Bonjour Colorado

Portraits from Paris

Ingrid

You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.

                                                                                    —Frederick Buechner

The above words describe exactly how I feel about Paris, the rest of France, French life and my many friends and contacts overseas that I first came to know quite some time ago.  Those words also refer to my sentiments toward my ex-husband, Stéphane.  I feel very blessed that we’ve been able to hold each other so dear even though it has now been many years that we’ve been apart.  We were in touch last week by e-mail and I learned that he just launched his new Web site.  He’s a photographer in Paris and I invite you to take a look at some stunning shots of movers and shakers and just ordinary folks in France and beyond that he has captured in portraiture.  (I was even thrilled to see that he included some images from a shoot he did at Clemente Latham, my father’s former company, many years ago.)  If you possess an elevated sense of aesthetics, you must take a peek.  Lovers of Avedon, Snowdon and Leibovitz will not be disappointed.

Stéphane de Bourgies, www.bourgies.com

Jean-Pierre Pont, Journalist

Oh, and since Steph has always been well informed about the world of French music (he has photographed many French singers over the years), I asked him who is currently hot in France right now.  He provided me with the names and links of three young French singers that are just smokin’!  Click on the below to take a listen.  And don’t be surprised if you hear a little English.  C’est normal.

Christophe Maé, www.christophe-mae.com

Christophe Willem, www.christophe-willem.com

Mika, www.mika.fr

Deezer, www.deezer.com; this might be the best site to go to to listen to free music from all over the world.  Check out Christophe Willem’s song Double Jeu (version remix) to hear one of France’s current hits.

Going to Gateway

Red Rock Grandeur

“Now why did you say you wanted to come here again?”  I asked my friend, Paula, as we stopped in this middle-of-nowhere place called Paradox, squinting beneath the beating sun in search of a gas station, a store or some other significant sign of life.  My head pounded fiercely by now and both our car and I were positively parched.  

“I wanted to take some pictures of Paradox Valley, you know for that contest I told you about, the one to raise awareness about possible uranium mining in the area,” Paula replied as she drove across verdant plains framed by cliffs the color of buff, sandstone and ochre.  This contrasting display of nature must be the paradox, I blithely thought to myself as my head throbbed and we rolled through this shadow of a town, Paula clicking her camera like a sniper in a passing S.U.V.

We realized by now that there was no easy way to cleave our way through these rocky walls to Gateway, our ultimate destination, normally just a two-hour plus drive northwest of Telluride.  Our detour to Paradox had proved scenic enough, but now we needed to speed up our travels.  We had no choice than to turn around and drive back to Bedrock, the little speck we passed through on our way to Paradox Valley.  

Gas Sign at Bedrock

We both felt greatly relieved as we pulled up to the Bedrock General Store—the only apparent business in the whole area—and spotted their sixties’ era gas pump out front.  Paula took charge of gassing up while I trotted off to the outhouse, a remarkably clean wooden shack with nothing more than a finely carved barn wood seat set on a board over a whole in the ground.  Still it boasted more charm than today’s porta-potties.  Dim lighting, creaky wood floors and display cases and a rather scant selection of necessities—from tampons to real beef jerky—cultivated my already burgeoning feelings of being locked in time once inside this old-fashioned grocery store.  I payed for my refreshments and stood on the front porch and gulped my Aquafina.  The desolate, high desert-like landscape that stretched before me made it feel as though it had been days since we left the cool alpine greenness of the mountains.  It was fun to feel so far away in such little time.

“The lady inside said to take the River Road,” Paula informed me as I popped the pull tab on my can of Coke.  “It’s a dirt road but still supposedly shorter in the long run than driving all the way back to Nucla.  Plus I guess it’s quite picturesque.”

