High Plains Drifters in the Sonoran Desert

Saguaro Cactus - Arizona's Sonoran Desert
j. smith photo, (c) 2011

The High Plains Drifters believe we are in the Sonoran Desert. All the travel guides are promoting hotels with views of it, golf courses that blanket it and excursions that could take you further into it.  It's a stark, dry, and somewhat intimidating place because it is so vast -- as are the cities clustered around Phoenix, which continue to spread their roads and homes out over its flat monotone surface.  Coming from the Evergreen State and its towering mountains, this place has required that stretch from the comfort zone that we are seeking when we set out on new adventures.

The Timeshare Trail led us south from Las Vegas, past Hoover Dam (more on that later), over a ribbon of highway that stretched off as far as your eye could see into the distance. It lead us through remnants of the old American West.  We passed places that just sort of appeared, all alone, hugging the highway; places like Rosie's Den offering 47-cent a cup coffee which was just down the road from  the Last Chance where you could eat the best burger.  We drove a section of Route 66 in the town of Kingman, a frontier town founded in 1882.  For those of you watching our soaring gasoline prices, the price there was $3.74 a gallon.

Just beyond Haulupai Mountain Park was the small Wikiup, AZ with a couple cafes and motels and where we noted the first sighting of saguaro cactus, those towering sentenals of the Southwest that live so long, they don't start growing 'arms' for the first 50 - 60 years of life.

We set up 'housekeeping' for the week in Diamond Resort's Scottsdale Links Resort.  We've explored the town in Ol' Orange (still the only car we've seen painted that color); me with two maps spread out on my lap and Joel's head swiveling as he announced crossroads and intersections in hopes I could assure him we were going the right direction for whatever our intended destination.

In the course of the week, thanks to several of you, we've found some new 'finds' and visited some old  favorites, I'll tell you about those places soon.  And while here, we fell in love with Pinnacle Peak, one of our directonal landmarks and a striking bit of scenery. I have more to tell ya about it, but fer now gotta pack up as we are headin' to Tucson today and Ol' Orange is awaitin'.

Vegas: ACE and Deuce - A Lucky Pair

I've heard from a couple of you, that you will be heading to Vegas in the next few weeks, so before setting out for Arizona, I need to tell you about doing this town "Rick Steves' style". Steves, a Pacific Northwest travel guru, advises Europe-bound travelers  to use the public bus. 

And that's what we did in Vegas. The  bus system runs two buses along The Strip, appropriately named for this gambling haven, The ACE and The Deuce.   ACE is a sleek new addition to the transportation system, having come on line only a year or so ago.  The Deuce, a double-decked vehicle, has long been a popular way for visitors to get from The Strip to Fremont Street (both are known for casinos, entertainment and dining). 

In addition to running 24/7 and having bus stops every quarter mile or so, they also run to snazzy looking transit centers where you can connect to any of the 51 routes in the town - meaning you don't need to stay in just the casino or shopping areas; you can head out and explore the neighborhoods as well.

And they offer tourists like us, multi hour and multi day passes.We purchased the $7 for 24-hour pass (it is only $3.50 for those 60 and older with proof of age) and then we set off to the far reaches of The Strip. 

We explored Town Square, a shopping center on the southern end of the Strip and could have shopped at the two huge outlet store centers that anchor either end of the route; Premium Outlet Stores to the north or Outlet Stores to the south. We  looped around the city's Convention Center and through its new Arts District as this express bus whizzed us to the Fremont Street Experience.

The bus system here is a definite win for travelers.

High Plains Drifters Ridin' Ol' Orange

Hula Babe and Beach Boy put away their aloha duds and are once again the High Plains Drifters for a southwest road trip which will hopefully take us from winter into spring. We flew to Las Vegas and then set out for Scottsdale -- ultimately Tucson, Arizona, -- and then will head back to Las Vegas for our return flight.

We got our rental car from a lobby kiosk at the Monte Carlo Resort, just a couple of blocks from The Jockey Club.

• Money-saving tip:   We outwitted those highway robbers, known as cabby's, by rolling our suitcases from the JC to the Bellagio Resort next door and riding the free tram from it to the Monte Carlo. (Eat your heart out cab drivers!)
• Money-saving tip #2:  We had found the best car rental rate on Hotwire where the price was a couple hundred less for a Dollar Rent-a-Car than the cheapest we had found on our trusty Expedia.  

The car, a compact Dodge something, looks like, well, lets put it this way, think of an enormous orange rolling down the road. You got it; that's us.

