Exploring bridges: burning them, building them, and what it all means.

I literally took a trip down memory lane the other day. I was asked to drop a file off at a building across from where I lived when I first moved to the city. At first, the thought of going there filled me with absolute dread – it had been a really weird time in my life when I lived in a grim, box-sized room. I had been overwhelemed by the city, threatened to be swallowed whole by the dirt and the noise; overstimulated but also lonely. I was young, with no coping mechanisms in place – it is not a time I remember fondly.

I saw the pub on the corner, the familiar trees on either side of the road. I walked slowly down the street, expecting that feeling of dread to fill and suffocate me. What happened next was weird – it didn’t happen at all. The large Georgian building made me feel next to nothing. I was merely an observer, and it was merely a building. I realised I’d given it so much power in my mind, only to realise it was just bricks and concrete.

It seemed that perhaps without the shadowing of subjective memory, all these bad times that I hold in the back of my mind with near reverence were the same, just times. Would it be the same for some of the other periods in my life? The flat in Greece we were burgled in, the inner-city hospital that saw my first big loss? The school I struggled to fit into? Have I been carrying all these bad memories, cards tightly held against my chest, for nothing?

As a third culture kid (TCK), I’ve become used to leaving places and likely never going back, leaving people and likely never seeing them again. It’s my modus operandi, my protection; never looking back was something I thought was beneficial. The other day made me realise, however, that sometimes going back is good. Sometimes confronting the skeletons in your closet, or the places that saw your perceived worst, can be beneficial in order to truly move forward. Sometimes, on closer inspection, they don’t actually look like skeletons at all.

London Rooftops: Peckham

One lazy sunny Sunday afternoon I needed something fun to do in the sun, but more than that I needed somewhere fun to eat. It’d been a weird week, one of stress at work and weird city humidity despite otherwise cloudy weather. Sometimes a gal’s just gotta treat herself after a hard Sunday morning doing some life admin!

So we found ourselves headed (after a moment of indecision about just going somewhere we know instead) to nearby Peckham, where two neighbouring buildings are head-to-head in the best rootop stakes.

#1: Frank’s Cafe, London

Offering the least-obstructed view of the city from the perfect vantage point of southeast London, Frank’s is an informal bar set atop the repurposed Peckham Multi-Storey carpark. It’s been an ever-popular evening spot, but now modern art installations combined with potentially the best views of London make the photo-worthy pink staircase (so many stairs…!) worth it.

We came here around lunchtime on a Sunday, which ended up being super quiet but great to explore the installations up top.

The drinks weren’t too pricey (around £7 for a cocktail) considering the view, we had so much fun perusing the skyline and testing our knowledge of the names of every individual building. This place seemed like it would get pretty busy later in the evening, but was pretty chilled at midday.


From here, we saw a neighbouring building with a similar rooftop bar so we went to check it out.


#2: Bussey Building Rooftop

We’re used to our local Brixton, Peckham’s more gentrified neighbour, so this was a nice chance to explore a similar-feeling area without all the added ‘jazz’. Peckham is more raw, less pretty and more attitude.

Up more steps we climbed, to the top of the Bussey Building where a cool oasis lay. Here was music (which sounded like one of my own playlists…) and a colour-block pop of fun. The drinks were slightly more pricey than Frank’s at around £8 for a cocktail (£5.50 for a glass of prosecco), and of course being behind Frank’s it does have a slightly more obstructed view. The vibe here was awesome though, really fun and summery. There was a food stall as well that served the BEST (but messiest) burgers I’ve ever had. 10/10 for fun

I’d recommend going to both to see which floats your boat more, but I get the feeling Frank’s is great for a night with a group of friends and Bussey would be my prefered place for a fun date night 🤗

The Hidden Mews of London

Fitzrovia, in west central London, is the quiet area hidden between Oxford Street and Regent’s Park. If upmarket Chelsea was a flamboyant socialite, then Fitzrovia would be the bookish cousin. Quietly grand buildings line quiet streets (including the famous Harley Street), and off it can be found a number of quiet mews. These are small streets, or courtyards that used to function as rows of stables with living quarters sitting above. Nowadays, these historical remnants have been refurbished and remodelled into unimaginably pricey townhouses, painted all the pastel colours you can dream of. I love strolling down these beautiful side streets, they both shelter from the hum and heartbeat of the city, yet instead of an escape, take you closer to the heart of it all.

Spare half an hour next time you’re in central London and find these gorgeous spots for yourself!