Red Rock and River from Above

We turned onto the River Road not far after the Bedrock bridge.  The full splendor of the panoramic views of the valley and its accompanying bands of rock could be appreciated  out to our left as we headed toward the canyon.  Paula clicked away, stopping periodically to capture the full breadth of the valley from just the right angle.  There wasn’t a soul out here but us and an occasional grouping of free range cattle that appeared to enjoy munching on the aromatic grasses of the valley.  Finally we joined the river’s edge at a bend where rushing water had carved its path through steep canyon walls over thousands of years.  We crept along, heads craned upward to admire the magnificent rocks in an array of hues from ruddy brown to salmon to copper, many of which were punctuated by black streaks, indelible inky markings known as desert varnish.  The river careened by boulders as big as cars; occasional outcroppings of trees furnished striking contrasts producing a fresh, visual respite amid this mighty display of red rock.  Paula clicked away feverishly, slowing to a stop every fifty yards to capture yet one more postcard view on her digital camera.  

Lots of Really Big Rocks!

I knew we had fifteen miles to travel on this dirt road and then another good distance to go to Gateway where I yearned to find myself poolside at a resort that I had been wanting to experience for quite some time, most especially since the past twenty-four hours.   I realized I was on one of the most spectacular drives of my life, but I couldn’t help being a bit irritated by all the stopping.  By now it felt like ninety degrees in the car (we weren’t the type to drive around with the windows closed and the A.C. blasting—at least not in this setting) and there was no letting up from my headache.  

“O.K., we’re out of the valley now,” I sputtered, in an attempt to indicate to Paula that the shots she was currently snapping would certainly not qualify for the Paradox Valley photo contest.  Good sport that she is, she got the message and sped off down the road kicking up a billow of dust that would hopefully signal to any oncoming cars that they weren’t alone on the road.  

We pulled into Gateway Canyons road-weary yet excited about being in such a lovely place amidst such awe-inspiring scenery.  Built in the adobe style, the resort exuded all the warmth and enchantment of the Southwest.  And here, too, it felt a good twenty degrees warmer than in Telluride.  We settled into our room and quickly changed for the pool.  The setting sun was slowly turning the sky pink by the time we made it to the hot tub:  Our timing couldn’t have been more perfect.  It felt terrific to soak and take in this glorious show, especially the play of light that beamed brightly upon the palisade, the iconic rock tower of Gateway.  It felt like we were in the middle of a western movie set.  No wonder John Hendricks, founder of Gateway Canyons and the Discovery Channel, fell in love with this site many years ago.

Gateway Canyons Backdropped by the Palisade

Margaritas followed, drawn straight from the tap of the Paradox Grille, extra delicious cocktails that struck the perfect balance between Tequila, lime and Triple Sec.  We raved over our meals of crab cakes (Paula) and fish tacos (me) as my headache slipped gradually away.

I awoke to the electronic bell-like sound of Paula’s laptop turning on.  I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.  It occurred to me in that instant that the only people I had traveled with most of my life (that includes sharing a room with) were my mother and lovers (including one husband!).  Girlfriends were great for day trips and such but I hadn’t tried them out much on overnights.

“Well I guess I’m too late for the contest,” Paula cried out.  “It says here that it ended early August.  I thought it was early October and that I’d get my pictures in just in time.  There are some nice shots here though.  Do you want to see the winners?”

I stumbled out of bed and hovered over her computer long enough to see an instant replay of all the natural beauty we had marveled at just yesterday.  “Well at least we were able to see some pretty impressive scenery that we wouldn’t have otherwise seen,” I said.

“That’s right!”  Paula replied with all the positivity that I had always admired so much in her.  We were indeed a fine match in the happy outlook department.

The Hollywood Gallery at the Gateway Auto Museum

Our day was spent exploring the resort, hiking around the outlying area and then visiting the Gateway Auto Museum, a dazzling collection of all-American, roving works of art, assembled by Mr. Hendricks.  Paula was later whisked off (via a golf cart) to the Medicine Wheel Spa for a massage while I lolled at the pool, an oasis shaped like the curvilinear rims of the nearby canyons.  It was the end of September, but here it felt like summer.  We carted remnants of our adventures back to our room:  a small branch of marigold-colored leaves that Paula had found, a few sprigs of sage that I had gathered, a wreath of sage and other redolent high desert plants that Paula had crafted for me, my interminable stack of brochures and other assorted reading material that I always picked up throughout my travels.   

