Under the Desert

The next morning we woke up early, around 6am, and I picked up some snacks from the hotel breakfast station. Then we went to the Navajo reservation, and checked in for our tour of Lower Antelope Canyon.

I've had a picture torn out of a calendar from here since I was in my teens, so it's been on my list of places to visit since then. There are two Antelope canyons -- Upper and Lower. Both are part of the same wash (a.k.a. arroyo) -- riverbeds in the desert that are normally dry, but flash flood after heavy rains, which may occur miles away.

Upper Antelope is a channel through sandstone that rises above the surrounding desert, which means the path through it is at ground level. That makes it more accessible, and hence much more popular and crowded. Lower Antelope, on the other hand, is cut into the desert floor, which means it appears to be nothing more than some sandstone along the ground in a slight basin as you approach. When you get very close, you can see that there are narrow gaps in the stone, but it doesn't look like it could possibly go down very far. You walk past the canyon and enter at the other end, and the whole way there it just looks like... nothing. Where could we possibly be going? There's no canyon here, and it's hot, and dusty.

Photo by Alex Proimos via Wikimedia Commons / CC-BY-2.0

Then you reach the far end of the canyon, and walk right up to the edge, where there's a railing. It still just looks like a little crack in the rock, but you climb down a sequence of steep stairs (imagine a NYC fire escape, but leading deep into the earth -- about 120 feet deep, to be specific).

After several flights of stairs, you wind up at the bottom, shocked at far down you've come. It's about as wide as a hallway, but the similarity ends there. You start to explore, winding your way through the canyon, in single file most of the way.

Your guide keeps the group together, pointing out particularly interesting rock formations, but no matter which direction you look, everything you can see is stunning.

Sometimes you can see the sky above, other times not. Sometimes you have to duck or twist through narrow spaces, other times it opens out into rooms. The Navajo word for this place means "spiral rock arches" but others just call it "The Corkscrew" -- both terms are accurate. Everywhere the force of floodwater has carved the sandstone into fantastic shapes, so smooth it almost feels fake to the touch, with the layers giving it endless variety.

The colors are incredible -- oranges and purples and reds and browns -- and you realize you could sit in any spot and just stare around for hours without getting bored. At a few points along the way you encounter photographers, who have paid extra for more time to linger in the passageway, setting up their tripods and waiting for just the right light. You wish you were a proper photographer, but you're not, so you do your best:

You're allowed about an hour to work your way through the canyon (which is only a quarter-mile long), and then you reach more stairs at the end and climb your way out, back into the desert heat.

Random dude for scale

After we left the canyon, I dragged us on a side trip to attempt a visit to the Navajo coal power plant down the road, because I dearly love the juxtaposition of industry with nature. The plant wasn't open to the public for tours, unfortunately, but we had a nice drive through a different part of the desert.

Then we went back into town for lunch, to a tucked-away crepe shop I'd picked out in advance. There were a couple locals, and a nice kid behind the counter, with a lady who appeared to be the owner cooking in the back. The menu advertised gluten-free crepes. "Oooh, I wonder if their gluten-free crepes are buckwheat" my mom said enthusiastically, so I encouraged her to ask. The boy working the register wasn't sure, so he went to get the cook (I'm guessing she was his aunt). "Oh, those? Nah, not buckwheat. They've got some rice flour, some tappy-oky, a little xanthan gum... they're pretty terrible, really. I wouldn't recommend them to anyone." I loved the honesty we encountered around food on this trip -- it became an ongoing thing. Even the waiter back at Giada in Las Vegas:

Me: "I'll have the sunrise polenta waffle, please."
Waiter: "Oh, that's a GREAT choice. It comes with this freshly-infused maple syrup that's just a little bit floral, and a really light bechamel, and the waffle is so fluffy and the pancetta gives it an amazing little burst of saltiness... it's delicious."
Me: "Sounds great!"
Mom: "And I'll have the breakfast contadina."
Waiter: "Ok!"
Mom: "...aren't you going to tell me how exciting mine is? Maybe I should order what she did..."
Waiter: "Oh! The contadina is good too... It's just... simpler?"

uh-huh.

(both items were great)
(so were the gluten-inclusive crepes)

Anyway, after our quiet crepe lunch, it was time to head north in search of our next adventure!

