Utah and Arizona, USA

The desert... what did I expect from the desert? I pictured vast, weary sands... legionnaires étrangeres falling out of column to die one by one... Clint Eastwood crawling through the dust, followed by a laughing Mexican, in a big hat, of course. Endless, parched emptiness.

The reality is very different. The deserts of the American Southwest are astonishing. I hadn't thought about this part of the trip at all. I had signed on for the Rocky mountains, and the great forests. But mountains and forests you can get anywhere. Utah and Arizona are unique. The severe sandstone cliffs, blood-red and parchment-yellow, cut by perfect green lines of fledspar; the distant monoliths, plateaus, mesas, lifted up like the graveslabs of ancient titans; the perfect finality of a cloudless desert sunset. Utah was an unexpected treasure, a hidden jewel I found by accident on the path.

The Team

My companions on the Trek: there were ten of us on the bus. Steve, the driver, had to drive, make all the plans, look after us, and, after a full summer of treks, be enthusiastic about it all. But being blessed with that very American optimism, he was positive about every day. Every passenger was from a different country, so now there was no English or Irish or German sub-group to dominate the trip, as I had seen before.

There was Sue, the daredevil Aussie, who had to eat twenty times a day to maintain her frenetic pace; Larraine the down to earth, hard drinking, "sweet-as" Kiwi; Ian, the careful Englishman with an entertaining fear of cats, squeaking like a cornered mouse every time one came near; Sabine, a talented young German artist who hooted like a ferry boat when provoked, and stared at me like I was a dead halibut every time I made a joke.

Stefan was a quiet Swiss rock-monkey; Arjan, a quiet Dutchman, on what I took to be his first camping trip, from the way he carried his sandwiches on the hike in a plastic supermarket bag; Hiromi, a Japanese snowboard fanatic, determined to take pictures - both still and motion - of every rock, shrub, guppy or bodily part that crossed her path; and finally Roberto, our up-for-anything Taiwanese student who plunged into every task with a blood-curdling Aiieeeeee! and always finished quietly by smiling and saying, "hmmm, nice".

Moab, Utah

Moab is a renowned base for mountain biking. Now I've never really done this before. I've cycled, of course, since I was seven, but never like this: racing out of control, downhill, over spiky rock and sand and dust, saddle up the gusset spanner, death grip on the back brake, oh shit oh shit oh shit I'm dead! dead! shit shit Look out!

It was enormous fun. The bike men dropped us at the top of the twenty mile long downhill trail, and followed behind, trying to conceal their laughter as we careened, slithered, crashed and swore our way down. The land around us could not be more dramatic: we wound through giant slabs and walls of sandstone and over great red ravines, all crimson dust under a perfect violet sky. Halfway we stopped, at the Gemini Bridges, twin natural sandstone bridges slung idly over a hundred meter drop into a canyon below. We poised at the edge, teetering on shaking knees, and then it was more rock slabs and sandstone towers, blood red dust - blood? - spiky rock and sand and dust!, oh shit oh shit oh shit I'm dead! dead! oh shit! all the way down.

Arches National Park

The Arches park can't help itself. It impresses, it staggers, even though you know in advance what you're going to see. Ochre sandstone arches in the sunset, green rock seams in red, the savage natural drama in the compelling evening shadows, the left over lego pieces of God. Even though you know it will be full of other tourists wandering around in droves, heads tilted back, mouths open in a round 'O'like greedy carp at feeding time, for all that you are impressed, you are staggered by the majesty of the rock.

We went to Delicate Arch, a forty minute uphill hike to an perfect sine curve in rock standing in stark yellow on a stone hill. We went at sundown, to see the arch in side-light. Just in case we felt the slightest bit jaded after so much natural wonder, nature chipped in with a bonus thunderstorm, a crashing desert downpour and lightning that arched and cracked across the primal hills. I timed the bursts as we ran - perfect targets - over the bare hilltops: "Three kilometers! Two! Two klicks! One - oh shit - 800 meters - oh bugger this - run!" And we sprinted through the rain, soaking, electric, laughing, all the way home though God's own Lego set, NOW with real working lights.