Ol' Orange - only one of its kind we've seen so far

Speaking of fruit, have you ever been waited on by someone with the personality of a prune? No pleasantries, limited eye contact, staccato answers. . .that's my definition of "prune personality disorder". For example:

Joel: Can my wife be added as a second driver? (Enterprise had said spouses were added without charge in Hawaii).
Prune: "Sure. $10 a day extra."

Joel: How much grace period do we have on the return? (usually 15 minutes to a half hour).
Prune: "One minute late - one day additional charge."

When we declined their insurance, Prune said he needed to see our insurance papers (we've never been asked for those in the history of our travels)
Prune: "You must sign showing you declined coverage and that you are driving uninsured," pointing to the signature line.    Joel pointed out we weren't uninsured, Prune pointed to the line all the same. Joel signed.

We were sent off to find the car in the parking garage and did so quite easily (it is orange, and the only orange car in sight, probably the only one in all of Arizona). I noticed a significant scratch on the passenger's door but saw nothing noted on the rental form.  (Actually, I think some giant tried to peel it thinking it was an orange.)

I marched back to the lobby to report to Prune my findings and took great delight in watching another couple return their rental:
Prune:  "Did you fill the car with gas?"
Couple: "Yes we did."
Prune:  "I need to see the receipt."

I reminded myself that we are saving a couple hundred dollars, reported the scratch to Prune, and we were off. Next post from The Timeshare Trail.  But if you happen to see us drive up, stop by and say hello.

Teaching an old Travel Dog New Tricks

Little Princess goes to Paris
j smith photo, (c) 2011

This southwest road trip through a part of Nevada and a lot of Arizona a test of the post's title.

For decades my travel attire has included a mandatory camera draped around my neck.  The reason was best expressed by a friend when she once said of travel photography,"taking a photo makes the trip seem real, like it really happened"..

And I'm a reluctant late-comer to the digital world having only a couple years ago I left my SLR and photos behind, when I inherited a then-several-years-old digital camera.  Joel was immediately delighted as it no longer required that huge package of film canisters nor my bulky SLR.  That first digital still looked like my SLR, and I quickly became charmed by the little contraption and named her Ol' Betsy. Sadly, she began showing signs of age while we were in Greece last fall and her impending retirement was confirmed when they quit selling memory cards that she could handle and the repairman used the horrid words, "garbage can". (Betsy is resting comfortably on our kitchen counter right now).

So for months I've searched for a replacement: big bulky DSLRs, smaller point and shoots that look like DSLR's but that fit in the travel bags a bit better. What I vowed I wouldn't ever buy was one of those small things with no eye viewfinder that you can hold in the palm of your hand.

New Tricks

So, here we are am on the road; me with my Little Princess, as I have named the new camera..  She arrived from Amazon.com the afternoon before we left on this trip.  And she's everything I said I'd never buy:  compact, no view finder, and so small there is no neck strap, there's barely a wrist strap. (Joel loved the camera the minute he saw its size, "less to carry" he noted without concern of its capabilities.)

But reviews I have read from the dozens of travelers who love this camera say that this Fuji Fine Pix F300EXR (the name is bigger than the camera) is the perfect travel camera. Many said they've compared their photos from this camera to the DSLRs and they have rated well. I've read the small 'how-to-use' pamphlet, but didn't have time to load the 150-page PDF users manual, let alone read it. I figured out how to charge the battery and install it, along with the memory card.  But I certainly have no idea how to make the bells and whistles it offers sing any sort of photographic melody, let alone result in a digital image (I still prefer the word 'photo')

For now the old travel dog is busy snapping digital images and telling myself that travel - even travel photography - should remove me from my routine comfort zone.  Little Princess has certainly done that.

The Jockey Club - a Las Vegas Gem



The Jockey Club

You see that little building dwarfed by the new Cosmopolitan Hotel in the photo above?

Well, that's The Jockey Club, a Las Vegas throwback to the days when names like Sinatra and The Rat Pack were headliners here. 

We hit the jackpot when we picked this place for a week-long stay on The Strip.

We are in a one-bedroom suite with full kitchen and living room, huge closet and a small bathroom (not everything can be big) at the rate of less than $35 a night.  The decor is fitting with a jockey club, deep greens and burgundies and horses - but not for long as the entire place (which looks very good now) is getting a face lift of new furniture and flat screen televisions.  (I need to tell you the beds are as comfortable as Marriott - and here, unlike Marriott, we've had daily maid service as well.)

This gem of a place, a Las Vegas fixture since 1971, is snuggled up against the new Cosmopolitan Hotel. . .psst, a secret: We have access to a hidden away elevator that whisks us up to the Cosmopolitan!  Our picture window opens to a direct view of the Eiffel Tower at Paris and the dancing fountain at Bellagio.