Managed burn, DO NOT REPORT

In the morning we left St George, Utah, for Page, Arizona. First we tried to have breakfast, but pro tip: if you're visiting Utah, please note that *everything* is closed on Sundays. We finally found an open restaurant in St George, but due to the limited options it was packed, mostly with families towing packs of small blond children. We waited about five of the estimated 30 minutes for a table, and then bailed.

Instead of eating in the 'city', we headed out to a cafe I'd marked, about a 30 minute drive and only slightly out of our way -- River Rock Roasting Company. It was friendly, busy, efficient, and had covered outdoor seating overlooking the Virgin River:

This is a "river"

That Virgin River was a theme for much of the drive -- we must have crossed it about fifteen times between the Valley of Fire and this cafe. As you can see above, it's not terribly impressive, at least not in October. At any rate, the cafe was an excellent choice. We learned a lot about the folks at our neighboring tables (mostly locals in for a Sunday chat, very few small children), enjoyed tasty sandwiches and large blended coffee things, and admired the view. Then it was back to the drive!

We passed through lots of small, insular towns in Utah, and crossed into Arizona at the intersection of Hilldale, UT and Colorado City, AZ (note: not in Colorado). You've probably never heard of these towns unless you're either a member of a Mormon polygamist sect or interested in rare genetic disorders; it turns out that when approx 1/2 the population of your town is directly descended from one or both of the two founders and marrying your cousin[s] is the norm, unusual things happen.

After this exciting tour (not that exciting, as previously noted everything in Utah is closed on Sundays so opportunities for cultural tourism were limited) we split from the main highway in the booming metropolis of Fredonia (pop. 1,314) to take the scenic route, via US Route 89A. I chose this route because it goes past the Vermilion Cliffs (yay, desert and sandstone!) and for variety, since we'd be taking the faster main route the next day, but I didn't research it very thoroughly. I was a little surprised when we started climbing winding mountain roads and driving through dense forest instead of desert, but pleasantly so. It turns out the Vermilion Cliffs are on the east side of the Kaibab Plateau, which peaks at just over 9,000 feet. We kept seeing signs along the road, warning drivers that there was a "Managed Burn" in progress, so please don't call 911, but we never saw the fires, just smelled a little smoke.

After a nice long drive through the woods, we came out the other side rather abruptly, and discovered this, which despite the color and the previous warning signs, was not actually on fire:

We drove past miles of red rock, pulling over periodically to admire the landscape. My favorite stop was here, at a pull-off just past Cliff Dweller's Lodge:

Huge rocks strewn over the landscape like marbles abandoned by a giant's child; steep shale hills to scramble up, a brilliant blue sky and orange-red stone. Oh, and adorable little chipmunk things that moved too fast to photograph! What's not to love? After running around here for a bit, we continued on our way.

Next we crossed an unexpectedly-high bridge over a river gorge. For variety, it wasn't the Virgin River this time! Instead it was the Colorado, en route to the Grand Canyon. We parked right after crossing the car bridge, so that I could run out into the middle of the pedestrian bridge beside it and stare over the edge. My desire to do that wouldn't surprise anyone who knows me, but those who know my mom will be shocked to hear that she came with me all the way to the middle of the bridge! She stayed safely back from the railing, but still. I was impressed. Here's the view both directions from the middle:

The view upstream, back toward the cliffs

And downstream, looking toward the car bridge and ultimately the Grand Canyon

Then it was on to our last hike of the day, at Horseshoe Bend. The name is descriptive enough -- it's a spot where the Colorado River wraps itself around a rock, forming a neat horseshoe shape. It's just outside the town of Page, and very well-known, so quite crowded. After parking in the lot, it's about 3/4 of a mile down to the viewpoint. There are plenty of dramatic pictures online of the full meander, but you need a wide-angle lens and a death wish to get those shots. Instead, please enjoy some dramatic cliffs and a little cairn someone left behind:

After hiking back, we drove the last mile or so into Page and checked into our hotel. It was still daylight, so we had a quick swim in the pool and then went hunting for dinner. I had marked a promising spot, and Big John's Texas BBQ was everything I wanted and more. We sat outside at the communal picnic tables, snacked on whole peanuts, and then ordered large quantities of meat, cornbread, roasted corn on the cob, potato salad, and coleslaw, with peach cobbler and a giant rootbeer float for dessert. About halfway through the meal a local country band started up some Johnny Cash covers, complete with an extra member to lead line-dancing next to the giant smokers on the side. It was perfect.

