Phoenix – Day 3

8 03 2012

So we’re half way through the trip now. Day 3 we decided to hike the famous Camelback Mountain. We were totally unprepared for what we found though. Not the hike itself. It looked rugged, but pretty straightforward. What we weren’t prepared for was that the mountain rose straight up in the middle of a top-shelf housing estate. The kind of estate that has its own police force to enforce all those no parking signs. The area had been privately owned for a period, and during that time the lower reaches had become very expensive properties. The rest of it had been wrested back into the public realm, but there were no parking areas except those jealously guarded streets. It was heaving with people even at 9:30am. Most people looked like walking Lululemon adverts, which is why I suspect the hike was all about being seen there, rather than any great achievement.

Anyway – long story short – we drove around some very desirable streets, then gave it up as a bad job, and headed to Scottsdale to check out the shops. I was quite proud of this interior shop which “froze” the water curtain there.

Water curtain in Scottsdale mall

After lunch we headed out for a walk in one of the park areas in Mesa itself. This was basically an urban park on the banks of a water feature which I guess allowed for drainage during flash floods. The houses were well positioned, and many had little boats for pottering around the water on. Quite twee really. Orange trees were in much evidence, and Mrs Elephant was sorely tempted to acquire fruit from the overhanging trees. I pointed out that Arizona allowed people to protect their property with guns, and the temptation was thereafter short-lived.

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5 responses

9 03 2012
misfits' miscellany

Top right photo: new meaning for palm relief.

9 03 2012
Quieter Elephant

Orange scented too…

9 03 2012
misfits' miscellany

Well, you had to come up with something…

9 03 2012
Quieter Elephant

Said the actress to the bishop

9 03 2012
misfits' miscellany

I call my penis: tumescent vicar. As an actress once said to me, in her estuary twang, “that’s more like the vicar of dribbly.”

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