The Vegas stay is the result of a promotion from Interval International, the company that has for years managed Marriott Vacation timeshare exchanges, as well as a host of other properties.

Taken for a ride in Vegas

We hate to be scammed when we travel. But we were last night.
And sometimes it happens so fast, that there isn't much you can do about it.
Or is there? 
We will see.

What's real irritating is that I had just sent an article to a friend warning about Las Vegas cab drivers that appeared in the Los Angeles Times this week.  My friend hasn't been here in years and I wanted to make sure it didn't happen to her when she comes here next month. So you can imagined how furious I was when it happened to us. . .two days after the article had appeared.

Our flight from Seattle had been delayed and had been a bit rough, so the charming English-accented taxi driver was a welcome sight. . .we told her we were going to The Jockey Club (a gem of a find, by the way) on The Strip. It is 4 miles from the airport.  So as she mumbled about heavy Saturday night traffic, mumble, sigh, mumble, sigh, she pulled onto the freeway.  Too late. . .we couldn't stop her.

The Strip when we finally reached it was normal traffic, certainly not the mess she had us picturing it was.   We'd traveled nearly 10 miles during which time she told us how bad traffic had gotten in recent years and how much she hated driving in it and had helplessly watched as the meter as it raced to $23 and then she added $1.80 for an airport fee.  The article uses the word kidnap - it is a good word.

As Joel paid the ransom and got the bags, I got the cab number and company phone number.  By now, we were very out of sorts and told the receptionist what had happened.  She shrugged, shook her head and said yes, it was too bad, "but I have heard worse."

That sent me over the top. 
I didn't even unpack bags before I had dialed the cab company (and I have no backbone, so this should tell you how furious I was).  The manager I was referred to apologized profusely and said they try not to have this happen, but they get an occasional 'rogue driver'.  Turns out I wasn't the first one to call about this. . .woman.  Yes, making me even madder was the fact that a fellow female had scammed us.  He said they would investigate my claim and took an address where he could send a refund check.

I'll let you know how it ends, but for now, our new -- and sadly, less friendly approach will be -- "We are going to the blank destination and we do not want to get there by freeway."  I encourage you to read the article - it is right on target.

Think Hawaii ~ Think Hula

Palm trees sway under a tropical blue sky along Waikiki's famed Beach Walk. And depending on the route and time of day, you may see groups of people under those palm trees gyrating madly to the beat of drums or swaying to the gentle rhythms of the ukulele's melodies.

You'll be reminded that Hawaii is the land of Hula.

Hula c lass in Kapiolani Park -Waikiki
j.smith photo, (c) 2010

I've always loved watching hula dancers and have even been tempted to take a class . . .but never having been known for moving my feet and arms/hands in synchronized movement, I've opted not to give Beach Boy the pleasure of seeing Hula Babe trying to live up to her self-christened name.

What I think is absolutely the best part of this wonderful performance art is its history. Before the 1820's when a written Hawaiian language system began, all stories, tales, and lore were passed from generation to generation orally,through mele (song), oli (chant) and hula (dance).  Children learned from elders of gods and goddesses, family wisdom and history and were introduced to worlds both real and imagined. . .all without using a 'Google search'. 

Even today listening closely to the words being sung as a hula dancer performs, you will hear stories of lost loves, places and a yearning to return to those magical spots.

One of the free Beach Walk Hula Shows Waikiki
j smith photo, (c) 2010

If you find yourself heading to Hawaii in April 24-30, 2011and don't yet have a set itinerary, head to Hilo for the Merry Monarch Festival where you can see some of the finest hula ever performed.

Hanford: Unveiling its History and Mystery

Wind-swept Hanford
J. Smith, photo (c) 2010

I grew up just a hundred miles or so up the road from the wind-swept Columbia River Plateau; home to the secretive -- and for a kid back then -- scary place called Hanford.  I knew they made something to do with bombs there, I mean the high school in Richland, the town nearest this once-hush-hush place, is known as Home of the Bombers

Hanford's impact on nuclear history is now well documented.  Today it is an enormous hazardous  nuclear waste site.  The good news is that the Department of Energy, that agency managing, the site has a number of gargantuan cleanup projects underway.  The even better news is that they've been offering FREE public tours of the place since 2004. 

Control Room - B Reactor - Hanford Tour
j. smith photo, (c) 2010

Last fall I took one of those tours and was blown away - absolutely, blown away  -- by it. We traveled from those mysterious World War II years into the future in a matter of hours.

I wrote about the Hanford Tour and my article appears in today's Seattle Times.  Click the link to read it, then make a note to yourself to try and nab a spot on one of this year's tours. You won't regret it; and I can assure you, you'lll never forget it.