Kiva Pool Area at Gateway

We eased into an even deeper state of relaxation poolside with beer and wine, the perfect accompaniment to our chitchat that ranged from lengthy evocations about the color taupe (a dreary choice for your walls, according to Paula) to lots of sharing about family and friends.  Aside from politics (which we carefully averted), Paula and I related to all in very compatible ways.  She proved to be quite the extraordinary travel companion.  As a travel writer, I also greatly appreciated her observant eye that prompted her to comment on all that was wonderful about a place as well as that which was lacking.  (Here, for example, we both noticed the need for a mirror in the bedroom, bath and shower amenities that could easily flow out of their little plastic containers and a better selection of music piped in at the pool.)

After another fine meal at the Grille, the evening ended as it had begun, stretched out on chaise lounges alongside the pool, talking and laughing like two long lost friends.  This time though we stared up at the stars and wondered from which planet we had descended.

Our second night at Gateway Canyons proved as restful as our first.  Paula and I both marveled at the quiet of the room and the comfort of the beds.  “Plus it’s the combination of the sun and all the soaking in the water,” I added.  

The next day was Tuesday which meant that both of us had to do a bit of work.  Fortunately it was early, yet we felt rushed since we wanted to attend the ceremonial opening of the Medicine Wheel Spa that takes place daily at 9:15 a.m.  Being a writer, I work mostly in silence.  As a real estate agent, Paula seems to conduct much of her business on the phone.  We were both on deadlines and locked into our own work modes rather intensely.  

“Paula-aaa,” I whispered loudly as I gestured to her to keep her voice down on the phone.  Two minutes later I indicated to her that perhaps she could take her call in the bathroom.  

“Oh sure, sure,” she nodded and gently closed the door behind her.  No sooner was I settled back into my place on the bed with my laptop did I hear this bellowing sound emanating from within the bathroom.  The tiled and very grand interior of our salle de bain made it seem as though Paula was broadcasting her real estate dealings over a P.A. system.  By now I was feeling like a royal pain in the butt, but I had to knock on the door and indicate to Paula that the bathroom phone booth setup had made the situation worse.

Somehow we managed to get out the door in time, work doings well underway, with just a few minutes to spare to make our way toward the Medicine Wheel Spa ceremony.  Four teepees set amongst the cottonwoods in the shadow of the towering palisade anchor the medicine wheel that has been carefully installed here.  Part labyrinth, part zen garden, this sacred, healing space draws inspiration from the Native Americans in its design and purpose.  I walked slowly behind Paula over stones upon which life’s most intrinsic qualities were written :   faith, love, integrity, peace and many more inspirational words passed beneath our feet as we padded along.  Susan, the spa director and the person largely responsible for this carefully planned creation, led a small group of us around until we gathered about an immense crystal at the center; here we were each “smudged” with sage.  In less than ten minutes, I felt a keen sense of self awareness and centeredness, a clearing out of sorts that made me feel better prepared for the day.

The Iconic Palisade

As we walked over to the Paradox Grille for huevos rancheros, I thought how most men would think that that ceremony was a bunch of hocus pocus, unless they allowed themselves to surrender to such a ritual.  I was glad that I had walked the stones with Paula.  In the past two days, we were surrounded by couples, lovers nuzzling at the pool or walking hand in hand along the beautifully maintained pathways.  I didn’t envy any of them since I was sharing my own special moments with my dear friend.

We asked for a late checkout and milked our pool lounging and soaking a little while longer.  There was one last thing to try at the Grille before leaving:  shrimp po’ boys in honor of the chef that hails from New Orleans.  We savored every crunchy bite of fried crustaceans with big sips from our especially lemony Arnold Palmer iced teas.  Truly it felt as though we had stayed at Gateway Canyons a week.

Great amphitheaters of rock opened up before us as we drove away from Gateway.  Oh, to be a geologist, I thought.  The colors ebbed from brick red to burnt sienna to our much-talked-about taupe.  With each transition toward the more muted tones, the vegetation grew in importance.  And since this was fall, clumps of sunburst yellow leaves punctuated the cottonwoods amidst their still primarily green displays of foliage.