This is where the meat comes from

After dinner we strolled back to the hotel for another quick night swim and a soak in the hot tub, and then turned in, as we had an appointment with a riverbed early the next morning.

Sunset in the Valley of Fire

After we left Las Vegas, we drove to our first destination; Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada.

Directions: drive on the main highway for awhile, then turn right. Be directed immediately with no room for argument through a complex obstacle course in a large dirt field, which is doubling as a parking area for an outdoor concert. After telling the various folks directing cars into parking spaces that no, you aren't going to the show, in fact you want to go to the State Park, thank you very much, you're directed back through the obstacle course in the other direction, and onto a small, but paved, state road. A half hour or so later, after lots of brown hills and scrub brush, go through a gate and pay the park fee, wondering where the 'fire' part comes in and hoping it's worth the price of admission. Drive about ten more minutes, crest a rise, and find yourself on in a Dali painting set on Mars. The rocks are sculpted into tortured, organic, visceral shapes, and appear to be melting in the desert heat, their bright red intensified by the sun which is low in the sky behind you.

Yep, this was definitely worth the park fee.

You drive through twisting canyons, watching the colors change from red to orange to gold to white and back again, as the shapes shift and change as well. You want to stop every ten feet and take pictures, but you're in a hurry to get to your designated 45-minute hike before the dire warnings on the park signs ("PARK CLOSES AT SUNSET. ANYONE IN THE PARK AFTER SUNSET IS TRESPASSING!") go into effect. You reach the parking lot for your hike and tumble out of the car, arguing about the definition of "sunset" for park ranger satisfaction ("the sun technically set *here*, but it's just because we're in a hollow... it's still shining up *there*, does that count? Sure! Hurry!"). Then you slip and slide down a steep creek bed, noticing that sand over sandstone is VERY slippery, pausing to admire the colors and shapes in the rock as you pass.

You reach the bottom, which is a dry riverbed. You squeeze through a narrow slot canyon (the first on the trip, more to come!), your shoulders brushing the walls. On the other side, the sun is just sinking behind the horizon, catching the red of the rocks and the surprising green of a bush.

You continue on, gradually climbing back up, as the colors in the sky slowly shift along with the colors in the rock. Some of the shapes and hollows in the rock are bigger than others; finally you come to an arch, like a cave that's gone all the way through to the other side. Obviously you crawl inside, like any self-respecting hobbit hiker, and huddle up against the sandstone to admire the sky.

There's a lot to admire, and the colors get more and more intense the further you go along the trail.

Until finally the sky has become the most astonishing shade of blue; a color you'd expect from the ocean near a tropical island, not from the middle of the desert. You don't think it can get any bluer, until you turn a corner and find yourself passing between dark red rocks, over dark red earth, that provide the perfect contrast.

After this it starts to get dark quickly, but luckily you brought a flashlight (always prepared!), and you're nearly back to the parking lot.

You reach the car and drive slowly out of the park, along winding valley roads, into the gathering darkness. By the time you leave the park it is definitely, absolutely, 100% after sunset -- it's now the kind of dark that only happens in the desert. You drive for miles, and then more miles, eventually back onto the main highway. There's nothing like driving through the desert at night.

You pass briefly into Arizona (you can tell because the quality of the road surface improves drastically and you have a sudden paranoia about getting pulled over and asked for proof of citizenship), and then into Utah (surprising lack of change, though everything does feel very wholesome and lily-white all of a sudden).

Finally you reach a large town (St George) and check in to your hotel. You're hungry, and just about everything is closed, so you go for the hotel restaurant. It's called "Burger Theory" (really?), but you're willing to forgive that. Everything is going well, or as well as can be expected, and your server is friendly (and possibly still in high school). Then she asks what you'd like to drink, and it all comes crashing down.

"I'll have sparkling water, please."
"...what?"
"...sparkling water? Perrier?"
"...."
"...Pellegrino? Seltzer?"
"...We don't have that."
[note: there is a full bar and a cocktail menu]
"That's ok, how about club soda?"
"Hahaha what's that?"
"...It's like.... water, with bubbles?"
[this is a real conversation, it's hard to believe but it's true]
"Oh! You mean Sprite!?"
"......nevermind, tap water will be fine."

