When I visited Monument Valley the year before, everything was as I had expected - dramatic landforms, memories of John Wayne and herds of cattle and horses, amazing skylines and a feeling of insignificance against all this power from the past. Other things were not so predictable. The weather was awful - a cold front had moved in, bringing a dark, menacing sky and biting wind. We were on a small tour bus, getting up at six in the morning in our lovely hotel in Sedona (most fantastic place anywhere but don't go there if you don't like red) - the driver/guide must be up there on the list of 'most boring commentaries ever given' His voice droned on and on throughout the journey, mostly uninteresting snippets from his life on the VERY edge of the glamorous film world (I think he walked their dogs!) - and full accounts of the geology of the area - I would normally be very excited and interested but in his hands, he made the great land movements, mountain folding and the coming and going of mighty seas and oceans as interesting as my grandmother's accounts of her knitting circle days.
This whole area is not the United States at all. Anywhere past the edge of the road belongs to the Navajo nation, and as such it is a precious and interesting area. Quite rightly, the Navajo want to protect their land and their people. But this makes for a very bad marriage with the tourist trade! We were lucky - we managed, almost wrecking the people carrier, and bouncing like pebbles in a tin can, to get to the end of the rutted track to see a few very sad native people, a very tired horse and wonderful landscapes. Other tourists, including thousands of Japanese in coach parties, were ushered onto very old, converted trucks on hard seats and given plastic macs (the kind that went out in the sixties), as some sort of feeble protection against the wind, and, by now, freezing, driving rain. I felt so sorry for them - it must have been an unforgettable experience for all the wrong reasons.
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| Dust devils at Monument Valley |
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| Valley of the Kings |
On this journey it was so different. Baking hot, dusty and a hot, dry wind lifting sand and dust. I thought I was in the Sahara.....Then I spotted a mini-tornado, a dust devil, twirling its way across the scrub. Later in my travels, in the very heart of Portugal in August, I was to see much the same thing. A sudden gust of wind and much shaking of trees in one very specific spot, a howling noise, then great tufts of dried grass and hay twirling high in the sky above - lasting only a minute or two but very dramatic. I drove on and on, through the valley, but then passed another intriguing place. I didn't have time to explore - but I will do one day. From the road, in the heat haze. I could see great stacks of red and orange rock, golden cliffs, and a sense of mystery so tangible that I could feel it a couple of miles away. It is called 'The Valley of the Kings.' It's on the list.....
After a long but glorious day, I finally arrived in the small but perfect settlement of Bluff, back in Utah - an oasis in the desert. At first unpromising, but with a historic cavalry fort, amazing restaurant and Navajo Trading post (Twin Rocks, very suggestive formations...), I couldn't believe my eyes when, opposite my lodge hotel, was a sign welcoming me to a coffee shop with, yes, EXPRESSO coffee. Also with an amazing array of Indian crafts, local artists' paintings, sofas and all kinds of quirky stuff. The guy said the mighty Eric Clapton came there to buy stuff! An oasis indeed. I still found it hard to believe that the best part of the trip...was yet to come!!!
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| COFFEE!!!!!! |
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| My bedtime reading! |