Mesa Verde

Mesa verde is a massive series of plateaux, once the home to a great ancient civilization of cliff dwelling indians. These ancestral Pueblans carved homes out of the stuff of the mountains themselves, approachable only by finger and toe holds carved into the side of the cliffs, and after a short time, disappeared from the area. Our Ranger speculated on where they may have gone. Did war or famine strike? Did they migrate to become the modern Hopi and Zuni?

He musn't have tried the finger and hold cliff-climbing idea on a windy day. Just how long could a civilisation last when every day you looked out the window, it was whoops, there goes the Running Deer family, hurtling to their doom past your cliff-cave, and oh, they've knocked off Mr Wolf and that nice Mrs Leaping Buffalo, climbing below them. Bugger this cliff lark, let's try living in Rattlesnake Swamp...

Navajo Reservation and Monument Valley

We had passed through several Indian Reservations on our tour of the west. Each was founded on desolate, infertile and unproductive land. The treaties had left them nothing but dust and stone to eat, but now they had scenery that they can market today, to tourists who pay to camp on the reservation. If the White people left no game for them to hunt, they would have their revenge... by leaving no water in the shower.

It's an Indian, spiritual experience, standing naked, alone with your mortality, stripped of all... material things.... in front of the shower unit into which you just deposited your only four quarters, waiting, and waiting... saluting passing strangers, "See you on the way back", looking at the dry dusty cracks in the wall, give it for another ten minutes, just in case...

We went horse-back riding, following a Navajo guide through Monument Valley, a stark red plain cut through huge spires and bergs of solid rock. Each had a sober English name like Mason's Plateau, and a more shrewd Navajo alternative: "John Wayne on a toilet". I had only been on a horse once before, and agreed to go this time because, well, what other way could you ride the range? After two hours of being bounced majestically around like a royal sack of spuds on my noble tailbone, I can tell you, next time I'll walk. It'd be quicker, easier on the inside of the legs, and you wouldn't have an indian on a donkey cantering after you, whooping your horse on faster and making jokey references about your manly horsemanship to other passing guides.

Grand Canyon

The Grand Canyon is a mile deep, very cold at the top, but much warmer in the gorge far below. The rim is sprinkled with warning signs: "AT NO TIMES ATTEMPT TO HIKE FROM THE RIM TO THE FLOOR AND BACK IN THE SAME DAY! YOU WILL DIE!"

Of course when you see a sign like that, you have to go for it. Four of us would make the attempt. Swiss rock monkey Stefan, the stout Ian, and unpredictable loonie-tune Roberto. We took the signs seriously enough to pack full weather gear and double rations of food and water, and set off at 7.10 am down the Kaibab Trail. There were a few others on the way down, packing overnight equipment so that they wouldn't have to come back up the same day (for they might die!).

We wasted no time, and I set a double pace all the way down. It was a race against time! If we weren't coming back up before the full heat of the day at 12pm... The multi-levelled gorge was splendid in the dawn light, the many layers of raw stone showing depth and contrast in the side-light. We stopped for quick photos - but no dallying! The race against time!

The Struggle Against Death

We reached the bottom at 9.20am, but we knew that was the easy bit, only six miles out of fourteen with all the climbing to do! The air was thicker and warmer here. We admired the river as we walked alongside it, but - got to get on. We refreshed our water bottles at the campsite, wet our hair and hats, and were in a postion to start the climb at 10.30am. One hour before the heat began. The struggle against death in earnest!

We moved up the Bright Angel Trail, pushing now to gain as much height as we could before the heat forced us to take cover. Press on, press on! I was in the lead, and enjoying the climb. Every so often I looked back at the rest of the team, but noone flagged. I saw nothing but determination to push on... against the foe, the mountain! We were a team of commandos, locked together in a fight for survival!

And then... voices? We turned a corner, and there were people! Large people! American tourists?? On mules??! We had climbed so fast we were up to the tourist point! The Six Mile water station.. and it was only 11am! What about... our fight... death... warning signs..? The realisation dawned... we could have taken our time... stopped at the bottom... Oh well. It had been a fantastic hike up to that point. The trail was still great on the way up, but the further we went, the more people, tourists we encountered, and the larger they became, until the end, which was like a mass breakout from the health farm. We felt like mountain leopards among hippos! We had defied death! But noone knew. No banners on the finish line, at 1.45pm.