After dinner (aside from the water it wasn't too memorable, which is a good thing) you remember that tonight is supposed to have a meteor shower, so you decide to drive out and find a dark place and look at the sky. After all that dark desert driving, how hard can it be to find dark skies?

Surprisingly hard, as it turns out. You quickly learn something about the residents of Utah: they really like well-lit towns. Streetlights, house lights, lights on signs, lights on warehouses, lights in parking lots..... lots and lots of lights. Very safe. Also very disappointing if you're trying to see the sky.

You explore most of the industrial area and find a small airport and a nice place where truck drivers park their 18-wheelers for some sleep. It takes much longer than you expect, but finally, almost all the way back to Arizona, you leave the city lights and find a random parking lot in the desert. It turns out that it's the White Dome Nature Preserve (home of the Dwarf Bear Poppy, unique to the area!). You get out of the car to look for meteors, but after all that effort, it's cloudy, and there's no sky to be seen (nor any Dwarf Bear Poppies for that matter, though you're curious about them now).

Slightly disappointed but also a little relieved to be back in the car, because you're secretly a bit afraid of the dark, you head back to the hotel to sleep -- there's a long drive ahead tomorrow.

Bathed in Light in the City of Lights (the glitzy one, not the French one)

Time for a road trip in the desert for Mom's birthday!

First stop: Vegas. No, not for the gambling (I only lost $5, which incidentally is also the amount that I bet), and not for the showgirls. Partly for convenience to the places we wanted to drive, but mostly to see this. More on that later, though, as that happened on day two!

We arrived late and rented a car. I begged very prettily for a car with an aux jack for the stereo, since I had carefully curated a lengthy playlist on my old iPhone and *needed* to make sure we had good music for the drive, particularly on long stretches of radio-limited desert highway. They very kindly gave us the one car type that would *definitely* have an aux jack.... a Prius. Hurrah for eco-friendliness, boo for driving excitement. Oh well, at least we'd have music!

Then we checked into our hotel (boring chain, nothing to write home about) and headed out to find food. I naturally dragged us to a vegan metal bar in a deserted industrial area, because I like adventure and because the food looked tasty. Every city needs a proper vegan metal bar, and Vegas is no exception. It's new-ish, and called simply OWL. It has the word in giant letters on the side, and a huge owl mural, and that's it. No windows, no obvious door, two cars in the parking lot... It might be the most uninviting bar I've even been to, from the outside, and the area is, as I said, deserted (it was nearly midnight at this point). The bar was deserted too, except for the staff and a couple regulars (who were possibly also staff), and the super-sweet resident rescue dog. It was dark, had lots of original artwork on the walls, the bartender was really nice, and I loved it. We had some fried pickles and sandwiches, and called it a night.

Photo credit: OWL

The next day we walked across the freeway onto the Strip (reminder to self and note to others: Las Vegas is NOT a walkable city), and on to our main destination: Louis Vuitton. I mean, obviously, right? I needed some custom handmade luxury monogrammed trunks for our desert roadtrip, because this is definitely how I roll.

Nah, just kidding. We were there to see the privately-held artwork *inside* Louis Vuitton. Akhob (Egyptian for "pure water") is the largest Ganzfeld the artist has ever made. James Turrell is a light and space artist, one of my absolute favorites, and I've wanted to see this piece for awhile. It's housed in Louis Vuitton because they commissioned the work and own it, and are apparently quite active in the arts (my respect for them increased quite a lot after this trip).

The piece is free to visit, but by reservation only. Viewings are limited to four people at a time, and the process of getting in to see the art is an experience in itself. First you make an appointment (weeks in advance); then you show up a bit early and wander around Louis Vuitton looking at Very Expensive Luxury Items under the watchful eyes of suited clerks/security guards. Then you're met by a friendly staff member who takes you, via private elevator, into an anteroom with a couple other staff. This room is dimly-lit, to prepare your eyes for the experience ahead. While your eyes adjust, they tell you a bit about the artist and the art, and then lead you into the larger room that contains the piece. You remove your shoes and put on foot coverings, to protect the floor of the work (the space must remain pure so that no flaws exist to catch your eye and give you something to focus on). Then you're led up the stairs into the first chamber. You can wander around that small initial chamber, and/or enter the larger chamber beyond. Past that second chamber is a third, even larger space, but you can't determine the boundaries of that one. One staff member stays near the entrance to assist in case you get disoriented, and the other stands at the lip of the precipice into the final chamber, to stop you falling in.