Paula passed the driver’s wheel to me so that she could take a little nap, a true sign of friendship and trust, particularly since I’m always less than boastful about my driving abilities.  I thought about our stay at Gateway Canyons which already seemed too far back in the rearview mirror.  Next time I’d like to go to see the Discovery Theater, set to open there in less than a year, I thought.  Maybe they’ll even be conducting tours up at the uranium mine on John Brown Road, the dirt road that leads to Moab, Utah.  They’re mining there already and I heard that uranium tours might become one of the resort’s latest amenities.  I’ll have to tell Paula about this—I bet she’d love to come along.

Gateway Canyons, 866-671-4733 or 970-931-2458, www.gatewaycanyons.com

Discovery Channel, www.discovery.com

Most of the first bunch of photos featured above were winners from the Saving Paradox photo contest.  You can view more and learn about this organization’s efforts at www.savingparadox.org.

You can also view great photos of the Unaweep Canyon and Delores and San Miguel Rivers by John Meyer at www.pbase.com/johnme23/unaweep.

Book Pick

“The Performing Art of the American Automobile,” by Jonathan A. Stein and Michael Furman.  This book is available at the Gateway Auto Museum gift shop; you can also call them to place an order.

Tim Cahill: The Godfather of Travel Writing

Tim Cahill Canyoning in New Zealand

When I asked renowned travel writer Tim Cahill how he came to be a writer specializing in travel during a recent Travel Fun interview, he answered with all the modesty of a hippo in the bush.  “I invented the job,” he said with a glint in his eye.  And indeed he did.  As one of the founders of Outside magazine, Tim Cahill changed the way a person could read about the great outdoors and adventure travel.  

He had worked two years at Rolling Stone in the mid Seventies when the editor approached him with the idea of creating a literate outdoor magazine.  “It was a simple concept,” Tim said.  But in those days outdoor magazines were more about hunting and fishing, slaying a ferocious wildebeest or how to prime your canoe for the upcoming season.  It was generally believed that avid readers of fine prose did not spend much time outdoors.

“We were made fun of by the journalism pundits,” Tim said.  “But we did the magazine that we wanted to read.”  And not long after their launch, the founders of Outside were proven right, especially after having received top awards in the publishing world many years in a row. 

“Outside really gave me my start,” Tim explained.  The folks at the magazine realized early on that getting the best ice climber to write a story didn’t produce the results they wanted.  Instead it was much better to have someone who could write well team up with the best ice climber and that person became Tim Cahill.  (Prior to Outside, Tim was one of those guys that would head out for a weekend of backpacking, but he was no big adventurer.)  “I was the inept rookie in the wilderness the first ten years,” Tim chuckled.

Tim’s spiral notebooks grew and it soon became clear that many of his magazine stories were destined to become books.  He told me he has written nine in all (but I found way more on Amazon and hence listed ten below).  And on their pages you can read some of the most descriptive and poignant tales of adventure travel ever written.  “An adventure story does not have to be a lot of gratuitous chest pounding,” Tim said.  “If you’re diving and you see a shark, there’s some wonder behind it.”  Tim wouldn’t conclude that story with a wielding pen knife and spewing blood and guts.  His work is much more refined; he’s in the business of telling compelling stories with finesse.

Tim and I traded tales about the writer’s life and the publishing world as we shared the microphone.  We were experiencing a classic KOTO happening, yet another improvisational moment in community radio since all of the extra mikes in the studio had been removed for a special event.  We had to get so close that we sidled up to each other like two lovers on a park bench.  That definitely helped to break the ice!  Tim Cahill no longer seemed like the untouchable travel writer God I had met several years ago at the Travel Writer’s Conference at Book Passage in California.  (He was surrounded by so many people that I was barely able to say hello to him then!)

Funnily enough when I asked Tim about his beginnings he told me that when he was young he thought “writers were somehow unattainable Gods”.  We both joked about how we found out that that was far from the truth.  

He was one of those kids that stayed up reading by flashlight late into the night.  Reading is always the best primer for a writer.  Tim graciously shared many other tips with me and I’m sure that as I attempt to implement them, I’ll be thinking about him and his dedication to the written word.  He did after all invent the travel writer job, you know.

