The
Year of the Joel rolls on its merry way. The latest installment was
spent in Arizona, home of striking desert golf courses, daytime
temperatures that reach 120 degrees (a dry heat!), and probably the
craziest governor since Mel Brooks' wacky Governor William J. Lepetomane
from Blazing Saddles.
Nancy
and I had a fabulous week exploring three of Arizona's most famous
attractions. First we were treated to a luxurious stay at the Fairmont
Princess Hotel in Scottsdale. Nancy's son, Ethan, is the guest
activities director of this resort, and he graciously arranged for our
comped room. Let me tell you, this place is no Econo Lodge. One of the
first things I noticed were the towels. I am used to staying at places
that have see-through towels; these are towels whose knap is so worn
down by use and laundering that they actually make you wetter when you
use them. Ironically, the only way you can dry off is by NOT using the
towel. That is what I am used to.
At
the Fairmont Princess, the towels are so thick and lush, you can
deposit personal belongings in them for safekeeping. You can hide your
watch, your wallet, and your car keys in these towels and still dry off
without a scratch. The knap of these towels reminded me of the amber
waves of grain in Minnesota. I started drying off just by looking at the
towel. Using it was icing on the cake.
Oh,
and let's not forget the robes. Two super-knapped robes were provided
for guest use. I donned my robe eagerly and instantly became William
Powell or possibly a chubby Cary Grant, lounging around the room
awaiting my dry martini delivery. I wanted to do everything with my robe
on, including playing free golf on the hotel's magnificent golf course,
the TPC of Scottsdale. Nancy reminded me that playing golf with my robe
on may be just a bit too debonair for Arizona, so I relented and wore
my usual golf attire. Ethan and I then played a wonderful round of golf
on the aforementioned course, the site of the annual Phoenix Open on the
PGA tour. This magnificent golf course is famous for its 16th hole, a
par-three where about 20,000 inebriated fans cheer or boo each
competitor based on the quality of his tee shot. When Ethan and I
approached this legendary hole, all of the stands, tents, and bleachers
had been taken down so we didn't have the same feeling the pros would
have. To make up for this, I cheered Ethan's shot and he booed mine.
Good times, good times.
As
you would expect, pools are a big part of the Fairmont's appeal. The
hotel management has diverted the Colorado River just to make sure that
all of their pools are filled with clear, cool water. It's the least
they could do. Nancy and I spent many luxurious hours relaxing by each
of the 3620 pools at the resort. We ordered food and beverages, charged
it to our room, whispered about the boorish behavior of obviously
well-healed guests, and breathed in the allergen-free air that the hotel
management has piped in from Iceland.
One
evening we invited Ethan to join us for dinner at one of the hotel's
signature restaurants. The three of us enjoyed a remarkable meal at La
Hacienda, a Richard Sandoval Mexican restaurant located at the resort. I
have no idea who Richard Sandoval is, but I'm banking on some of you
foodies being impressed. The meal, accompanied by several outstanding
margaritas, was magnificent. I think the conversation was great also,
but I lapsed into unconsciousness sometime between the salsa and the
enchilada so I'm not sure.
After
an unsuccessful attempt to smuggle towels and robes out of the hotel,
Nancy and I said goodbye to Ethan and headed north to Sedona, home of
red rocks, vortexes, and, more importantly, the world's best pizza.
Many
of you have visited Sedona so I don't have to tell you how beautiful it
is. This is a good thing because my descriptive skills are pretty
limited. With your permission, I'll give it my best shot:
Sedona is surrounded by rock formations that
remind you of really cool rock formations.
See what I mean?
We
spent three days gawking, hiking, and mostly eating. Somehow food
tastes better in Sedona than it does in, say, Destin, Florida, E.
Lansing, Michigan, or Weymouth, Massachusetts. I think it has something
to do with the rock dust or maybe the lightheadedness one experiences at
8,000 feet above sea level. Our most memorable meal was spent at
Picazzo's, an organic, vortexy, new-age, gourmet pizza place. I'll put
this simply, people: this pizza-lovin' Bostonian has never, and I mean
NEVER, had a better pizza than the one he had on May 11th (yes, I
remembered the exact date!) at Picazzo's in Sedona. It was the kind of
pizza a death row inmate would order just before he faced his last walk
down the green mile; it was the kind of pizza a criticially injured
patient would request, just before crossing over. It was the kind of
pizza I've been dreaming about all my life.
Hopefully,
this gives you some idea about the quality of this pizza and the
quality of my dreams. This marked the third time in my life I've had
pizza at Picazzo's, once with Ada, once with good friends Brad and Carol
Moses, and once with Nancy. Each time I was almost tearful over the
care and love that went into each of the aforementioned pizzas. Carry
on, Picazzo's. You've made this world a better place.
As
far as the famous Sedona-Vortex-Energy-Crystal-New Age thing is
concerned, I'm sorry to say that neither Nancy nor I felt any of this
mysterious life force that has been talked about. We wanted to believe,
we really did, but all we "felt" was the heat, the sound of six million
sets of wind chimes, and the sight of thousands of gift shoppes sellling
the same t-shirt. Even visiting the incredible chapel carved
magnificently into the side of one of the red rocks did nothing to
heighten our spirituality. The only aspect of our chapel visit that
excited us was the fact that from that lofty perch, we could clearly see
Picazzo's parking lot.
The Power of Great Pizza is stronger than any vortex.
Then it was off to the Grand Canyon.
The
Grand Canyon, so named because it is grand and it is a canyon, is
probably the most frequently and poorly photographed landscape in the
world. I offer the photograph above as proof. I took over 100
photographs of the Grand Canyon on the day we visited it, and, sadly,
the shot above was easily the best of the lot. You see, it turns out
that the Grand Canyon is too grand for the average person to photograph.
We would have been better served if the Disney team or whoever created
this masterpiece had decided to make it a Pretty Big Canyon or a Fairly
Sizable Canyon, or even a Little Bigger than Average Canyon. The
pictures would have been much better. To get really great pictures of
this place, you have to hike a mile down a steep, narrow, rocky trail,
down to the mighty Colorado, and then shoot looking UP the walls of the
canyon. Now that's a photo worth looking at. I tried talking Nancy into
doing that, even instructing her on how my camera worked (You push this
one button.) while I waited up top and cheered her on, but she would
have none of that. Like most people, she preferred mediocre photos and
life to great photos and death or severe maiming.
So there you have it. A wonderful week in Arizona.
Oh, and did I mention the pizza?
Next stop, Michigan.
Ain't life grand?
J
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