Inside, the chambers are roughly spherical, and bathed in differently-hued lights. The whole viewing experience lasts roughly 20 minutes, and you're free to wander around the space throughout. During this time, the lights in the three chambers gradually shift, changing color and intensity, sometimes contrasting, and sometimes melding together. As a result, looking toward the third chamber (the one you can't enter and are protected from tumbling into accidentally) sometimes looks like you're seeing a solid wall at the boundary of the second and third chambers, and other times looks as though you're staring off into a limitless distance. Sometimes you feel like you're floating in a cloud of light, expanding out into this endless space, and other times you feel corporeal and small, but bathed in light so physical that you should be able to touch it.

Turrell is also a pilot, and I'm sure you've read about the famous sensation that pilots sometimes experience when flying in certain conditions (particularly over water or in dense fog) where because everything they can see is exactly the same color, they lose the ability to focus on a particular point, which makes it difficult to define their position and orientation in space. It can be extremely unsettling and dangerous, as pilots can lose track of which direction is up, panic, and crash, but Turrell finds it very peaceful, and wanted to share this experience with others through this work.

It's truly amazing, and I could have happily stayed there for hours. Photography isn't allowed, and certainly can't capture the experience but this article includes some lovely shots that will give you an idea of the space.

Then we had brunch at Giada, which was exquisite. I had the sunrise polenta waffle, with fresh béchamel and maple syrup and sunny-side-up eggs. We also shared the mushrooms and the burrata, which came with the most delicious balsamic sea salt. It was pretty and friendly and the food was amazing. I'd go back in a second (though I couldn't afford to visit often).

As soon as we finished brunch (and after our 40-minute walk back to the hotel in 95-degree desert heat, which I chose to think of as a 'conditioning hike') we left Las Vegas, and headed on to our next adventure. That one will have to wait for the next post, though (also that's the point in the trip when I remembered to take pictures, so things will get a little more interesting). Onward!

How to decide if you're up for hiking Slieve League (because obviously you're thinking about it)

Yesterday I hiked Slieve League, a.k.a. Sliabh Liag, a.k.a. some of the highest sea cliffs in Europe (located in County Donegal in Northwest Ireland). They're three times higher than the more famous Cliffs of Moher, for those keeping score, and when you reach the top, you're standing at the edge of a nearly 2,000-foot sheer drop to the North Atlantic. To get there, you have to drive on remote, single-track, casually-sign-posted Irish roads for several hours, and then hike for several more. In other words, this is 100% my jam. Off the beaten track? Check. Spectacular? Check. Challenging? Check. Kinda hipster, as in "I skipped the tourist attraction and went to the REAL thing instead"? Check.
BUT is it something you'd like, too? Here's a little 10-question multiple-choice questionnaire I put together to help you decide, now that I know all the things firsthand.

You get the answer key first, because I'm nice like that:

• If ANY of your answers are A, don't go.
• If some or all of your answers are B, you'd better be really into nature, adventures, and sea cliffs, otherwise don't go.
• If most or all of your answers are C, go for it, you'll have a blast!

Note: nearly of my answers would have been B. But it's cool, because I really dig adventures and also sea cliffs. Thank goodness for that.

Before we get to the questions, you should know that this is what we're talking about:

See the highest visible point, about 2/3 over from the left? Remember that bit when you get to the last photo at the end.

Ok, here we go!

1) How do you feel about driving on the left side of the road?

• A) I do that already! Don't I? Oh, wait, no, I'm thinking of the right side.
• B) Yeah, whatever, that sounds fine! I'm sure I'll figure it out. It can't be THAT hard.
• C) I actually legitimately *do* do that already, I'm from a country where that's normal.
• For the record: *driving* on the left isn't so difficult. Other things, like responding correctly to mysterious symbols on unfamiliar warning signs, and turning the right way into the proper lane, and looking the right direction before doing so in order to avoid getting creamed by a tour bus, and pulling over to yield to oncoming traffic on single-track roads with no shoulder and stone walls on both sides.... those things are much harder.

2) What if the roads look like this:

This is the road up to the first viewpoint at Slieve League. Right after this little hill it narrows slightly and goes around a blind curve with a sheer drop down to the ocean on the left and no guard rail. Fun!

and have disconcerting signs like this? (oh and also you're driving a manual transmission and shifting with your left hand):

I stole this photo from the internet, because I couldn't take pictures of these signs when I saw them since I was, well, DRIVING. Thanks, Google! 

