ARRIVING
I begin to understand my experience of Arizona when I learn that only 17% of the state is in private hands. The rest either belongs to the Navajo Nation (about the size of 1/4 of Texas), or is designated National Parks, National Monuments, and National Recreation Areas. If you long for eye candy, if you want to immerse yourself in a cascade of pretty, welcome to Arizona, where the roads are in fine nick (no snow/ice/salt damage) and a car is a basic necessity.
I have eliminated the first several pages of this travelogue, cut out extensive sections of the first three days of this trip in order to spare you the saga of a car rental gone bad (shame on Alamo/Enterprise). I won’t burden you with the car that filled with toxic fumes, the one with the trunk that no one could open, the one with headlights that pointed straight to the ground, with the inappropriate or non-existent “swap-outs” we were or were not offered, and the countless hours on phone-hold leading to no rectification; but I will simply assure you that on the third day, my travel-mate and bestie, Barry, and I drove to another town to pick up an actual functioning little auto and set out to salvage the rest of the trip.
The drive back and forth to the Phoenix airport was a nightmare, with drivers who were apparently trained on Boston’s 128/95, only at much higher speed limits – the legal limit went as high as 75. But once away from that massive, crowded city, the trip to Sedona is a visual gift. The geology is constantly changing as we pass the magical desert scenery where the fields of saguaro cactus, tall pleated cacti, are unique and only found here. There are dry flatlands full of grass bleached a lovely pale yellow, and then increasingly impressive rock formations the further north we go.
We spontaneously take the exit to Black Rock, a little town of a few thousand, just to see what a little town looks like. My conclusion – it looks like the set from a 1950s Western movie. However, they actually have a tourist board shop (the guest book showed one visitor per day) and a thrift shop!!
Our main destination along the way, the heritage site Montezuma’s Castle, is a stunning 45-50 room pueblo apartment house built into the limestone cliffs over the Beaver Creek – an oasis in this desert environment – by the Sinagua people about a thousand years ago. The National Parks Service has constructed a 1/3 mile trail for viewing, which is precisely the maximum I can go on these sorry feet of mine. On another day we will visit Tuzigoot National Monument – a similar ancient Sinagua pueblo, where the visitor path is likewise 1/3 mile. We can say one thing about the Sinagua folks: they must've been Black Belts in the skill of ladder climbing.
As we approach Sedona, a large sign says Scenic Drive, and we turn off, only to discover that this new road is literally named “Scenic Drive” and there is nothing much scenic about the crowded new development of southwesternish McMansions that offers us Model Homes to view. Which we don’t. It is the only scam signage I’m to see my whole trip.
Once we settle into the Airbnb we have rented, we follow our host’s recommendation to eat at the nearby Cafe Jose – economical, cheerful, delicious, and swiftly served. It offers a classic breakfast all day, has a full menu of Southwestern entrees, and the service has won awards over many years. It becomes our go-to restaurant destination, not the least because I admire the unusual page of the menu that includes a list of small servings of comfort food for “Kids and Seniors.” I only hope this inclusive idea catches on.
SEDONA
Café Jose is located in what I would call a strip mall – a line of connected stores. The main drag of West Sedona – the tony section far from the tourist madness of downtown – is one long commercial road (89A), peppered with such strip malls, and in the same style 
as all of Sedona: adobe in earth colors with a splash of teal. Even the McDonalds had to forgo its otherwise universal golden arches in favor of teal arches. The houses are low-lying and fit in with the surrounding environment. Where there are mansions, they adhere to the color palette and square design.
Sedona was recently designated as an International Dark Sky Community – its starry night skies are highly promoted – so all exterior lights around buildings must meet rigorous standards. In fact, the city's Land Development Codes rule the built environment, which has an appealing unified sensibility – from fences to benches to beauty shops. Such harmony does not come cheap. Specialist architects must be raking it in.
The thrift shops abound: Twice Nice is especially wonderful (they support a women’s sanctuary) and has the best selection of used books ($1). The Goodwill is the cleanest, most systematic branch I’ve ever seen. I attribute that to the abundance of retired volunteers available in Sedona.
The average age in Sedona is 60; the average age of homeowners is 68. The number of children is shrinking. The 11,000 (mostly white) permanent residents absorb 3 million visitors each year! Most residents seem to have left lucrative corporate lives elsewhere and fled to Sedona. Nearly all service people – servers, tourist advisers, etc – wear name tags with their town of origin underneath. It’s a “thing” here – the assumption that you are from elsewhere.
