Ya ta hey. I've just returned from a week's sojourn in Sedona, Arizona. It was as beautiful as the photos promised, all soaring red rocks and rustling cottonwoods; table mesas and cacti; howling coyotes and Navajo blankets. It was also under construction in a big way. Apparently, everyone in Sedona is either on vacation or selling real estate.
Arizona is the classic American western landscape. The tall, menacing arms of the saguaro cactus and the deceptively flat, rocky arroyos suddenly roiling with flash floods are as much a part of my childhood, thanks to tv and movies, as the actual pines and lakes I grew up with. My girlfriends and I loved playing Captive White Girls Raised By Indians And Given Cool Indian Names Such As Laughing Otter And White Eagle, or else acting out pioneer fantasies of riding our horses to the one room schoolhouse while dressed in calico and braids. Thus, everything looked familiar yet deliciously alien as John and I landed in Phoenix. There were plenty of saguaros and picturesque buttes to delight the eye. We had lunch with a friend in grad school at ASU, Sarah Heiner, then headed north. As I drove upland the saguaro disappeared and the soft greys and sages of desert grassland took over. I expected cattle, and cowboys, but mostly we saw oversized recreational vehicles, and underdressed gringos. The unexpected turns and vistas kept us entertained until we descended from the mesa and saw from afar the deep red canyon walls of Sedona across the Verde Valley.
I didn't take my digital camera, so you'll have to wait to view my photos of the place. I took four rolls of film, and could easily have taken four more. I felt inadequate as a photographer in trying to capture such magnificence. I tried, as always when confronted by magnificence, not to view all the wonders solely through the lens of my camera. It was very difficult; I found myself trying to frame the perfect shot almost subconsiously. Still, I found several opportunities to surrender to the moment instead of attempting to preserve it on film. My favorite place was in Red Rock State Park, wandering down the narrow paths running alongside the tiny, brown stream chuckling away under the whispering shade of the sycamore and cottonwood trees. Canyon wrens and bluebirds sang, fat rock squirrels hunted for pinon nuts, and eagles soared overhead. I could have walked along in peaceful silence for hours, breathing in the living beauty, listening to Mother Earth.
Not with my husband around, though. He has to see the sights wherever we go, lacking the crucial capacity for simply loafing on vacation. So we toured, yes we toured. Up to the steep hillsides in the former boomtown of Jerome where it was easy to visualize the weary, black-faced miners heading back to their boarding houses after a shift in the copper mines at the turn of the century. North to the Grand Canyon where we were awestruck by the immensity and grandeur of it. Down to the inelegantly named Montezuma's Castle which was actually a fascinating Sinagua Indian cliff dwelling ruin. South to Arcosanti, that admirable combination of architecture and ecological self-sufficiency as visualized in 1956 by Paolo Soleri. And, inevitably, into the bustling town of Sedona itself each day.
Sedona wasn't quite as horrible as I'd been led to believe, but I was quite glad we were staying in Oak Creek Village, eight miles away, instead of right in town. Sedona's a big New Age center which amused me. There were any number of stores selling crystals and other ooky goods. The big thing there is the vortex tours; the place is stuffed with vortices "experts" willing to help you find the windy vortex of your choice, become sensitized, and get in touch with whatever mystical experience you're after. You can take jeep tours of the back country; I declined, having had quite enough jolting and bouncing over unpaved roads in Africa to last a lifetime even if I do miss some great photo opportunities. I will say this about Sedona: it's a great place if you're a serious collector of Navajo weaving, Hopi pottery, or Zuni fetishes, but if you're not a serious collector everything's pretty much out of your price range. I found some silver bear fetish earrings on sale, and bought a very handsome t-shirt at Arcosanti, but otherwise I wasn't tempted.
After a week of fun and sun I've decided I'm just not cut out for the golf resort lifestyle. It was stunningly beautiful in Sedona. In fact, it was so stunning I actually got tired of all the yellow sunshine, blue skies, red rocks, and dry air. I love the desert, but I think I would have prefered to stay somewhere less condo-ized, not that that's a word, but you know what I mean. I went swimming almost every day which was in itself quite stunning. Normally, I don't like water. I mean, I don't like being immersed in water. Well, showering, but that's different. But it was hot, and dry, and the view was so gorgeous I couldn't resist. I acquired a tan, also along the lines of a stunner. I generally avoid getting into the sun, and I certainly don't lie out in it. But again, it was irresistable, and probably unavoidable. Retire there? I couldn't do it. There are just too many snowbirds and tourists who want to turn the beautiful, arid desert into a crazy quilt of water-sucking golf courses, time-share condominiums, and cookie cutter tract homes with manicured lawns. I couldn't bear to watch the unique beauties of Sedona go the way of the Coachella Valley in California.
What I enjoyed most during the trip were the times we got away from civilization. On our last night there we drove out to where the nearest paved road ended, parked, and stared open-mouthed at the glory above us. In the desert's clear air, free of light pollution, the night sky was blazing with stars, so dense with them we could hardly pick out constellations amidst the brightness. John swore he could see shadows from Jupiter's light, and indeed the starlight was bright enough to cast faint shadows on the ground. I saw Sagittarius pointing his arrow downwards at the horizon, and Cassiopeia was nearly invisible in the broad, shining band of the Milky Way. A dog barked nearby, a reminder of human encroachment on the wild splendor of the desert. Eventually, the cold seeped into our bones and we reluctantly went back home.
I'm glad to be back at sea level, though. And in case you were wondering, because I obviously fudged on why I wasn't going to update for a week, I finished the Business Traveler Rate Request form before I left. I still plan to cut back on entries until my office's website is up to speed. I'm going to post Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights only. Unless, of course, I don't.