• A) Absolutely definitely not, can I just, like, take a bus instead?
• B) .....I mean, if they can do it I'm sure I can do it. Right?
• C) *laughs* Whatever, I grew up on a farm, this is old hat
• Confidential to those who selected (C): did your farm also have frequent sheer drops and sharp curves, a standard posted speed limit of 80-100kph, narrow stone bridges, and regular encounters with double-decker tour buses? I didn't think so.

3) What are your feelings on hiking in ankle-deep mud on steep boulder-strewn mountainsides with no marked trail?

• A) Ew. I don't go hiking to get DIRTY.
• B) Ew, no thank you, but I'm sure I can find a way to hike around the mud, so I'll be fine.
• C) Bring it on! I've got fancy waterproof knee-high magic hiking boots and stuff!
• PSA: no, you cannot hike around the mud, unless you'd like to maybe also hike around the entire mountain instead of hiking up it, in which case just go to the beach, yeah?

4) How comfortable are you with unidentified flying beetle things?

• A) Eeeeeeeek I hate bugs!
• B) I prefer not to think about it, so let's pretend you didn't just say that.
• C) I have no fear of creepy-crawly-fly-y things.
• On the plus side, the bugs are mostly hanging out around the mud, so if you can go around the mud you can avoid them! Oh, wait, see #3 re: going around the mud.

5) What kind of sheep are you (I took a lot of pictures of sheep)?

• A) this is me:

Did you know: you can successfully eat grass while lying down in the sunshine in the middle of a flat meadow, with no cliffs in sight?! HOW GREAT IS THAT?!

• B) this is me:

This is the kind of edge I'm comfortable with. If I fall off this I bump down a gentle slope for about ten feet before coming to rest on a flat surface. I'M KING OF THE WORLD UP HERE!

• C) this is me (sheep #3, counting from the left):

The best grass is clearly the grass juuuuust over the edge of the thousand-plus-foot-drop. Yum. Plus you don't have to share any of it with sheep (A) or sheep (B)! Those losers.

6) How much do you enjoy hiking? Like, for real?

• A) I mean, I like going for walks outside, but I'm not sure what you mean by "hiking"?
• B) I really like the *idea* of hiking!
• C) I go hiking at least 10 miles every weekend, year-round!
• For the record, the Irish call it "hill-walking" which, sure, but also the Irish are probably way tougher than you are, as evidenced by the fact that they don't believe in guard rails

7) How sure-footed are you?

• A) I can trip on a flat surface, while standing still
• B) I fall down all the time, but the thing is I'm used to it and I'm good at landing so it's fine!
• C) I never trip on anything unless I'm juggling and walking at the same time, and usually not even then because I'm some weird circus freak

8) Are you afraid of heights?

• A) Yep, petrified of them, as in, I literally freeze and cannot move.
• B) Nah, I don't think so. I mean, maybe? Like, everybody KIND of is, right? But not, like, more than normal.
• C) Nope, not at all.
• I'm (B), in that I'm officially "not afraid of heights" but also when there was nothing in between me and a 2,000 foot drop besides a little windblown heather I definitely stopped a good eight feet back from the edge because I couldn't really breath all of a sudden, weird, and then got down on all fours and crept about two feet closer, and then couldn't breath again, and then said "screw it, I'm not gonna pretend to be macho here" and laid down flat on my belly and wiggled like a little lizard until I could see the ocean and then just laid there for awhile

9) What level of wind are you personally comfortable with?

• A) What kind of a question is that? I like flying kites...?
• B) As long as I have a hood, and maybe a rope or something to hold on to, I love high winds!
• C) I love the thought of *being* a kite, so much so that windsurfing is my side hobby!
• PSA: you know how it's usually windy at the ocean? Well, think about your normal windy beach. Now imagine you're 2,000 feet higher and staring out at the unobstructed North Atlantic. It's windy enough that a) a gust will literally knock you off your feet; b) you won't be able to hear anything over the howling and your ears (despite the hood you were wearing) will be ringing like you left a rock concert for about half the hike down; and c) if you put down your (not too heavy but also not super light, has water bottles and a raincoat etc) backpack and don't hold onto it, it will actually blow away (I know because I tentatively tested this while holding on to the strap, and it did its best). 