On the other hand, there was ice cream. Which is what a leopard really needs, after a long morning's hunt.

Lake Powell

After freezing solid at the Grand Canyon campground, we were ready for a night in a motel, and the simple pleasures of Lake Powell. This is a gigantic reservoir of azure water set in frowning sandstone cliffs, rust red on clear blue. The simple pleasures of boating, the beach... who let Roberto drive??!!!

The wild eyed Taiwanese fiend started on our boat, but when it came time to change pilots Arjan and I exchanged a knowing glance: "I know, wouldn't it be fun if we swapped some people around! Hey Roberto, why dontya go on Steve's boat!" What fun! What fun for our boat as Steve's boat went careering past a minute later a full throttle, everyone holding on for dear life as Roberto cackled at the helm, "Aiiieeeeeeeee.....nice nice nice!!"

Bryce

Our campsite cooking had evolved from simple and nourishing one hob meals to extravagant feasts as each team was determined not be outdone by the others. Of course, Hiromi, Arjan and myself destroyed the pretenders with our series of potato-based suprises. Some pseudo-sophisticate dared mention some fashionable novelty such as "rice" or "pasta". I pointed out that that sort of thing may be all very well in bongo-bongo land but outdoor pioneers such as we needed proper tucker, based around meat and potoatoes, boiled to an inert state of matter, and that was that.

Bryce Canyon is a collection of towers, steeples and tunnels washed into the soft yellow sandstone by wind and rain. It glows in the sun like heaps of lost gold. Everyone who visits is forced into metaphor overload as they search for ways of describing it. Sue suggested it looked like a big... big... castle with battlements and everything, indicating that they don't go into poetic nonsense down in Oz.

It seemed to me that the lost souls of hell were reaching up through a primal golden ooze to send their last scream of penitence toward heaven before being petrified in eternal lamentation... but decided that Oz practicality might think me a fairy, and said instead that it looked like nature's biggest spitball collection.

I wondered if after a hundred years more natural attrition it might become nature's biggest yellow sludge pit. Who knows.

Zion

Our final hike was in Zion National Park, an area of soaring sandstone cliffs, the highest in the world. We wandered up Angel's Landing, a 500m sandstone monolith that rose like a defiant fist from the valley floor. We pulled ourselves up by chains from the knife edged snake path to reach our final summit. We dangled our feet over the edge at the top and stared straight down the cliffs. All around the weathered red and yellow rock looked like confectionery. I had to resist the impulse to jump across the mile wide gap and break a piece off for a quick snack.

Skies above Utah

What was there to expect from Utah? All I had known was that this was the land of the mormons, and Indians in the south. A land of religion and spirituality. Having seen it, I'm not suprised. The land lifts you. It has power, depth to humble the greatest will, and then lift you, following the vast fingers of stone, up, up to the vast enveloping sky, blue and purple, and dark within a thousand stars, and wonder what might lie beyond.

City break New York

Autumn in New York:
many beautiful days
and bright fall colors

Spring and fall are the best seasons to visit New York City, because then it's most obvious how green large parts of the city are. New York is not just a metropolis with high rises, it is also a city with space for walking or bicycling. In this travelogue we explore Riverside Park along the Hudson River, Central Park, the Upper West Side of Manhattan and a small part of Brooklyn. Exploring the city, you notice its diversity, if only because of the different kinds of food sold in supermarkets.

Riverside Park

On the weekends, New Yorkers bicycle along the Hudson

After many years the bike path, which eventually is supposed to go all the way around Manhattan island, is almost ready on the west side, where the Hudson flows. We walk north from Midtown.

The city looks different from the edge; looking east, you see the Empire State Building, which is the tallest building again since the attack on the Twin Towers. Looking west, you see New Jersey and the beautiful George Washington Bridge to the north.

Just when you have decided that New Jersey is too ugly for words, you are far enough north to change your mind: at some point, the buildings stop and there is a view of the Palissades, a park situated on high cliffs above the river.

But before you get there, your attention will be completely drawn to the part of the park that was just finished: a former railyard where cargo used to be transferred from boats to trains and vice versa.