Spotlight: Katharina Grosse @ Gagosian Gallery, London

There is a gallery space hidden down Britannia street near King’s Cross station (so near, in fact, there is no excuse not to go). It opens up into a maze of compact but seemingly vast expanses of pure white walls interspersed with swathes of natural light. I’ve been to galleries before, but this was on another level of pristine purity.

Katharina Grosse is a German-born artist whose work involves paint, stencils and negative space to produce striking, geometric pieces.

In ‘Prototypes of Imagination’, Grosse reveals the ways in which painting catalyzes the unfolding of multiple dimensions on a single surface

– Gagosian exhibition pamphlet

One almost falls into the first installation, the small antechamber of the entrance hall opening up to the largest room with no warning, no ceremony. The largest piece was canvas hanging from the ceiling, almost like a waterfall. One could peek behind it as there was no wall directly behind it, which added to the drama and impact on arrival.


In the adjoining rooms, huge individual canvases dwarfed the viewer. I felt truly moved by the scale of these pieces, the energy and emotion that weaved its way through the collection. Some pieces were hard, jagged, abrupt with pointy, straight lines. Some had colours flowing around areas of negative space.

There is no boundary between reality and imagination. To imagine is to realize. My pictures are prototypes of this recognition; they try out – and dramatically compress – the characteristics of reality. I build prototypes of the imagination so they can be reenacted and applied to other fields of endeavour

– Katharina Grosse


One piece (not pictured), brought up feelings of dread from afar with brutal lines and use of grey. On closer inspection, one saw the lichen-like dabbing of acrylic, that the grey was actually a silver sheen, and that up close it behaved completely differently.


If this collection explores imagination, then it inspires as much as it has been inspired. All the pieces were unnamed, unadorned, unexplained. Part of me struggled with this, I needed to know why that drip was there, what that shape meant. What did the artist feel in the exact moment of that brush stroke? Not being titled, though, seemed to almost be the title piece itself. Allow your imagination to be explored, each canvas said, and tell me what you think. I think in that lies the real genius of this collection.

Desert Dreaming: My Arid Landscape Bucket List (part two)

Check out part one of my favourite desert landscapes that I have, and hope to visit!

 

Arabian: Wadi Rum, Jordan

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Wadi Rum Tourism

Around two hours south of the famous ancient city of Petra is the Wadi Rum Protected Area. Moon Valley, a site within the conservation area, is so-called because of its remote and extreme conditions. The seemingly endless peaks and crags present plenty of inspiration for activities. Imagine hiking the same paths that Lawrence of Arabia did years ago?

I want to sleep beneath an endless sky in an authentic Bedouin Camp, and round off an enlightening trip with sand boarding and a camel safari. Wadi Rum looks like the quintessential desert experience.

Stay at: Wadi Rum Bedouin Camp


Atacama: San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

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I have always wanted to visit the Atacama – it is the world’s driest desert after all! No bucket list would be complete without some superlative, and the Atacama really seems to be one of the last uncharted places left.

When I go, I want to see flamingoes, vicunas (relation of the llama) salt pans, pastel-coloured hills, and miles of endless expanse. Due to the altitude and lack of pollution, star gazing will be the ideal nighttime activity – no effort required!

Stay at: Hotel Poblado Kimal


Sahara: Morocco, Northern Africa

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Of course, it’s the SAHARA, it has to be on this list. It was the first desert I learned about, and one that still carries so much intrigue to this day. The Sahara is one of the largest desers in the world, covering a large portion of Northern Africa, so provides a near endless selection of ways to enjoy the landscape. My dream thing to do in the Sahara? Stay at a real-life desert oasis by night and wonder the dunes by day.

Stay at: Riad Nomad


Sonoran: Phoenix, USA

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Of course no desert list would be complete without a real wild west backdrop – the saguaro cactus-lined Sonoran desert. Extending through Arizona to Northern Mexico (including the Baja California peninsula), the Sonoran desert has always been a dream destination for me. Unlike a lot of other deserts on this list, it is not completely desolate, but actually full of flora and small fauna. This is the place to hike all day, and camp in a secluded spot at night.

Stay at: The Wigwam Hotel if you don’t fancy a tent!


Viana: Boa Vista, Cape Verde

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A bit of a rogue and unexpected entry, but one that coveniently combines tropical sandy beaches and barren African desert in one handy trip. Off the coast of northwest Africa, a bit further afield than the Canary Islands lie the Cape Verde islands. Unspoiled scenery and an eclectic Creole-Portuguese-African culture make this a little gem, only around four hours’ flight from London. It’s like our own little Caribbean!