10) Is it worth it to be able to lie down on your stomach in the sunshine on the blooming heather and peek over the edge of a 2,000-foot cliff and realize that you can actually see the curve of the earth and that the waves are so far down you can't hear them crashing against the rocks at all?

This is from that highest point in the first photo. I wanted to take a photo looking down but I really didn't want to drop my phone into the North Atlantic.

• A) Meh, it's pretty enough I guess
• B) I mean, probably? That sounds amazing.
• C) 100% yes.

Final question: would I do it again? Yes, definitely, without hesitation. It was fantastic.

And dear mom and dad: don't worry, I was super careful, I didn't do anything actually-dangerous, and all the unpleasant bits where I was at all unsure about my footing in the mud were on the not-cliff-side of the mountain.

Also, if you're a stranger who somehow came across this blog and are planning to actually do the hike; if you see Irish signs that gently and politely suggest that the cliff trail is "suffering damage" and you should "consider using the Pilgrim's Path instead" don't be like me and go "meh, the Pilgrim's Path looks waaaay longer and kinda boring, I'd rather go this way and see more views, I don't mind a little challenge." Take the darn Pilgrim's Path. For real. They mean it, they're just being polite. "The trail is suffering damage" is Irish for "the trail is pretty much completely destroyed/non-existent" and you should really just take their advice. Also, I did this hike on a warm sunny day and I needed long sleeves and a hood for the wind, and I reeeaallly should have had sunscreen too. That said, have fun, it's totally worth it, and be careful up there!

A visit to the Canadian National Patriarchy Museum

Last Thanksgiving, I decided to abdicate; I went to Victoria, BC for a long quiet weekend alone. I took myself out to high tea instead of Thanksgiving dinner. It was lovely.

To get to Victoria, I took the Clipper, which is a very nice three-hour ferry ride. It leaves from the north side of the Seattle waterfront at 8am, though, and I was told to be there by 7am. Because I'm me, that meant I needed to be there by 6:45am at latest, in case of traffic or unforeseen delays, and because of the Seattle transit system, that meant I had to take the bus that got me there at 6:10am (because it was either 6:10 or 6:50), which meant I had to leave at 5:40am, which meant I got up at 5:15am. Well, actually it meant I woke up at 5am and then got out of bed at 5:15am. And again, because I'm me, I went to sleep the night before at about 2:30am. Sooooo by the time I got to Victoria at 11am, I wasn't thinking suuuuuper clearly, and I hadn't eaten yet.

I couldn't check into my Airbnb until 3pm when the host got off work, so I decided I'd have a nice little walk and get lunch. I had done some cursory research online on the ferry, but not in extreme detail because I kept losing reception, so I knew that a) Victoria was small; b) the walk from the ferry terminal through downtown to my Airbnb involved about two turns, so there was no chance I'd get lost; and c) the Royal British Columbia Museum was right near the ferry terminal. Crucially, the museum was between the ferry terminal and the lunch area of town, so I decided (obviously) to put Art first and make that my first stop. Also, museums usually have a coat room, so I could leave my carryon there and wander around looking at art unencumbered. Perfect!

After leaving the ferry (or "deboarding" as the captain put it, even though "disembarking" is a perfectly good word), I headed in the direction I'd planned, dazzled by late November sunshine, which was extra sparkly because I was hungry and half asleep. After a block or so I looked over, and saw the museum. And what a museum! It was massive, and ornate, and pretty much everything a museum ought to be. I could hardly wait to look at all the amazing art it surely had to contain. 

This is only part of it; it's much bigger

The grand entry staircase was shut because it had a giant Christmas tree in it, but that was ok; the side staircase was open, and it had a uniformed greeter at the door. How nice! As I got closer (after walking up the surprisingly long gated driveway through the grounds), I noticed that the greeter had a sidearm, but I was hungry, so I didn't really think too much of it. I hauled my carryon up the steps and stopped at the top because the greeter put his hand on the door as if to open it, but then he didn't. Instead, he (in a very polite Canadian way) asked me some questions. 

"Where are you from? What brings you here? Would you like to go inside? Will you be taking the tour?"

"...Seattle! Oh, just in town to visit for the weekend. Yes please, I'd love to! Is it open? No thank you, I don't need a tour, I'll just wander around on my own if that's alright. Is there a place I can check my bag?"

