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3-12-2005 Scotsman
How the West won my heart By Gethin Chamberlain FRANKLY, there is something not quite right about a world in which 13 million people pour through the gates of California's Disneyland every year, while a mere 17,000 bother to stop off at the Homolovi Ruins National Park outside the town of Winslow in neighbouring Arizona. Winslow is best known for featuring in the Eagles' song Take It Easy - "Well, I'm standing on a corner, In Winslow, Arizona, And such a fine sight to see. It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin' down to take a look at me," since you ask - which ensures that it enjoys a steady stream of tourists throughout the year. It is also on Route 66, which only adds to its charm. It is, in short, not a location lacking in visitor pulling-power. I would happily wager the annual profits of Mr Disney's renowned corporation, however, that more people visit the McDonald's restaurant that I passed on the way out of town than make the very short trip out to Homolovi. This is quite insane. The earliest part of the site contains evidence of habitation dating back to 11,500BC. There are three-storey pueblos dug into the ground, the homes of the ancestors of today's Hopi nation before they moved on to the Hopi Mesas to the north. The ground is littered with pottery fragments. There are even kernels of burned corn dating back to the 1400s, when this was a thriving community. Someone has taken the trouble to set some of the pottery pieces on stones along the path. There is something endearing about an archaeological site that invites visitors to pick up and handle such relics of the past and trusts them to replace them afterwards. Yet most of the site remains unexcavated: Homolovi receives just 43,000 (GBP 25,000) a year in funding, and the state even cancelled the school fee waiver, so now an archaeological society has to pick up the tab to enable children to learn about their heritage. Or how about the ruins at Walnut Canyon? I would gladly drive 100 miles to marvel at the canyon itself, with its vertiginous walls and breathtaking views. It is, however, a mere ten miles outside the attractive little town of Flagstaff. And that is not the best of it. Walnut Canyon is home to some of the most astonishing cliff dwellings around. About 900 years ago, a civilisation flourished there, the people - more ancestors of today's Hopis - somehow picking their way down the almost sheer limestone cliffs to make their homes in the underhangs. You can still see the soot from their fires on the back walls of the 300 adobe brick dwellings they constructed. You can learn about the volcanic explosion that forced them out in 1250, in the little museum. And if you must buy souvenirs, you can pick up some Hopi jewellery in the shop. I'm telling you, this is the real magic kingdom. Yet the car park at Walnut Creek was virtually empty. I just don't get it. This is a country, after all, which annually exports large herds of tourists to Europe to marvel at the remains of ancient civilisations. The idea of such archaeological gems sitting unloved and unvisited made me angry. I felt an urge to march up to people and shake them. However, I suddenly remembered that quite a few people around here carry guns, and decided to calm down. Fortunately, it is difficult to remain angry for very long in Arizona. This is a state that takes the breath away; it is everything the Wild West should be, with added vultures. There are the saguaro cacti, protruding from the red dirt with their arms jutting out and up, the classic cactus of Westerns and innumerable Roadrunner cartoons. There are the huge, red-rock buttes. There are the gorges. There are lakes and mountains, eagles, moose and cougars. And, of course, there is the Grand Canyon itself. But I'll come back to that. Tonto Natural Bridge State Park, found inside the Tonto National Forest (oddly notable for a distinct absence of traditional forest, but a large number of saguaros), contains a travertine bridge apparently discovered by David Gowan, a Scot, in 1877, though it is fair to suspect that the indigenous peoples may have noticed it a little earlier. Cut by a stream flowing through travertine (calcium carbonate) deposits from underground streams, it looms 180ft high and 400ft long. For those of a nervous disposition the bridge itself is about 100ft thick. Then there is Meteor Crater. Its name is a clue to its origins. About 50,000 years ago a meteorite 150ft across smacked into the Arizona landscape at about 40,000mph, and promptly vapourised. It made a hell of a mess. Much of the guided tour of the resulting crater - a seriously impressive hole in the ground, 550ft deep and two and a half miles in circumference - focuses on the difficulty many people had in accepting the idea that it was created by a meteorite, and the fruitless mining operation mounted to find it. It took Dr Eugene Shoemaker (he of comet fame) to prove it. NASA uses the crater for training and it certainly looks as if a moon buggy would be the only sure-fire way of getting out if you fell