When we were younger, my brother and I used to argue and fight so much that my dad used to say to us, "If you haven't got anything nice to say to each other, then don't say anything." Sadly when writing, this advice is useless, as in my experience being 'nice' is rarely entertaining. In fact, my Uncle Richard's advice to me the other day was, "if you haven't got anything funny or unpleasant to say, don't bother saying anything". A wise man, I think you'll agree.
The Grand Canyon is the exact opposite of unpleasant, and besides seeing a German man in very small, tight shorts slip in his own urine (let's not even go there), I have nothing funny to report either. I will therefore keep this travel note short and concise, leaving you to admire some of the Canyon's beauty. Driving from Chandler to the Grand Canyon takes about four and a half hours, although it is a stunning drive and I highly recommend it. The surprising thing is how varied the terrain is and how dramatically it changes as you pass from southern Arizona into the North. The south is a forest of cacti (what a ridiculous word, cactuses is so much better. I think that as I am in the U.S, I shall merely change the English language to suit my fancy and it shall be 'cactuses' from now on), whilst the mountainous north is pine forests and lakes.
When you arrive at the entrance
to the Grand Canyon national park, you pay your fee ($25 for a week or $25 for a few hours, as it was in our case) and then you have a choice of roads to follow. We decided to drive along the Desert View road which follows the southern rim of the gorge and then loops back down to Flagstaff, which means you never have to backtrack. Unfortunately for me it also meant a long drive, followed by more driving, and finishing with another long drive. Twelve hours of driving in total. Thankfully the views completely made up for it. No photograph or film could ever do it justice or prepare you for it. It is simply spectacular. Sunset is also well worth the wait.
I have already had one request for the rest of the story of our tight-shorted German friend and I suspect it won't be the last, so here it is.
Whitney had left me to take photos and gone to visit the little gift shop near the watchtower (when she heard there was a watchtower she was shocked Jehovah's Witnesses were at the Canyon, but I said that I thought it was more of a literal watchtower) and so I began to look for a
good vantage point
to take the shot of the Canyon with the tower in frame. As I scrambled over a fallen tree and round a spiky bush, I happened upon our German friend. He was standing on a dusty slope urinating behind another spiky bush (brave man), and appeared rather startled by my arrival. In his haste to finish the job at hand, put the tools away and retreat from the amber stream heading rapidly towards him he lost his footing, put his right hand into his little yellow river to break his fall and muttered 'schiesser' at the same time. All the while his penis was still hanging out the front of his shorts. I thought about offering him my hand to help him up, but then caught a glimpse of it and changed my mind quickly (though in hind sight, the urine on his hand should have been enough to put me off). I said an embarrassed 'sorry' and left, leaving the man wiping his hand on his denim hot-pants.
N.B. John has expressed his concern that I would have given the German 'a hand' had his gentleman's region been more to my taste, and I can assure you that this is not the case. It wasn't until I caught sight of 'it' that I realised it must have been hanging out of his shorts the whole time. Thank you for understanding.
