But then again, with a smile like that, how can you not want to turn in your sandals for hiking boots, your latte for my famous brewed coffee, the comforts of home for a tent and a sleeping bag, and experience America's natural beauty firsthand?
Well the other day, my mother and I trekked out to the Grand Canyon. Perhaps no other place captures the wildness of America than the Grand Canyon, I think. It speaks to that urge within so many of us for some sort of unspoken, indescribable freedom. If any of my vast readership has read "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac, that's what I mean. The urge to get in a car and just go, go experience the wondrous vastness of the American West.
The road to get to Flagstaff from Sedona, AZ 89A, is one of those spectacularly entertaining drives through the Oak Creek Canyon, only to ascend up the mountains at the end. The kind of road that clings precipitously to the sides of the hills. With many curves, best experienced by traveling at a high rate of speed. Really most suited to a Corvette or something. But a rented Dodge Avenger will do as well, though I (as the driver) found it endlessly more enjoyable than my mom, who remained white knuckled throughout, constantly imploring me to slow down. "I'm not even going the speed limit," I'd cheerfully reply, before roaring around another bend. Great times for me, she probably barfed out the window about six times.
After buying a park pass from who is surely the most beautiful ranger in the National Park Service (she was drop dead, stunningly, and exotically gorgeous, even with that ridiculous hat), we entered the park. Parked, walked through the woods, and entered into a dreamscape.
If any of you have not been to the Grand Canyon, I really can't recommend it enough. None of these photos remotely do it justice, at all really. Coming up to the lip of the canyon, I simply had to stare in wonder. Literally, I nearly couldn't believe my eyes. Ten miles wide, a mile deep, some two hundred miles long, the sheer size is indescribable. It was otherworldly, like some enormous being dragged a shovel through the earth. I tried to imagine coming across this in a wagon train, for the first time. You wouldn't even know what to think. Well, you'd probably think, "Shit."
One curiosity was the tremendous amount of foreign visitors, French and German mostly. Maybe it's because I'm so used to traveling to Europe to seek out the exotic, I don't typically comprehend Europeans coming here. Why would they come to America when there are so many treasures at home? Insulated in Minnesota, beautiful as it is, I'm unaware of the awesomeness of this country I guess. Standing on the lip of the rim, with French tourists agape with awe like myself, I couldn't help but feel just a bit proud. This spectacular vista, this most incredible creation of nature, this was in my country. And it's a beautiful thing to share with others. I really felt like slapping a Frenchman on the back, saying "bonjour" and offering him a Budweiser and a hot dog. As a welcome gift, like those leis they're always trying to throw at you in Honolulu.
In Progress Book Review- I'm reading "Neither Here nor There" by my best friend Bill Bryson, a travel book about his European wanderings. It's quite hilarious really, I'm enjoying it. The humour is a bit more risque, which I find puzzling, but uproarious. The one thing I miss is the emotional depth of "A Walk in the Woods" and "Notes from a Small Island," which I think is the true cement beneath the laughing. But nonetheless, a good book thus far, especially when you can relate to some of his stories.
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