I’m writing this somewhere over Holland, on my flight back to Denmark from London. I only just made it. I saw my gate closure time as my flight time, so went from terminal 5 at Heathrow to terminal 2, only to find out that my flight actually went from terminal 5. Terminal 5 is really big and long and I had to take off my shoes (sandals) to leg it all the way to the gate. I made it. Sweaty, but on board.
My flight from Phoenix went remarkably well. It left at 7.40pm, which is perfect because it means you can drink without feeling too guilty. I had four mini bottles of wine, watched Bad Neighbors, and Maleficent then promptly fell asleep to Calendar Girls. I woke up with 54 minutes left! Outstanding. I’m not sure how well I’ll fare tonight when I try to sleep, but what the hell. Flights are so dull.
I can see the fields below me, very, very flat, and so very different from where I was this morning. Or yesterday, rather. You know, it’s a good thing we can’t teleport. You need the time to adjust. Apart from the inevitable physical problems the emotional shock would be huge. It’s far better to ease yourself into your normal life through the airport, on the flight, seeing clothing, faces, and habits similar to your own than to jump instantly from there to here. I feel a bit daft as it is, wearing shorts, sandals and a t-shirt (I didn’t think to pack a jumper), on a flight full of businessmen.
It’s back to reality today, even though it started somewhere so very different (I never get used to waking up in one country and going to bed in another, even if it is split over two days as it is now). I slept really well last night. There’s been enough of a breeze for me to have my window open at night, and Sedona is so safe (people don’t lock their doors when they go away), I wasn’t remotely worried about uninvited guests. I woke up around 7, showered, and went for breakfast. I had fruit and toast, to be different, and then hit the road. I had to be at the airport at 5.40pm, so lots of time to do things.
So long, you beautiful place
Bye tree
First stop was Montezuma’s Castle. It has nothing to do with Montezuma and it’s not really a castle, but it is cool. It was built somewhere between 1100 and 1300 by the Sinagua people, but was thought to be Aztec in origin by early American settlers (I'm not sure why), hence the name. Of course, back in the days, visitors were allowed to climb and explore, but now it's all closed off. Why anyone would want to climb a ladder up there is beyond me.
I should mention that it was the fantastic Theodore Roosevelt who was responsible for many of the national parks in America. He, "created five national parks (doubling the previously existing number); signed the landmark Antiquities Act and used its special provisions to unilaterally create 18 national monuments, including the Grand Canyon; set aside 51 federal bird sanctuaries, four national game refuges, and more than 100 million acres' worth of national forests." Huzzah for Teddy!
You know what’s really crazy? Around the same time they were building this, the French were finishing Notre Dame en Paris (1250) The two civilisations were so impossibly different, I don’t think it’s possible to call one more civilised than the other. America is such an interesting country. So old, but so very young. Wow, that was deep.
In the leaflets I was given, I read about Montezuma Well, a natural sinkhole right here in Arizona. Well I never. It required a bit of a backtrack, but I had time so I did it. It was very nice. Not quite as blue as I imagined (I think I was thinking of Belize), but still very cool nonetheless. It's home to at least five endemic species: a diatom, a springtail, a water scorpion, an amphipod, and a leech. Crazy! Needless to say this was a popular spot back in the day, and there are remains of houses from 1050 built around the water.
There’s even an ad for a Phoenix photographer scrawled on the side from 18-something. You know how I feel about those 1800 chaps.
I take my time looking at the scenery, knowing I should relish it while I can. I meander back to the car, and smell the flowers as I go. I really do this, I’m not getting all romantic on you. They just smell really good.
On the way back to the road I pass an antiques shop that has a lot of old stuff outside (as antique shops are wont to do).
There’s a lot of 50s Americana stuff and I can’t resist. I pull over and spend a good 40 minutes nosing through it all. From bison heads to toilets and from bullets to bottles, they’ve got just about everything. I buy two things; an old number plate for the boy that says 'The Kid', and a shoehorn in the shape of a Longhorn for me. The wife isn’t here to stop me so she’ll just have to suck it up. Besides, we need one. As I’m paying the toothless old man tells me all about his foot, and how he keeps going to the doctor and paying $45 each time only for them to say ‘I don’t know’. I feel bad when I tell him I’m from England and decide not to mention the NHS.
Next stop is Tonto Natural Bridge. It’s a natural bridge, obviously, and the world’s largest travertine (a form of limestone) bridge at that. At least, they think it is. I can’t find it on the GPS but can see on my map that it’s on my way, so just head in the general direction and trust I’ll see signs.
I head through Strawberry, and remember Arizona’s oldest schoolhouse is there, so I divert quickly. It’s closed, but it’s still nice to look at.
A short drive on is Pine, where I stop for some lunch at a completely random place, where everyone looks at me when I swing through the saloon doors. They’re friendly though, so I sit down and order a fish sandwich and salad (if I want the salad over the fries, I have to pay $1.50 extra. Go figure). Mel, the waitress, runs around asking the men how their wives are and how the farms are doing, calling me ‘sister’ and the others ‘hon’ and ‘darlin’’.
A little while later and there’s a sign for this bridge thing. I’m almost the only one there, which is odd, but quite nice too. I take the longer hike, which isn’t so bad at all, and end up under the bridge. It’s quite something, I’ll give them that. Very cool to stand underneath and look out both sides.
I can see rain, lots of it, in the distance, so decide to just push on out to the airport and take my time.
I pack up my bag, change, and then hit the road. I listen to Radiohead and get all sad, so turn on the country radio. Much better.
I drive into the rainstorm and it’s terrifying. Driving in monsoon rain isn’t fun and I have to pull over. After a short break I head back out, luckily the roads are practically deserted so I can drive nice and slow. It’s an incredible amount of rain and I wish I could take photos, but I’m genuinely worried about driving so I grip the wheel and peer out into the wet grey outside. Eventually I pass through it, and although it’s still raining, the worst is behind me. Now the hills are coated with a blue-grey mist and look beautiful.
Last time I drove to Phoenix Airport I was terrified – the motorways were about 6 lanes across and jam-packed with cars, but this time, things are a lot quieter. I suppose I’m coming in from a different direction. In no time at all, I’m back at Avis, emptying the car and getting ready to head to the airport. I almost feel sad leaving the car. Sounds daft, I know, but it somehow feels too quick. It’s been quite a ride, even if the best part of it all was by foot.
It feels like yesterday I was going the other way. The dust storm was nearing and I was full of anticipation about what the coming days would deliver. Where did the time go?
I’ll miss Arizona as I always do. I’ll miss the towering saguaro, the red sand that gets everywhere, the jagged mountains and the canyons so deep they literally gouge back to the beginning of time. I’ll miss the dust storms, the monsoon rains, the booming thunder and the desert sun. But it’ll all be there next time. I’m just not sure when next time will be. I do know that next time there’ll be three of us. Perhaps I’ll drop the wife off at a yoga retreat and throw my boy on a hoss. Give him a lasso and let him ride ‘em, cowboy. Or perhaps I’ll take them all to the Grand Canyon and force them to hike it, just a little bit. Maybe we’ll go to Monument Valley, and watch the most powerful sunset in the world. Or we could go to Tombstone and the little young gun could see how the west was won. Whatever we do, and whenever we do it, we’ll be together, a little unit, a family, and really, that’s all that matters.