Behind the park are many extremely ugly and expensive apartment buildings, built over the last five or so years by Donald Trump (who else?). But the good news is that the city of New York required him to pay for this railroad-themed park, designed by the Dutch landscape architect Piet Oudolf, who also designed Battery Park and who is involved in the design of a new park on the former elevated railway between 12^th and 34^th streets, the so-called High Line.

Back to Riverside Park: the part where we are now, is an industrial landmark, integrated in the design of the park in a creative and very esthetic way. For starters: the plants are mainly decorative grass species, which fit the railway embankment character of the place..

There are rusting towers and steel constructions in the river; the contours of a former, dismantled pier are indicated by metal walkways (in this part you are not allowed to bicycle), combined with some remains of the original pier, which makes it look like an archeological site.

Farther north there are two options: stay on the path along the Hudson, or climb a little to an older and beautifully planted park, which is partly maintained by people from this neighborhood. The leaves on the trees have the most incredible colors in this season: red, orange and yellow.

On a beautiful day, like today, it's wonderful to walk along the river. New York has a kind of mediterranean climate. This means that even in October and November it can still be warm and sunny. A New York friend even told me that he walked around in shorts on one New Year's Eve!

Many New Yorkers use this path on the weekends to go bicycling. Biking is more recreation than transportation here and this is noticable. New York bicyclist have no clue about traffic rules (probably no clue that there are such things for bikers) and often are too clumsy to get out of the way in time. Still, it's fun to watch all those people bicycle, run and skate in their little free time.

Still farther north, above 100^th street, it gets quieter. At 131^st Street is Fairway, a gigantic supermarket underneath an elevated highway and the best place in town for fresh vegetables and fruit: other supermarkets often have old and dry stuff which is still expensive.

Nevertheless it's interesting to walk into a supermarket to see what they carry. This often mirrors the neighborhood you're in: in the poorer districts supermarkets hardly offer vegetables and fruit, in wealthy neighborhoods like the Upper West Side (where I am staying with a friend) the aisles are overloaded with delicacies.

When we reach Fairway, a pleasant surprise awaits us: the last missing part of the bike/foot path is ready. Instead of Fairway's parking lot, there is a nice little park, where you can sit in the sun after shopping there.

Still farhter north is Washington Heights, an immigrant district with mainly Central and South American inhabitants. People play soccer here in the many fields along the river that are reserved for sports, in contrast with the areas to the south, where baseball is played.

Everywhere there are subtle and not so subtle indications of the surrounding cultures: in this part of the park, people have outdoor barbecues accompanied by pleasant Latin-American music.

And then we arrive at the George Washington Bridge, the final destination of this walk. If you hadn't noticed before, you'll see here how huge everything is in this city. Despite its elegance, the bridge is a behemoth.

The George Washington Bridge is an iron suspension bridge which connects Manhattan with New Yersey. It is one of the busiest bridges in the world, which is not surprising if you know that it's the only bridge on the west side of the city. There are two tunnels to New Jersey as well, but these are much farther south.

On the way back we take Broadway, the main artery that runs from downtown all the way up to the Bronx, over 20 kilometers long. The numbers go into the thousands. It's a busy street in terms of traffic, three lanes in both directions with a planted strip in the middle.

But Broadway is also an interesting street with stores of all kinds and sizes, Columbia University, one of the most famous universities of America, many restaurants (among which Tom's Restaurant on Broadway and 112^th Street, a location on the famous comedy series Seinfeld), stalls with second-hand books, home-made jewelry and clothes.

And of course there are - like everywhere in New York - homeless people who politely ask for money. Even though it's impossible to always give, it's good to keep in mind that these are people who often still had jobs a few months ago.

This country hardly has a social safety net: lose your job and you'll lose your home as well within two months or so, because you won't be able to pay the rent or the mortgage. You will also meet many Vietnam veterans who are begging, the government doesn't really take care of them either.

Central Park

In the middle of this crazy city, you feel as if you're in the country

It's a beautiful day again and I have to run an errand on the Upper East Side; a wonderful excuse for a walk in Central Park. This amazing landscape park was was layed out in the nineteenth century between 60^th and 110^th streets, exactly at the center of the island, almost like a barrier between the east and west sides.