Stay at: Spinguera Eco Lodge

We Came for the Porter: Tour of a Brewery in Hackney, London

At Christmas we were bought tickets for a tour of our favourite local brewery, 5 Points Brewing Company in Hackney, London.

Located down a small cobbled street, under the Victorian arches of a train station is a relatively small and unassuming brewery. Conceived only five years ago, this relative newcomer solidified it’s place in our hearts a few years ago after a particularly memorable afternoon of IPA at an outdoor event at their London Fields warehouse. 5 Points are strongly community-oriented: their brewery uses 100% renewable resources, and is a living wage employer. It’s clear that sometimes in business, small is better.

The selection

The tour started with tasting a selection of 5 Points beers at shared long tables, while members of the team talked about the history and brewing process. This was great as we got a chance to get stuck in and avoid any long lecture-style talks!

The four light beers

First up was the pils, robust and dry. This was followed by various iterations of a pale ale: XPA, pale and IPA. The surprise favourite at this stage was the XPA, or extra pale ale. It was crisp and bright with a citrus flavour and grassy smell. The pale ale packed a bitter punch, and the IPA was a welcome burst of almost creaminess with an almost perfumed finish. It’s worth noting that all the beers are unfiltered and unpasteurized, which is really evident in the strong character of all the brews on offer.

The resident packaging expert talking through the merits of cans vs bottles

Last up were the two darker options, the brick field brown ale and the all-time best: the railway porter. Both had rich, creamy coffee and chocolate flavours but the latter is just dessert and alcohol all in one neat package.

Brown ale

Most suprising was the relative small size of the brewery, the main floor occupying only one or two railway arches. We were given tbe opportunity to walk through the process from beginning to packaging (cans are superior for preservation than bottles due to better blockage of beer-damaing UV rays), leaving me feeling like I could hold conversation with even the biggest beer buffs.

The brewing process, from start to finish

Included in our tickets was a ‘beer haul’, AKA a goodie bag of cans to take home and continue our beer education. Beer homework, if you will. Possibly the best part of the goodie bag was the bag itself, a gorgeous sturdy tote perfect for next weekend’s farmers’ market!

We left having made new friends with two older east London gents, and with an extra free beer ‘for the road’ (I prattled on and on about the porter so one of the tour facilitators opened a ‘spoiled’ bottle for the walk home). The staff were really passionate and knowledgable; promoting an almost dream lifestyle of working with friends, being paid to drink beer, creativity and fulfilment.

Where do we sign up?

Sudden Stranger

A week of winter hibernation

We were on leave this week, and a planned Berlin trip scuppered by Ryanair cancellations lead us to have the sweetest week off at home. Doing next to nothing, hanging out, laughing, eating and sleeping. Little did I know that that was exactly what I needed after a very stressful and exhausting few weeks. I have just started a more senior role, and my final MSc module has just begun. It’s safe to say that I have had a decent amount of things on my to-do list.

The Saturday before our week off was my husband’s birthday. Family dinner at Ceviche (one of our favourite restaurants – try the Lomo Saltado flame-grilled steak and Don Ceviche) was followed by drinks in a craft beer pub with friends. This, of course, ended with a rowdy late-night pizza session at Voodoo Ray’s Dalston.

Monday was his actual birthday, which brought us to St John Bread & Wine in Spitalfields after a lazy day at home; and a fabulous 4 plate sharing meal of smoked mackerel, ox heart & chips, butternut & pearl barley, and a beautiful lamb stew. We paired this with a dry (and strong!) crisp rosé.

St John Bread & Wine

Drinks at Black Rock Bar in Spitalfields never disappoints for whiskey fans. It was voted UK’s Best Specialist Bar 2017 in the Class Bar Awards, and this is definitely well deserved. The staff are always so knowledgeable, and they just do make the finest cocktails around.

Black Rock whiskey bar

Tuesday brought another cosy day in, followed by a Queens of the Stone Age gig at the O2 (this doesn’t sound like a very relaxing week so far, but I swear we did very little during the days!). They played a furiously tight and yet chaotic set, my favourites being ‘The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret’ and ‘Sick Sick Sick’. The sound was incredible, and even from our seats the heavy bass was deeper than anything I’d heard at a gig before.

QOTSA at the O2

Wednesday and Thursday were more home-based. I desperately needed to find time for some quiet so enjoyed having the TV off (once I’d finally finished Netflix’s Punisher), and listening to the birds out in the large oak tree in our garden. I tried a gym session but my body was telling me it needed rest, so I did more stretching-based movements instead.