in. The distance between some of the parks might deter potential visitors, but the scenery along the way more than makes up for it: the huge, red buttes jutting up into the vast blue skies, glorious sunsets, turkey vultures soaring above. Three and a half hours north-east of Phoenix you come upon the Petrified Forest National Park and the painted desert. The petrified forest is just that, an area of desert littered with ancient trees whose wood has been gradually replaced by calcium. They come in fabulous colours and polish up beautifully, much to the delight of the businesses which make a healthy living from selling the 90 per cent of forest that lies outside the park. If that thought depresses you, then the sight of the painted desert revives the spirits - mile upon mile of multicoloured badlands. If you like being chaperoned around turn-of-the-century wooden houses by a neurotic pensioner wearing white gloves and fretting about the possibility that her charges might step even half a centimetre off the permitted route, I can heartily recommend the Riordan Mansion in Flagstaff. It has closets, a lot of them, as the guide never tired of pointing out. My advice, however, would be to wander round the rest of the town and take a look at the indigenous art. Of course, there is more to Arizona than scenery, and a good few people are attracted to its casinos, all located on the reservations that make up a sizeable portion of the state. But for those who don't want to gamble with their wealth, why not risk physical wellbeing? This is, after all, proper cowboy territory. Where better to mount a disturbingly large horse? "How do you stop one of these things," I inquired querulously of a young woman who regarded me with a look which can only be described as pitying. She pointed at the reins. I was none the wiser. My horse - called Taco - thankfully appeared to know the route by heart and only misplaced his/her (it didn't seem polite to look) hoofs once. The next morning, in a moment of madness, I decided to go for a run along the same path before breakfast. I noted with bleary-eyed alarm the notice at the start - Welcome to Bear Country, or something equally disconcerting - and the long list of things to avoid doing, which encompassed just about every human function. It did not mention jogging, presumably because the writer never envisaged that anyone would be that stupid. I lurched on for 20 minutes or so, casting nervous glances around me, before becoming aware of the presence of several large animals ahead on the path. They turned out to be deer, and bounced off noisily, but that was enough for me. I turned tail and fled, forgetting to look out for rattlesnakes, which had until that point been the indigenous creature I most feared. For all of its other attractions, it just doesn't seem right to go to Arizona without visiting the canyon. I hired a car and drove to Flagstaff, set the alarm for 4am, got up, hit the highway and arrived at the southern rim just after dawn. A few others had the same idea. It was 7am and a cool pink light was suffusing the landscape. I got out of the car and wandered over to the railings at the edge of the car park. Suddenly there it was, spread out in front of me, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the ten-mile-wide chasm. The scale is incomprehensible; even the bellowing of a party of Spanish tourists could not wipe the smile from my face. I stayed for hours, pootling along Desert View Drive, stopping every few minutes to take in a new view. The last stop was the Desert View Watchtower designed by Mary Colter in 1932, using prehistoric, modern and Native American themes. It was worth a visit in itself. It was 11am and the car park was full - just as it should have been. Something was right with the world. FACT FILE ARIZONA How to get there British Airways Holidays offer a seven night fly-drive package to Phoenix, Arizona from GBP 408pp. The price is based on departures in December 2005 and includes return scheduled flights from Heathrow and car hire for the duration (based on two sharing). Flights from Scotland (Edinburgh or Glasgow) cost from GBP 65pp return. Visit www.ba.com or call British Airways Holidays, tel: 0870 24 33 406. A GBP 15pp supplement is payable for all phone reservations. Where to stay Best Western Inn of Tempe 670 N Scottsdale Road, Tempe, Arizona. Room rates start from US79 (GBP 46) per room per night (excluding room tax). Tel: 001 480 784 2233, or visit www.innoftempe.com for more details. La Posada Hotel, 303 E Second Street (Route 66), Winslow, Arizona. Room rates start from US89 (GBP 52) per room per night (excluding room tax). Tel: 001 928 289 4366, or visit www.laposada.org for more details. And there's more For the Arizona Office of Tourism Brochure Request Line, tel: 0906 577 0031 or visit www.arizonaguide.com
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................................................................................................................. Copyright ©2004 Gethin Chamberlain. All rights reserved. |
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