Marriott Strikes Again

This as delivered ten minutes after I set my bags down in my hotel room on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

From tiny gestures like this is loyalty built.

#Marriott4Life

Sunday biz travel brunch

Showed up on a busy Sunday afternoon and they sat me right down. They were so fast with an immense iced tea, so accommodating with my obsessive-compulsive substitutions, and so tolerant of my flagrant head cold that after lunch I ordered dinner to go.

The Broken Yolk Cafe is now my official North County (San Diego) bruncherie.

Sno-jave

An uncommon sight in the Mojave National Preserve: snow, in the desert, and down below the 3500′ level.

As we drove, I explained to Aaron the difference between the “high deserts” and the “low deserts.” That difference was never starker than the week of December 23-30, when the demarcation between the two all but matched the snow-line.

All of which was a poignant reminder that the desert is not a single, simple climate zone, but can and does encompass a wide range of micro-climates as altitude and geography change, sometimes within a mile or two. Within each of these zones live varied but surprisingly diverse and and rich ecosystems camouflaged by what appear to the common observer to be desolate landscapes.

Of course, I am horribly biased: I do love the desert asĀ  much as I love the seashore, and the ache to live again in drier climes grows in me daily. Is it the Wandering Jew in my soul that misses these scenes? Does something inside of me yearn for Sinai and Galilee? Or do I simply treasure the solitude and the chance to commune in quiet with the Infinite, far from noise, crowds, and fog?

No matter. I will be back, and right soon.

Sunday on the High Plains

Early Sunday morning in November on Santa Fe Avenue in La Junta, Colorado. I have only stepped off the train for a moment, and had to capture this.

I love train travel like no other means of transportation. As I get older, though, I find myself wanting to stop and spend more time in the places I pass through.

In the introduction to Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey opines that in some places time passes slowly, and that all time should. I suppose that is why I find myself of late drawn to places where the hours meander languorously rather than sprint furtively.

I will be back to the high plains of Eastern Colorado, I know, but at some point I’d like to come in my truck and stay awhile. I’ll bet the biscuits are warm and flaky at the Copper Kitchen, that the espresso and banana bread a delight at The Barista, and that there are delightful folks here as well.