"Oh yes, you're welcome to come in and explore, no need to take the tour, but the next one is at 1pm if you're interested. No. You'll need to keep your bag with you."

"...Um, ok... sounds good!"

What a nice, friendly greeter. It seemed maybe a little odd, but I was tired, and it's Canada, they must have different museum customs here... lalala.

So in I went, and started to wander through. My first priority was finding the bathroom, so although I did make it through about half of the first floor before I figured it out, that counts as a slight defense, I think....

First slow thought: "Hmmm, I wonder where the galleries are? Most of the doors are shut and I don't see signs. And no one offered me a helpful map of the exhibits, that's odd."

Second thought: "There sure are a lot of portraits in the halls! Maybe this floor is more of a portrait gallery, and the main art is on the upper levels. Hmmmm. Wow, there are so many pictures of old white dudes."

Whole lotta old white guys

After about eight minutes and half of the first floor, it dawned on me, but I had to consult the map on my phone to be certain. I wasn't in the Royal British Columbia Museum. Oh no. I was in Parliament. 

Whoops. 

Exhibit A: museum (has gift shop)

Exhibit B: not a museum (has armed guards)

But hey, I was already in there. And it was a pretty building. And there were sooooo many portraits, some with explanatory notes, and no other tourists roaming around, only staff members, going in and out of doors that said "Staff Only". So I decided to continue my viewing as scheduled, and pretend I was in a museum, since it kind of was, in a way. I gave myself a self-guided tour of the Canadian National Patriarchy Museum:

The portraits of old white dudes go back a long way;
the beards get longer the further back you go

A side hallway had portraits of young white dudes before they
grew their beards and became old white dudes

Some of the later portraits exhibit the use of color photography,
while others prefer the classic look

I really appreciate that the guy on the lower left went for the
 crazy backdrop, instead of the boring solid color

A lady! She's helpfully wearing pink so you can differentiate.

Map of the galleries

They have a space for live performance; more and more common
in museums these days

They also have some documentation of past performances, which is always
helpful for live art

Showing different seating configurations for past performances

Historic elevator doors, or chamber of secrets?!

A recreation of a classic religious altar is a high point of the
cultural portion of the exhibit. Although the society is
patriarchal, they worship a maternal figurehead

Toward the end I was really tempted to tuck my carryon in a corner and go incognito among the staff in order to explore the behind-the-scenes areas, but I know what happens if you leave a piece of luggage unattended in parliament. I didn't want to get arrested, or cause a national incident, or have all my clothes for the weekend blown up. 

Instead, after I finished my tour, I went next door (across the grounds and a street) to the ACTUAL museum, where I had another, smaller surprise when I remembered that there are such things as museums that aren't art museums, and this was one of them. It did, however, have a coat check, and a really lovely and detailed exhibit on the native languages and cultures of the Pacific Northwest that was beautifully and respectfully put together. Well done, Canada, even if your governmental history is just as white and bearded as ours.

Grocery notes from the UK

Just a few quick things.

1) People in the UK are really into tomatoes. I don't mind -- I like tomatoes too -- but I don't require a boiled tomato for breakfast every morning, or tomato sauce (Ketchup) on everything. My favorite evidence of this near-obsession was when I was exploring the large M&S in Inverness. I went down aisle after aisle, and eventually came to the produce section. There was a 'fruit' aisle, and a 'salads' aisle, and a few general 'vegetables' aisle... and a 'tomatoes' aisle. Yep, an entire aisle dedicated purely to tomatoes -- the only one, as far as I could tell, devoted exclusively to one thing. Impressive!

2) Alternate blog post title: Exploring World Culture Through the Lens of Cool Ranch Doritos. 

Dear America, are you aware that no one else in the world recognizes 'ranch' as a flavor? It's true. So last year in Norway I found 'Cool American' Doritos, and this year in Scotland I've discovered 'Cool Original' Doritos. Whatever works, I guess; they all taste pretty much the same.

UPDATE: on the way out in Belgium I discovered another variation: 'Sweet Paprika' Doritos, which is probably the most accurate description yet.

3) Can someone please explain to me why the mini grocery store in the Manchester airport stocks refrigerated raw meat? Like, what, I'm going to buy a couple of steaks and fry them up on my camp stove while I'm waiting at the gate?! Even IF it's there as a convenience for the tired traveler who just wants to pick up some bacon for breakfast on their way home, I still find it questionable.