Tim Surveying the External Landscape

Travel Writer Tips from Tim Cahill

-Take contemporaneous notes.  

-Write about the external landscape (what you see) and the internal landscape (what’s happening to you when you see it).   

-Bring home your notes and then try to write out complete sentences.

-Try to grab the reader around the first paragraph.  “I then give the best descriptions about why I was there and I tell stories that I hope will lead the reader to the same conclusion I came to when I was there,” Tim explained.

Tim regularly conducts writer’s workshops for the Yellowstone Association, 307-344-2293, www.yellowstoneassociation.org.

The Book Passage Travel Writer’s Conference takes place annually mid August at the main Book Passage Bookstore in Corte Madera, California; 800-999-7909, ext. 233, www.bookpassage.com.

Book Picks:  Tim Cahill’s books, some of which are listed below.

“Buried Dreams:  Inside the Mind of a Serial Killer”

“Jaguars Ripped My Flesh”

“A Wolverine Is Eating My Leg”

“Road Fever”

“Pecked to Death by Ducks”

“Pass the Butterworms:  Remote Journeys Oddly Remembered”

“Dolphins”

“Hold the Enlightenment”

“Lost in My Own Backyard:  A Walk in Yellowstone National Park”

“The Best American Travel Writing”

Fall in Telluride: Riding the Gondola

Me Sightseeing on the Gondola

Boy, am I glad to be back!  I’ve survived my technical difficulties and will try to catch up with my blog postings this week.  (Give me a plume and a few sheets of parchment any day!)

If you think I appear somewhat like a Bond girl in the photo on the left, it’s because I’m riding the gondola that connects Telluride to Mountain Village.  Yeah, I thought I’d go for more of a slick Europhile look here since a lot of people conjure up hair-raising scenes from a 007 flick when they first ride our gondola.  Two systems builders, one from Salt Lake City, the other from Switzerland (not surprisingly!) collaborated to create this fine example of modern technology, a veritable air-born shuttle that spans three miles as it sails above the slopes at treetop height. A super green transportation choice that operates the better part of the year on wind-powered electricity, the gondola has greatly minimized the amount of air and noise pollution in Telluride while keeping vehicular traffic at a minimum.  It always promises an exciting ride as well as safe delivery to the next station.  Visions of heart-racing adventures become dashed when you learn that in the twelve years of its existence, only one evacuation was required and that was on the intercept gondola, the four-minute spit that goes between the core of Mountain Village to the parking area.  (Rescuers do, however, regularly train for such missions, just in case.) 

Leaving San Sophia Station

Most of us feel very fortunate in T-ride to have such convenient and reliable transportation that also happens to be spectacularly scenic and free!  Yep, it’s public transportation at its finest which is why tourists encounter locals with their noses stuck into newspapers and books, sometimes not too terribly unlike the foggy-faced commuters riding the New Haven Express to and from New York City.  But we put down our reading materials with great frequency to gaze out at the jagged peaks or to spot a deer nibbling on the grass below.  Sometimes, too, we might even chat up the tourists, ask where they’re from and provide a restaurant tip or two.  (Favorite powder stashes, however, are seldom revealed.)

Leaf peeping ranks among the best in the world from my glass bubble that whisks me along on the thirteen-minute ride into town.  I look down and take in the striped grandeur of Coonskin, the mountain ridge so named by the Ute Indians for its alternating rows of aspen and fir, towering swathes of alpine glory that emerge more impressive than ever in autumn when the shimmering butternut of the aspens jumps out amongst the green of the conifers.  

Rocky Mountain Colors

I think of all of the people inching along nearly bumper to bumper on their fall foliage tours in the Northeast.  Here you can embrace the full ripeness of autumn without being jostled by hordes of tourists.  You can experience nature practically all to yourself, especially if you get out and do one of the many hikes in the area.  It’s true, we might not have quite the range of hues that you find back east among the maples, yet an astonishing array of shades from sunflower yellow to burnt orange to crimson may also be appreciated on our mountainsides and in our valley.  And our sugar-frosted peaks greatly enhance this riot of color, grandiose panoramas—often set against cerulean skies—that occur every year from late September through mid October.