Almost every dwelling has a gob-smacking view of red rocks – the geological phenomenon that marks this area with its unique towering splendor. We are staying at the foot of Thunder Mountain (aka Capitol Butte), which is the first thing I see in the morning. All day it morphs into varied textures as the sunlight and shadows change.
RED ROCKS
It is raining all day, sometimes as hard as a monsoon, sometime just dripping. Interestingly enough, we find this just adds to the intensity of the colors of Red Rock State Park. Although most people come to the area for the hiking, this is a road trip, because my feet aren’t wont to do much else. Luckily, the Arizona park system has established frequent pull-off viewing points that make perfect frames for the rock formations.
We spend several days exploring in all directions, soaking in the scenery, the sunsets, the sumptuousness of Southwest nature, but many times we are stopped along a road by gates and guards who prevent the peons from crossing into the fenced-off heavens of the bourgeoisie. Such golf resorts and housing developments are for the bloated – who claim for themselves the most exquisite of views. The Schnebly Hill Drive is perhaps the most imperfect combination of splendiferous views and exclusive 1%-only closures.
For a view of the famous Sedona sunset, we drive one evening to the Airport Mesa which involves a muddy climb up a lofty rock. I make it about 2/3 up the steep side, but when the stepping stones stop, so do I. My descent is on the arm of a West Virginia Eagle Scout, a sturdy bloke who saw me floundering on the way down and stopped to do a good deed, hopefully earning a new patch in the process.
One of the craziest spots – in an area full of vortexes (defined as “swirling centers of energy that are conducive to healing, meditation and self-exploration”) and ghosts – is the Roman Catholic Church of the Holy Cross, built right into the buttes (steep red rock hill with a plateau.) It was 
commissioned – perhaps in a fit of jealousy – by heiress Marguerite Brunswig Staude following her encounter with the new Empire State Building, and constructed on Coconino National Forest land, after the late Senator Barry Goldwater pulled some 1% strings.
It is raining and cold when we arrive and a scruffy employee in a golf cart offers to drive us way, way up to the Church and then fetch us a half hour later – and seems only to be looking for a $5.00 tip. It is the closest I am to get to these magnificent rocks and the highest view I’ll see.
JEROME
The unique town of Jerome is in total contrast to orderly, ordered Sedona. An historic copper mining town – with a reputation as “the wickedest town in the West” – way up Cleopatra Hill, Jerome was founded by miners living in tents. The rich copper find propelled it into the fourth largest city in Arizona, with the population peaking at around 15,000 in the 1920s. By the 1950s the demand for copper plunged, as did the population. The remaining 50 to 100 residents promoted Jerome as a Ghost Town.
Artists, freaks, bikers, and ghost lovers moved in and now Jerome is a serious tourist attraction. The 450 permanent residents sell arts and crafts, run restaurants and music venues, and live in rehabilitated old structures, precariously clinging to the Hill, that they have decorated with flair and fancy. There are art galleries, several parks, a couple of museums. Because it is built on a number of levels at the top of the Hill, I am limited in how much I can walk around. Jerome is fabulous fun, although it is best explored by the mobile.
GRAND CANYON
The smartest move we make is following the weather closely and changing our Pink Jeep Tour to the Grand Canyon from a day on which rain was predicted to a day with better weather. December is not a classic month for visiting this world wonder, and just a week earlier it had been closed due to snow.
Barry and I book seats on a 12-seat luxury van (Mercedes) for an all-day tour from Sedona to the Grand Canyon, lunch included. I’m a bit pushy at their office about getting front seats because I tend to puke when I’m riding in the back and looking out side windows. They seem remarkably confident that I can have whatever seat I want.
When we turn up with layers of clothes on this chilly day, we discover that we have our driver/guide Mark (formerly a corporate guy in Wisconsin) all to ourselves. He is knowledgeable, flexible, and tells us that when rich people want a private van trip to themselves, they pay $2,000. We have lucked out. We drive past Flagstaff (pop 100,000) and through the large sovereign Navajo Nation, about ¼ the size of Texas, but with a population of only 200,000. Beef cattle and tourism appear to be their main industries and we stop at a large multi-structure tourist magnet to peruse the goods and use the toilets. The huge main tourist center sells every sort of trinket, jewelry, and beaded belt imaginable, but another of the buildings holds stunning historical and contemporary artifacts for sale, including hand-made beaded moccasins and leggings from the 19th and early 20th Century costing many thousands of dollars. I am amused by the signs by the side of the road that say: “Do not stop by the side of the road to play in the snow.”
