Click on any picture to see a larger version.
If Sedona, Arizona were a dish served at a fine restaurant, the recipe
might look something like this: Spread ten kilograms of splendid red
rock scenery onto a large high plateau. Sprinkle with two
kilograms of trees. Fold in three kilograms of sprawling real estate
development (note: increase this quantity significantly each time you
prepare this recipe). Combine one kilogram each of private luxury
resorts and motels, 500 grams of schlocky tourist shopping, 250 grams of
vacation time-share hucksters, and 600 grams of severe traffic
congestion; add haphazardly to mixture. Carefully stir in 200 grams of
mixed New Age spiritual practitioners. Festoon with hiking trails around
rock formations. Cover with a flawless blue sky and billowing white
clouds. Bake under the Arizona sun until golden. Serves one family or
one couple.
As this “recipe” suggests, Sedona offers plenty for both the romantic
and the cynic to enjoy. It’s set 1,310 meters high on the Mogollon Rim
of northern Arizona, 200 kilometers north of Phoenix (the nearest major
airline gateway) and 44 kilometers south of Flagstaff (the nearest stop on
Amtrak’s Southwest Chief). The abundant beauty of the red rocks
has earned Sedona a place on the “Top Destination” lists of travel
publications around the world. But that creates an unfortunate paradox.
The metastasizing sprawl of housing tracts, strip malls, tourists,
traffic, and hawkers touting vacation time-shares threatens to destroy
what makes Sedona special.
The high altitude provides a milder climate than the sunburned deserts
of southern Arizona; but it’s still dry, warm, and sunny most of the
year. The climate and the scenery make Sedona a coveted location for
retirees. In 2003 the average age of Sedona’s 10,000 residents was 50.
Perhaps the Chamber of Commerce should adopt the slogan, “Sedona:
Where old age meets the New Age.” The bulldozers and the paving
machines relentlessly subdivide, stopping only when a big red rock gets
in the way. The newest roads lead to tracts of unbuilt lots, each marked
with a sign showing the names of the future occupants and the city and
state from whence they will emigrate.
The vast Coconino National Forest surrounds Sedona, confining the sprawl (at least for now). That makes it easy to escape the congestion and experience the scenic splendor close-up on an extensive network of trails for hiking and mountain biking. But getting close to nature in Coconino National Forest comes at a price. If you want to park your car near a trail, or anywhere in the forest, you’ll need to buy and display a Red Rock Pass or else face a stiff fine. The money goes directly to protecting and maintaining the forest and its trails, and provides the rangers with a third of their budget.
At almost any time of year the trails can get crowded with
vacationing families. (Though I doubt I was the only solo traveler in
Sedona, it sure felt like I was.) But enough trails cover enough area so
that it’s not hard to find some wide-open space to enjoy by yourself. If
that’s what you want, try just about any of the side streets off the
main highways. Unfortunately, the continuing proliferation of housing
tracts will make finding and getting to those trails increasingly
difficult.
Sedona’s scenery has attracted artists, artisans, and photographers to
set up their studios and galleries. I suspect they find the tourist
traffic— and all those new houses with empty walls— at least
as appealing as the scenery. Although artists sell their creations all
over Sedona, Tlaquepaque puts them together in— dare I say it?— an
artistic setting of its own. Inspired by and named for an arts and
crafts marketplace in Guadalajara, Mexico, its plazas and arcades offer
a pleasant escape from the midday sun. But beware of Tlaquepaque’s
“artistic” driveways. They’re paved with protruding irregular stones
that make finding a parking space a bone-jarring ordeal.
The same qualities that make Sedona a lodestone for retirees,
tourists, and artists have also drawn the full spectrum of New Age
practitioners. You can find psychics, mystics, channelers, shamans, and
everything in between. There are reputedly over 175 New Age businesses
in Sedona, from holistic crystal healers and aura readers to shamanist
spiritual guides who can teach you to shape-shift into your animal
spirit while they cleanse your chakras. The various New Agers differ in
the specifics of their beliefs and methods, but all agree that Sedona is
a place of powerful energies.
New Agers have identified a number of locations around Sedona as
vortexes that concentrate particular types of Earth’s mystical
energy. Some liken them to the planet’s acupuncture points. Doing a
prescribed ritual or meditation at an appropriate vortex is supposed to
energize the soul and benefit a range of physical, mental, and spiritual
afflictions. The designation of specific vortexes— New Agers seem to
prefer that spelling over vortices— and their associated
energies varies among practitioners. But most concur that Bell Rock,
just south of Sedona proper, is an especially powerful vortex that
shoots concentrated pure energy up into the universe.
While exploring Sedona I visited many of the vortexes. I can’t say I
felt anything special, experienced anything “spiritual,” found answers
to my life’s perplexing questions, or was healed of any afflictions.
Perhaps that was because my spiritual practices there focused on the art
and craft of photography. The closest I got to psychic readings were
divinations of histograms on my then-new digital camera. But I
should mention that my joints and muscles weathered unaccustomed amounts
of hiking without complaint while I was in Sedona, and I never once
tripped or twisted an ankle. That’s rather remarkable for me, a
life-long klutz, but it’s certainly nothing mystical or supernatural. It
may be more than a coincidence that vortexes usually are beautiful places.
That in itself is bound to have a salutary effect on anyone who visits
them.
As if to balance the New Age activities and the intrusion of sprawl into Sedona’s scenery, the Chapel of the Holy Cross artfully harmonizes with nature’s beauty and appeals to a more traditional spirituality. It’s built into a red rock 61 meters high, designed around a cross that seems to spring from a cleft in the rock.
The chapel owes its existence to Marguerite Brunswig Staude, a sculptor, pharmacy heiress, philanthropist, and devout Catholic. In 1932, when she first saw the new Empire State Building in New York,
she had a vision of a skyscraper church with a giant cross soaring into
heaven. When the concept proved unworkable,
she abandoned it until her dying mother asked her to build that church
as a “living spiritual trust.” Sedona provided the ideal location to
realize the vision in a practical form. The chapel was dedicated in 1957.
Getting to the chapel requires a drive up a steep winding road to a
parking area, and then a walk along a steep winding path. At the top you
can pause and enjoy a view of Courthouse Butte, Bell Rock, and the
surrounding forest.
Looking the other way, you’ll see a set of red rock formations that
Staude’s religious imagination saw as the Madonna with the infant Jesus,
surrounded by praying nuns. Those rocks confirmed that she had found the
right place. The building proved too small to serve as Sedona’s parish
church, so it was left as a chapel open to visitors and pilgrims. Inside
the chapel, the faithful can kneel in prayer or light votive candles.
Others can enjoy the tranquility and the view through the window. Late
afternoon is probably the best time to visit. Sunset illuminates the red
rocks with an extra golden glow, providing a fitting end to a day in
Sedona.
| Some Places Near Sedona |
| Places page | Virtual Light Table Home |