How Sweet it Is

I know that this last burst of color will be short lived and soon all will be covered in white.  We’ll enter the full force of off-season by then, that in between time of year that occurs at most resort towns when business and much of life in general lulls until the next big season cranks up.  The gondola shuts down for about a month during these shoulder seasons, in spring and fall.  Repairs and maintenance are carried out as locals organize themselves to either drive into town when necessary or take one of the many shuttle buses provided.  (They always seem to take circuitous routes, however, so a typical fifteen-minute ride into town can easily turn into fifty minutes.)  I’ve held off from putting Misty into be serviced (see Redstone Rendez-Vous at the bottom of this page), but now it seems as though I’m going to have to break down and make an appointment for her in a local garage.  I’m even contemplating a trip to Walmart in Montrose, an hour and a half drive away.  (My world is expanding!)  It’s time to hunker down, shore up for winter, watch the leaves fall and pray for tons of snow.

Smiling and Laughing on the "G" is Always Permitted

Gondola Etiquette

Refrain from cell phone use, unless, of course, you’re in the cabin by yourself.  (This is actually when I do most of my calling.)

As awe-inspiring as the ride may be, visitors should remember that locals often use the ride time to read the paper, study for tests (yes, this is a school bus of sorts for many kids), prepare for last-minute questions for radio interviews and other such tasks best carried out without a whole lot of jabbering.  If people do need to talk, it’s preferred they speak softly.

If you see a couple acting rather lovey-dovey and there’s not much of a line, it’s nice to let them ride in the cabin by themselves.  (The Telluride Gondola is one of the most romantic places in the world where great snuggling takes place on a regular basis by visitors and locals alike.  This kind of intimacy also helps to generate a goodly amount of body warmth in our often brisk climate.) 

When loading the gondola, move all the way in as quickly as possible, particularly if there’s a line.  When standing in line for the gondola, leave room for a single person (typically a local) to make a beeline from way far back so that he or she can grab the last place in the cabin.  (This is most important during festival time when bewildered tourists often prevent cabins from being fully loaded whilst blocking the way for regular gondola travelers to make a run for it.)

If you must smoke a cigarette or weed (neither is technically allowed, I don’t think) in the cabin, make sure you open all of the windows so it doesn’t become a stink box for the next travelers.

Always be as kind and friendly to the gondola operators as they are to you.  These dedicated workers are indeed quite affable, a welcome attitude that must certainly be a challenge to uphold, particularly on frigid nights at elevations of some 10,000 feet.

Best Gondola Tip

Grab a blanket in the metal bin before you board the gondola if there isn’t already one in the cabin.  Fold it up and sit on it.  That will keep you warmest since it will prevent the chill of the metal seats from entering your body.  If there’s a good supply of blankets, take one for the seat and another to wrap around yourself.

You may learn more about our gondola at www.telluride.com/telluride/the-gondola.  I don’t, however, agree with their riding time stats and believe me, I’ve got my commute times to and fro Mountain Village and Telluride down to a science!

Mt. Wilson Framed for Fall

Thank you to Darren Miller, my neighbor and friend, for many of the above photos. Darren is also one of the best massage therapists in town and you can book him at the following places of lodging even if you’re not staying at that establishment.

Mountain Lodge, www.mountainlodgetelluride.com, 866-368-6867

The Peaks Resort & Golden Door Spa, www.thepeaksresort.com, 866-282-4557

Franz-Klammer, www.fairmont.com/klammerlodge, 888-728-3318

You can also have him bring his Rolling Relaxation services to you in Telluride by calling Darren directly at 303-257-6070.

Thank you also to Michael Mowery for the Rocky Mountain Colors shot.  

Style Notes

I’m wearing an Italian leather jacket from Bounty Hunter, my favorite fall scarf that displays an American Indian motif from Hermès, Smith sunglasses and Bobbi Brown lipstick from her Telluride-inspired Slopes collection.

Aspen Leaf