Friday, we relished in another lazy lie-in, and a slow meal at a great local Pho place (apr and concisely named) Pho in Balham, South London. The spring and summer rolls (not pictured – eaten too quickly!) were fresh, tasty and just what we needed. The beef steak pho (look away vegetarians!) was so warming with plenty of five spice and star anise – of course I then add a good shot of sriracha to make things interesting! The lunch deal was fantastic, £20 for a two course meal for two.

Pho

We stopped in at Milk Cafe down the road for a relaxing post-lunch coffee. I was disappointed to find out their only milk alternative was soy, so opted for a black espresso instead. The vibe was great though, as was a cute little card served with our coffees explaining the flavour profile of the blend used.

Milk Cafe

Today was a day that felt lazy and like time wasted, but how often do people dream of an aimless lunch on a weekday, watching the world go by? We laughed and strolled and actually tasted the flavours of our food, more than I can say I’ve done in weeks.

Lazy Beach Days: Ibiza Weekend

June brought a long-awaited trip to Ibiza for the wedding of two friends. I arrived to our house at Vadella Pueblo past midnight on my own, my own husband having arrived earlier for the stag party. The 40minute taxi ride to the little bay where we were staying for the weekend, Cala Vadella (Vadella Cove), was stressful conducted in my half-Spanish. It included many dead ends and wrong turns, literally, not linguistically, as the driver spoke to me in fast Spanish. I went to bed after checking all the closets for hidden intruders by torchlight, glad to put the journey behind me.

Cala Vadella, Ibiza

I woke up to the steady hum of cicadas, alone in the silence of our whitewashsd house, and able to actually see it in the light of day. I pottered around, looking through each of the rooms in turn. When I had left my hunger long enough in the empty apartment, I prepared to venture out En Español.

Barely a breeze

Walking down the quiet street towards the beach of Cala Vadella, I marvelled at the Balearic houses sitting perfectly in place under a flaring hot sun – whitewashed with cactus-lined pools.

The view from our front door

The road to the bay veered sharply to the right at the edge of a cliff, then wound steeply downwards. Through a break in the trees the sapphire bay opened up dramatically in front of me, and though it may sound corny it did take my breath away.

Cala Vadella from above

My husband joined me, and we spent our first afternoon together on the sandy beach eating bocadillos de jamón at Vadella Beach Bar and drinking fabulously strong mojitos para llevar from Restaurante Cana Sofia.

Cala Vadella

Laziness and hunger took us from our beach loungers to Cana Sofia when the sun started setting, where we had a meal of freshly prepared tapas under the vines. We sipped on ice-cold rosé wine and watched people walking the beach beside us.

We returned to our balcony to sip a €4 bottle of local cava, listening to the steady hum of crickets and cicadas and talking long into the night.

A long evening on our balcony

The heat woke me before sunrise, I returned to my spot on the balcony from the previous night, and watched the sky turn from navy, through light blue, to spectacular pink.

Timelapse of the sunrise

 

The second day was our wedding anniversary. To celebrate we did what we do best, headed down to the beach to do it all again. I swam through the azure water, one of my favourite things to do, and had a run-in with a rogue jellyfish producing a nasty sting. I had no idea at the time that this sting would ‘re-appear’ weeks later as the venomous stingers were still in my arm. We had a fantastic stone-baked margarita pizza from Cana Sofia (again!) which was covered in fragrant basil leaves the size of my hand.

We went home in the late afternoon to freshen up for dinner, and I was desperate to see a famous Ibizan sunset as clouds obscured the one the night before. On our walk back in to town for dinner, we stopped at the cliff, in a deserted parking lot. The sunset was better than I had hoped for, the sky seemed to be set on fire, and it gave both our faces a golden glow as we looked around. We could hear music, and walked closer to the cliff’s edge to see a huge sound system set up in a small cave below, the bass so loud I could feel it in my chest. Only two people danced around, and it felt like we had crashed a secret party.

All above: that golden glow

 

We concluded the night with an enormous, and first ever, paella, followed by a beer on the beach. I can still taste the flavour, it was so rich and savoury.

Ibizan sunsets: plenty bang for your buck

The next, and final, day was the wedding day. We struggled to a achieve any semblance of ‘pretty’ in a heavy heat, but made it to the other side of the island in time regardless. Experimental Beach was a venue within Las Salinas nature park, a UNESCO world heritage eco-system area, and a large exporter of salt. I knew we were drawing near in the taxi when we passed salt ponds and piles. We were greeted at the venue with a citrus-crisp white sangria, and we had enough time to look around before the wedding got started.