The Upper East Side is traditionally the territory of the WASPs, rich White Anglo-Saxon Protestants, an elite that boasts "old money". And indeed, there is an atmosphere of entitlement. But that is generously compensated for by beautiful townhouses and the abundance of quiet, compared to the Upper West Side, if you don't count the posh shopping street Madison Avenue and the part of Fifth Avenue that is also known as "museum mile", where most of the important museums are, among which the Metropolitan Museum and the world-famous Guggenheim Museum.

Central Park is a miracle: in the middle of this crazy city you really feel as if you're in the country, even though the skyline is visible in the background almost everywhere. There are huge meadows and on sunny days there are always people reading, sunbathing or listening to music.

On weekends most of Central Park is closed for traffic and the asphalt roads are taken over by bikers and skaters. There also are dozens of sports fields which are mostly used to play baseball.

Many people don't realize that Manhattan is a very hilly island. Lots of hills were levelled for buildings and streets. But those in Central Park were kept (and some new ones were added), which makes the park look even bigger than it is.

The Ramble is a spledid little forest in the park, with steep hills, brooks and even rapids. It also is a cruising zone for gentlemen looking for casual sex with other gentlemen. Apparently this is handled discretely, because in all those years that I have been visiting New York, I have never seen anything interesting going on here.

But it's October and the most wonderful and astonishing aspect of a walk in the park are the trees with their autumn colors, which are so bright here they almost seem to emanate light. New Yorkers probably will call me crazy, but I am still happy as a child that there are so many squirrels in the park.

They're large and grey, with big silver-colored plume tails. They're not exactly shy, but they're not tame either. Be careful not to get bitten if you feed them (which is completely unnecessary, there is enough food for them in the park).

Upper West Side

Thanks to the projects poor people are still living here

Back on the West Side, at 97th Street (those numbers are so convenient, you always know exactly in which part of the city an address is), I wander on Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues for a while. You can observe a typical New York phenomenon here: rich and poor often live at close proximity, but the poor remain almost invisible.

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On parts of both avenues are so-called projects. At first sight, they are just ugly and uniform buildings for people who don't exactly swim in their money.

The projects were built for poor people, the ones who make your hamburgers in fast-food restaurants or who sit at the cash registers in supermarkets.

Many New Yorkers (and Americans in general) are afraid of the poor and avoid the projects. I think it's ridiculous and have never minded the advice to stay away from some neighborhoods. This has given me the opportunity to get to know some wonderful districts: Washington Heights, a poor, dominantly Latin-American neigborhood and black Harlem. I have lived in both areas and only have wonderful memories of those times.

What you should do in any case is shopping and looking around on 125^th Street, the main shopping street of Harlem. Here you will also find the famous Apollo Theatre, where all the great names in jazz and soul used to perform. At the west end of this street, near the Hudson River, you'll find the Cotton Club, a world-famous jazz club.

On the evening of the historical presidential elections in 2008, when America elected its first African-American president, 125^th Street burst out in a spontaneous party, the like of which I've never seen before in my life. The huge crowd was young, remarkably multicultural and ethnically diverse, and completely happy. Strangers were hugging each other and a group of white college students had brought a life-sized, cardboard Obama: people were lining up to have their pictures taken with "Obama". I've never seen so many happy people in one night.

Back to Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues: the farther south you get, the more restaurants and fancy stores you see. It's a process that is called gentrification here: first students and artists, people with education but no money settle in a poor neighborhood.

They get older, find well-paid jobs and eventually have families; the character of the neighborhood changes and better and more expensive stores open there, restaurants, gyms and everything the spoiled middle-class New Yorker wants. As the rents and real estate prices rise, the poor are driven from their apartments, which they no longer can afford. Except for those who live in projects.

It's worthwhile to walk north on Amsterdam Avenue to 110^th Street, where the never completed Cathedral of St. John the Divine is located, a beautiful Gothic Revival building. Unfortunately there was a fire some years ago, but since the rededication end 2008 its restored tapestries and huge rose window can be admired again.

The garden south of the cathedral has a complicated bronze sculpture, the so-called Peace Fountain. Around it you find dozens of small bronze sculptures made by elementary school kids. Those are often prettier and more interesting.

