Monument Valley, USA
Feature by Lizzie Guilfoyle
EVERY once in a while, no matter how good a holiday, something comes along that fires the imagination, setting it apart and creating a truly unforgettable experience.
And so it was, on a tour that included natural wonders such as Yellowstone and Zion National Parks and both Bryce and the Grand Canyon, that the highlight turned out to be an optional excursion to Monument Valley.
Maybe it was because we flew in by plane, a single-engine five-seater, the name of which escapes me; or that we bowled along the dusty tracks in converted lorries; or simply because we were part of a remarkable yet strangely familiar landscape. I rather suspect it was a combination of all three.
Our flight, which began in Page, Arizona, afforded us bird’s eye views of Lake Powell with its sapphire water and convoluted shoreline; the mighty Glen Canyon Dam and the world’s largest natural arch, which the Navajos call Nonnezoshi – The Rainbow that Froze to Stone.
For such a light aircraft, it was an amazingly smooth flight but, with our communication with the pilot reduced to the occasional thumbs-up sign (I didn’t dare contemplate the reverse), we were grateful for the absorbing commentary (and music!) relayed to us through the obligatory headsets.
Even our landing on the rudimentary airstrip was smooth – far smoother, in fact, than our progress round this so-called valley in the converted bone shakers – I mean lorries. True – they had seats and a canvas awning to protect us from the sun but apart from that, we were open to the elements – and the dust. Strangely, nobody cared.
We had seen it all before, of course – on countless postcards, in every guide book, even in those wonderful old ‘cowboy films that TV channels dish up on wet weekend afternoons’ – but the reality was quite another matter. The barren sagebrush plain with its vast ‘monuments’ of red sandstone stretched before us, strangely silent and undeniably beautiful.
It’s difficult to believe but 70 million years ago, this barren land was covered by an ocean. But then, as the land rose up, the water drained away, cracks appeared in the ground and the forces of erosion set to work. Now all that’s left are these curiously shaped monolithic rocks.
The most striking among them have been given names – Elephant Butte (and yes, it really does resemble its namesake – when viewed from a certain angle), the Prioress or Praying Nun and perhaps the most famous of them all, the Mittens – two formations with slender columns slightly apart from the main body of rock, like the thumb on a pair of mittens. And they are huge.
Our guides were Navajo Indians but as Monument Valley lies in the northern section of the Navajo Indian Reservation on the border between Utah and Arizona, it should really come as no surprise, particularly as certain areas are out-of-bounds to visitors.
We did, however, have ample opportunity to purchase the silver and turquoise Navajo jewellery and photograph a red-coated tribesman astride a horse – for the requisite dollar, of course!
Our visit lasted two hours, during which time we ate a packed lunch with sandwiches the size of doorstops, took innumerable photographs and ended up looking more like scarecrows than Worzel Gummidge. But we left, ours faces wreathed in smiles, with a wealth of memories we’ll never forget.
In mid- afternoon, our little plane eventually lifted off and headed south towards the Grand Canyon Airport, en route crossing the Canyon from north to south rim. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
The tour, National Parks and Canyonlands was with Jetsave.