The venue before the guests arrived

After a beautiful ceremony where two friends were promised to each other for life, we ate and drank in the glare of the setting sun, and danced for hours under a navy blue sky.

The venue from the beach

 

Ibiza was a surprise, it was somewhere I hadn’t really planned to go to due to its reputation for a wild party island. What I saw was completely different, our quiet bay was such a refuge from City life, the local food so spectacular. I found the locals on ‘our side’ of the island to be some of the most friendly I’d ever met. I loved the peace and being close to nature once again.

 

 

 

By Mairead Daly

High Desert: Palm Springs, USA

Make sure to check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this road trip

 

The first morning in Palm Springs, I knew in my bones I was somewhere else. The light was so different, a hazy glow, that even going through everyday routines felt foreign. Even on the stroll for breakfast and the first coffee of the day, the street seemed to be covered by a halo. Breakfast was from Koffi, an egg-ham-cheese bagel for him, and a fruit parfait for her. Even in late December, the weather was mild enough for a t-shirt.

Koffi coffee

Houses on E. Canyon Drive

Tiredness from the previous day’s mammoth drive, we stayed local and ran some errands. Ed enjoyed the laundromat, the waiting room peppered with heckles from locals aimed at the political coverage on the small television.

At the laundromat

That night we ate at King’s Highway, the restaurant at Ace Hotel. We ate real-deal tacos, and had fabulous cocktails (including a spicy chilli margarita).

King’s Highway at Ace Hotel

Holiday season in the desert

The following day, we ventured south-east towards the Salton Sea. First stop, Shields Date Garden for a famous date shake. I would recommend sharing one with at least one other person, it is huge, thick and heavenly.

The route to the Painted Canyon

Shields Date Garden

At midday, we headed further south-east through citrus grove after citrus grove, the fresh sweet scent lingering in the air. It amazed me to see such vibrant life erupting suddenly from the bone-dry ground. Around two kilometres of dirt road led to the mouth of the Painted Canyon, in the Painted Hills. It wasn’t hard to find the Ladder Canyon, a picturesque slot canyon waving and weaving through the ochre-red rock, following the carving force of water years before. I walked, slow as a trickle of water, running my hand along the curve of the canyon.

The mouth of the canyon trail

Slot canyon path

The namesake ladder

After navigating our way safely through the canyon (someone else was not as lucky and was being airlifted out with a broken leg), we ate pre-packed Reuben sandwiches from Vons supermarket and drove to a destination beyond the scope of our satnav: Salvation Mountain. We reached the nearest town, Niland, barely a one-horse town, and had to just drive into the desert, hoping we could find our destination. And find it, we did.

Salvation Mountain

Salvation Mountain

The view from Salvation Mountain

 

Cirrus clouds flecked the sky, the sun sat low in its winter position in the sky. Looking around from where I stood, all I could see was complete desolation. It was a fantastic feeling. We continued along a dirt road through Slab City, an off-grid community of activists and anarchists, to East Jesus. As the sun slowly lowered in the sky, shadows brought all the sculptures to life in a completely different way. The sound of gunshots peppered the air and, not sure if they were a threat or not, the vibe felt well and truly wild. My imagination ran wild thinking of what life was like here, hidden deep in the desert, free of legal and social convention. On the drive home, the haze-covered, malodorous Salton Sea lay to our left and a mile-long cargo train racing us to our right. Phone batteries dead, we turned on the local radio station; Alice in Chains, Led Zepplin and Black Sabbath blaring out the windows as we drove into the fading sun.

All above: East Jesus

 

On our final day, slightly margarita-hungover and dreading the impending end of our trip, we spent time in the Moorten Botanical Garden admiring the cacti under a heavy grey sky. Hummingbirds darted through the air, jumping from leaf to leaf. An empty semi-circular arrangement of chairs lined a lonely glade under a giant aloe, and I thought about whose wedding it might be arranged for.

Top and bottom, Moorten Botanical Garden

 

 

Check out my follow-on spotlights on Yucca Valley/Joshua Tree and Los Angeles, the finale of out trip.

Where Snow Meets Desert: Lake Tahoe to Death Valley, USA.

Part two of my USA retrospective, find part one here.

