Arizona

Arizona was something of a surprise, starting with the fact I (and Miss Bartlett) had forgotten we were even to step into Senator McCain’s home state.

Our first stop was Scottsdale which won us over with it’s free cocktails upon arrival (a couple of cosmos if you please). Miss Bartlett reliably informed me that Scottsdale is the preferred training ground of Our Leyton Hewitt so we played a shambolic set of hard court tennis at the hotel. We followed up this sporting effort with an even less stellar turn on the basketball court playing 21 against our tour guide José. It is now quite apparent I shan’t be impressing Obama and co. with my b’ball.

One early morning we went out to the Sonoran Desert, guided by a cowboy called Chris in his open air 4WD. This is real desert country: a side of America I’d not seen before but would definitely be keen to see again. The landscape is unrelenting, reminding me of my travels from Alice Springs out to Uluru. We saw wild horses, hawks, and mule deers (the origin of which, Scott had a colourful explanation) but thankfully saw no snakes or desert monsters hidden amongst the Saguaro Cactuses.

In Phoenix we toured about the Heard Museum which houses Native American art (both traditional and contemporary). Jim and Jan, our charming hosts, led us about the various galleries where their commentary was as detailed, albeit less colourful, than Cowboy Chris’s.

Quick digression, I find good children’s books are superior to the usual tourist guides. So it was with much joy I found a great little book in the gift shop called State Shapes: Arizona.  But much like that oft forgotten western of Leo DiCaprio and Rusell Crowe it was a case of The Quick and the Dead to claim it as my own. The last copy of the book was snapped up by a diligent parent for their young child. It being beneath me to begrudge the poppet his unknown victory, I stoically stood aside silently wishing the book to a good home. I checked every bookstore and tourist trap emporium for another copy only to be thwarted by copious copies of Who Pooped In the Park instead.

Back to Arizona proper with what is arguably the state’s main attraction, the Grand Canyon. We popped into an imax film on the Grand Canyon to give us some much needed information on its history and importance. Or at least that was the plan on paper. The film turned out to be a loose narrative of historical fiction that spanned scuffles between nomads and indigenous peoples, white settlers to modern day adventurers and tourists. Actually getting to the Grand Canyon and hiking what we could of the Bright Angel Trail, time permitting (well, to near enough the rest station, before having to about face for our bus), was, as they sing in Moulin Rouge, spectacular, there’s no other word in the vernacular.

To round out our western adventure we chowed down on steak and partly attempted, mostly mocked, the line-dancing that concluded the evening.

Next stop Viva, Las Vegas!