I will not attempt to repeat all that Mark explains to us about the geology along the way and in the Canyon, which you can look up. But I will mention that when we enter the Grand Canyon Park, the workers at the gate tell Mark that we are just the 3rd paying customers of the day.
As a result, Mark is as excited as we are for he is able to park freely at many spots he can’t approach during tourist season because of the crowds. Since the space is open, he brings what he calls “binoculars” – but which are really like twin telescopes mounted on a tripod. We look a mile down to the very bottom the Grand Canyon and see rafters in the river (which is always 47 degrees F)
and then at another spot a couple of miles across at a rescue team wearing red jackets. Mark takes photos of these long-distance images, impossible to see with the naked eye, on my iPhone through his giant binoculars.
Two buildings really catch my eye, both designed and built by the same woman: Mary Colter.. One of the few women architects of her time, Colter was one of the “Harvey Girls” – educated white women who worked for the Fred Harvey Company. Harvey was a Southwestern mogul, known for his railway restaurants and for his unusual hiring practices.
Colter’s four-story Desert View Watchtower (1932) was meant to be a kind of whimsy to draw people to one corner of the Canyon. The walls inside are decorated with Hopi art and from the top one has a panoramic view of the Grand Canyon. I make it to the balcony of the 2nd floor and admire how Colter fit it so perfectly into the environment. Around it are outbuildings that serve drinks or house toilets as well as benches for quiet viewing of the Canyon.
Later Mark drops us at the Village, the most built-up area of the Canyon, where we see Colter’s first building, the Hopi House. Outside and inside, the Hopi House is meant to reflect ancient native culture, including reproductions of wall art that have been destroyed.
The plethora of facts and figures Mark imparts serves to contextualize the unbelievable dimensions of one of the most visually exciting landscapes a human can see. The striations, the rusty red rocks, the dark volcanic basalt, the white limestone, the beige sandstone layer after layer and created by the river, the continental tectonic plates colliding, the volcanoes, earthquakes, and other cataclysms is truly a natural wonder. The many animals he points out to us are another treat – from the fearless ravens used to people to the lovely mule deer to the bighorn sheep.
On the trip home, Mark tells us that Pink Jeep Tours is the largest employer in Sedona, and the best one to work for. I heard from other tourists that there are coupons available – but there’s no senior discount.
THE VERDE CANYON RAILROAD
When I mentioned a trip to Sedona on Facebook, my first cousin Elissa contacted me to say that she and her husband and her eldest son would be in the area at the same time. Elissa, the eldest daughter of my mother’s brother, is the same age as me, but we hadn’t seen each other since 4th grade. We reconnected digitally on FB, but when she invited us to join them on the historic Verde Canyon train, it seemed like a great idea.
Since I’m unable to do much hiking, this train ride is a sensational way to get close to the rocks. The four-hour trip begins in Clarkdale, just a half-hour drive from Sedona, and tootles as far as the fascinating Perkinsville ghost ranch and back. Along the way, following the Verde River, we skim 
pass towering rock formations and ancient Indian ruins holding more cliff dwellings. We rattle over a rickety bridge and through a tunnel in which you’ve got to keep your arms inside, we learn via the delayed recorded guide tape several minutes after we’ve cleared the tunnel. Between each railroad car is a viewing platform where we spend most of our time with a (live) guide who tells tales and points out the sites. Known as the “other grand canyon,” it’s a rugged terrain full of all sorts of wildlife and a perfect setting to get to know my lovely cousin in her adult incarnation, comparing our childhood impressions and sharing secrets about our parents and other relatives.
On our last day before departure, we visit Cottonwood, as I’ve been anxious to see where the people live who provide the labor to keep Sedona running. 
They sure can’t afford Sedona. Cottonwood, founded in 1879 and named after a circle of 16 super-gorgeous cottonwood trees at the Verde River – the heart of the copper industry – is located in the Verde Valley, about 20 minutes from Sedona and at the bottom of the hill where Jerome is. It was a farming town which is now rebranding itself as a wine center. And it is much cheaper than Sedona and clearly with no rules restricting building colors and styles.
My last Arizona experience is a battle with the TSA officers at the Phoenix airport which I have written about in a separate posting in order to avoid a closure of this travelogue that belies the gorgeous time I had and my sense of truly being on vacation, off the grid and the political grind, but instead immersed in magnificent visual splendor.
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