperature starts to rise rapidly: 32, 33, 35 degrees… and it keeps going up.

We stop right at the top of the second range of hills, climbing from sea level to over 2,000 meters in no time at all.

We find a spot—the only one—with a couple of benches in the shade of some trees, and we have lunch with the usual sandwiches, chips, and Gatorade in the most absurd flavors, with a view of Death Valley.

The drive down into Death Valley is marked by the temperature gauge climbing higher and higher… 38, 39, 40…

We stop at the “Devil’s Golf Course”: a parking lot in the middle of a salt flat in the center of the valley. The thermometer reads 42 degrees: a scorching wind blows in our faces, and the sun beats down on our skin like never before. We enjoy a minute of deafening silence before taking refuge in the car with the air conditioning cranked up full blast.

We continue our tour, looking around and marveling at every centimeter of nothingness. It’s strange, but after taking in the majesty of the canyons, the elegance of the waves in the red rock, and the colors of the sequoias, these mountains, these colors, and this nothingness captivate us. Death Valley takes hold of your soul.

We drive along Artist Drive: a one-way road that winds its way up through the mountains along the edge of the valley, passing through narrow passes and offering views of the rocks’ various colors, which create a fantastic palette. We take a few minutes to walk on the Stovepipe Dunes, admiring the sandy desert for the first time, before the heat overwhelms us again and we’re forced to retreat to our cars.

There's so much to explore in Death Valley, but this temperature (which has now reached 43) is really unbearable.

We decide to go to the hotel first—a nice place right in the middle of the valley—and take a refreshing dip in the pool.

We spend a couple of hours swimming, splashing each other, laughing, and relaxing in the warm water, which makes the 40 degrees outside feel almost cold.

We enjoyed a hearty and delicious dinner at the hotel restaurant, and as soon as it got dark, we got back in our cars and headed back to the dunes to gaze at the stars.

Even with the moon high in the sky, lighting up the valley so brightly that we can make out each other sitting on the sand, the expanse of the sky we can see is mind-bogglingly infinite.

Let’s raise a glass of our now-beloved Fireball to this landscape, to this warm but beautiful day, to our journey, and to the friendship that’s bringing us together.