Opposite the cathedral is the Hungarian Pastry Shop, a very pleasant place to sit down and have coffee and a delicious croissant. Or cake, they're supposed to be excellent, but not for me.

Take 110^th Street back to Broadway and you're back in the world of luxury. On the north and south corners of the intersection at Broadway are two extremely expensive, posh supermarkets, competing for customers. Still, this part of Broadway is not completely gentrified. Between the restaurants and luxury stores you can still find small workshops that have held out so far.

On the corner of 110^th Street and Broadway is a subway stop where you can take the #1 train, which crosses Manhattan from the farthest south to the northern end and even further, into the Bronx, one of the five boroughs of New York City.

Brooklyn

A collection of villages which form a real city

This borough probably has more reminders of the period when New York was Dutch and called "New Amsterdam" than any other in the city: its name, Brooklyn, is derived from the Dutch town of Breukelen. All over this huge borough you can find Dutch street names. Neigboring Queens has a district called Flushing, derived from the Dutch town of Vlissingen.

Socially and culturally speaking, Brooklyn is a collection of villages which form a real city together. Most buildings are lower than those in Manhattan, only three floors and often a steep stone "stoop" (derived from the Dutch word for both sidewalk and stairs to the main entrance of a house). They often they have gardens both in the front and in the back.

I am visiting a friend who lives in Crown Heights, on the border of Bedford-Stuyvesant. Crown Heights has a sad history of conflict between different ethnic groups.

It has a large Hassidic (strict orthodox-Jewish sect) community and also a sizable black community. When in the 1990s a Hassidic Jew ran over a black kid by accident, there were riots that lasted for days and a young Jewish Yeshivah (Talmud academy) student was stabbed to death.

My friend Amy lives in a street with mostly Caribbean immigrants, many from Jamaica and Barbados. It is a poor, but lively neighborhood. In the summer, most people sit outside on their "stoops" and there is a sense of community, because people know each other and often talk. Amy tells me that her neighbor from Barbados brings her a bowl of delicious food every Friday.

If you are in Bedford-Stuyvesant, it's worthwhile to visit Fulton Street; not for its beauty, but for its interesting stores from all over the world. Take the A or C train from Manhattan and get off at one of the many stops on Fulton Street.

There is a butcher from Bangla Desh, there are clothes stores that specialize in black urban fashion (oversized pants and T-shirts and of course lots of bling), Jamaican restaurants, 99-cents stores (which carry an incredibly large and varied selection of merchandise for almost no money at all) and many churches in all possible flavors.

North of Fulton Street, walking east, you'll find a beautiful residential area with many well-preserved and restored brownstones in tree-lined streets. It's green and quiet here and you can find surprisingly fun places to have coffee or lunch. If you're looking for signs of Dutch history, maybe you'll find Van Buren Street.

The Village

Even people in the crowd are dressed up to watch the parade

On the way back from Fulton Street, get off the subway at 8^th Avenue and 14^th Street: you're in The Village, where the annual Halloween Parade takes place on October 31. It's a definite "must see", even if only once in your life. Ignore the huge crowds and the nervously bitching cops.

This year, there are stilt-walkers and -dancers in the first part of the parade and people with larger than life-size puppets (about 4 meters tall) which are tied to their bodies and each have at least four sticks to make the puppets move. This time, they look like ghosts: huge white sheets with pictures of faces as heads which are illuminated from inside. They are followed by a masked orchestra that plays stirring dance music.

The next group is Mexican inspired: they carry shadow puppets portraying skeletons which sometimes are dressed in brightly colored clothes. It's less than a week before the presidential elections and in the crowd I can see a John McCain and a Sarah Palin, both with swords stuck through their bodies. The crowd cheers.

Many people who came to watch apparently also came to be seen. All efforts have been made to look as scary as possible: real-looking fake wounds, devils, demons and witches. The Oscar goes to a couple who impersonate the monster of Frankenstein and his bride; it looks as if they must have spent hours on their make up and clothes.

Of course there are also transvestites, but less than I expected. This is The Village after all, for decades the gay and lesbian capital of the American East Coast. Nowadays the scene has moved to Chelsea, the neighborhood north of The Village. A very pretty neighborhood too, but a little more middle class.