After our last photo stop, we took the route 50 perpendicular to the lake that wound through the mountains. The contrast between the thick pine forest, streams and snow of the lake basin with the desert beyond Lake Tahoe’s surrounding peaks was astounding. It somehow felt like we were either returning, or going into outer space. I couldn’t quite work out which.

In Carson City, NV, we took the route 395 headed almost due south. Anticipation and trepidation filled the air gaps in the car between us and our suitcases. As we left the relative comfort of Tahoe, we knew we would head far south, beyond our comfort zone.

The route

Where snow meets desert, Mono County.

 

The road followed California’s backbone, the Sierra Nevada mountains. We watched the landscape slowly change from snow, to the moon-like desert as traversed Mono County. I’d found another brewery for us to stop at for lunch on our journey. We turned off for June Lake, the sleepy little sister to Big Mammoth further south. June Lake Brewing was hidden deep in the little town, seemingly the only place people existed here. We ate Hawaiian Tacos at Ohanas food truck parked in the brewery lot.

June Lake Brewing against a crystal clear sky

 

Messy Hawaiian taco-eating

 

The tacos were messy but delicious, and we enjoyed a small beer in the brewery enjoying the heavy metal echoing throughout the building. We bought a few large bottles of porter, and rejoined route 395 to resume our journey.

”With the burning red-pink of the Sierra sunset now behind us, we were headed into the darkness of the desert”

The small towns of Mono then Inyo county passed by, empty motels with ‘Vacancy’ signs blowing in the wind. Luck would have us find a Starbucks in Bishop,Ca. The town was otherwise a more local affair. Towns got smaller and smaller the further we drove, and our last tough with civilisation was Lone Pine, CA where we stocked up on gasoline and water.

From Lone Pine, we forked left towards Death Valley National Park. With the burning red-pink of the Sierra sunset now behind us, we were headed into the darkness of the desert.

A glowing Sierra sunset

 

We survived multiple hairpin turns and arrived at Panamint Springs Resort, on the edge of the park – our home for the night. We foolishly had no camping supplies, and the shop had run out of sleeping bags for hire, so we donned our ski gear and sat on the picnic bench outside the tent to have one of our June Lake beers.

 

Home for the night

 

Death Valley National Park is a recognised dark sky area, and I never fully grasped how much I could see without air pollution and high-rise buildings obscuring the view. The milky way looked close enough to touch, every single star glowing as bright as the moon, and shooting stars framed our view. Road-weary, we went to bed and endured the coldest night of our lives.

An unbelievable Panamint sunrise

Before dawn the next morning, feeling fragile and ready to flee our campsite, we waited for the gas station to open for coffee and gas before hastily retreating deeper into the park. The elevation dropped and dropped with every mile driven, giving fantastic views for miles.

Waiting for the only gas station for miles to open

 

Panamint Springs general store

 

The road into the park at dawn

The descent into the heart of Death Valley

Mesquite Dunes

 

Palms outside the Furnace Creek Resort

 

We drove through the park, stopping to add our footprints to the Mesquite Dunes and later the Furnace Creek resort for a slightly bizarre and hasty breakfast. The palms outside the resort signalled that we were getting closer to our final desert destination. Leaving the heart of Death Valley behind, we headed to the deserted south. Badwater Basin, the lowest point of elevation in North America. That was a bucket-list item ticked off.

At Badwater Basin

With the end of the national park, we entered the Mojave desert. Food options were a bit grim roadside in Barstow, CA, so we bought Jerkey and Reese’s cups and pushed through exhaustion for the last of the day-long journey.

Arrival into Palm Springs

 

The tell-tale windfarm heralded our arrival into chic Palm Springs, welcome civilisation after what felt like an eternity in the vast and lonely expanse of the desert. Our hotel, a 60s-themed tiki establishment (definitely what I would consider a niche market!) had a plush king-size bed and on-site restaurant, everything one needed after a frightening frozen desert night the night before.

Death Valley made me feel small, it is so hostile that surviving there for only one day feels like an accomplishment. Watching the snow turn to sand as we covered only inches of the map of California felt like a small rebirth. Seeing the small roadside towns, the forgotten ones like Independence and Baker, CA gave me a glimpse into the victims of the American dream. The orphans left behind their glitzier cousins, where faded pitch and putt greens sat unused, and teenagers’ best prospects may be to depart for somewhere bigger.

This is the real US, no In-n-Out or flat white coffees, no Whole Foods or kale. Just real people, scratching out a living in the middle of nowhere, wathing the odd tourist pass by on the way to somewhere else.

Part 3 | Palm Springs coming soon!