So I’ve never really been a desert person. I like water and trees and green things and life. This whole, the desert is beautiful thing, Nyah, didn’t really get it. The thought of a weekend squatting amongst sand and cactus was less than completely appealing. But the thought of just sitting around the house for a whole, glorious 4 day weekend was even less appealing.



If I had that much time off of work, and I had to sit around the house watching the umpteenth episode of Cash Cab or go on a Target run just to get out of the house, I think I’d have to jump out a window. So, I reasoned, even if I completely hated the desert, at least it would be a new and different experience. And having a new and different experience that totally sucks is still way better than reliving an old experience that is almost 100% predictable.



So, Friday morning, we stuffed the SUV with the necessary camping accoutrements and headed off to Death Valley. We had no idea what to expect. Neither of us had ever been there and the most research that we’d done was a whole 5 minutes of looking up Death Valley on weather.com and Googling a few photos.



We drove for 5 hours past sand, more sand, rocks, a junk car lot, an abandoned mining operation and one, lone porta potty that was just sitting out there in the middle of nowhere (Thank God). At 2 in the afternoon, we finally arrived at our destination, Stovepipe Wells Camping Ground. It’s about as much civilization as you’re going to find there, just a couple of aluminum sided buildings, a general store, a bathroom, and a large parking lot full of dusty R.V.’s. We got out of the car and rounded the corner to the general store. Roxy was there, just sitting around on a warm bench and Bryan was there, sitting around on a warm bench, but also swinging a golf club.



There was a moment of "Oh there you are". Quick hugs. Then they informed us that all the campsites at Stovepipe were already taken. Stephanie and Dacia had gone to look for another place to set up camp. That was our first brilliant piece of luck. Looking around at the digs, I wasn’t so much feeling like pitching my tent in a parking lot. If I’d wanted to do that, I could’ve stayed home and pitched it at Target.



Thankfully, the girls scouted us a great location. We just had to off road it for a few miles and we were alone, on a dry riverbed, flanked by huge, red mountains. If you ever want to know what it would be like to camp on Mars, go to Death Valley.


At first, it’s so barren, it’s eerie. At night, the winds pick up and it gets cold. Kit foxes come out of hiding and scavenge for food. Then there’s the weird noises. From the inside of our tent, I kept hearing this scratchy sound that sounded like somebody using a gaint pair of scissors to cut out string of giant sized gingerbread men, or like some pyromaniac repeatedly trying to light us on fire with an oversized lighter, and being thwarted by the wind. My imagination was going crazy with all the things it might be. Then Mike finally unzipped the door, stuck his head outside and found out that it was just a piece of our tent that kept getting loose and rubbing up against another piece.



The next morning, we took a hike in a place called the Artist’s palette. Coming upon it, it’s immediately obvious why it’s called that. The minerals in the rock paint it with shades of mint green, mauve pink, black and orange. Mike, Roxy and I get seperated from the group pretty early on. We hike into the mountain. The rock walls become warped and wavy and wrap around behind us. It’s cavernous, beige, peach and glowing and we’re standing in the middle of it all. I can honestly say that I’ve never experienced anything like it, and that was definitely the point.



When we get back to our party, Dacia is taking photos, Stephanie has turned into a tyrannosaurus rex, Bryan has become one with the sand and it's all good.



At around dusk, we head off to the sand dunes, another first for me. To get there, you just park your car on the side of the road and walk straight into the horizon. There’s just seemingly endless mounds of gray, powder soft sand that stretch out forever. You have to take your shoes off cuz it’s about a million times more fun than leaving them on. The sand is so soft. It’s cold. It feels ancient. I know this is going to sound crazy, but you get the sense that it wants you to have fun on it.



We run up the dunes, and roll down them. We laugh hysterically and get sand in our teeth and don’t care. We make sand angels. We jump on the sand just to hear the deep thud it makes when you do it. We do it again and again. We run around some more. We pass sand from hand to hand, just to feel the weight shift. Who knew sand could be so fun? Then again, I haven’t been in a sand box since pre-school.



Then the moon comes up. It’s a huge glowing yellow disk that peeks up from behind the mountains. Roxy, at first, doesn’t even know what it is. “What IS that?, seriously, what is it?” as she points and runs towards it.



It’s the biggest thing I think I’ve ever seen and it’s ascending over the dunes. That moon, over the sand, and all of us just laying around in it, completely in awe of something that we’ve seen a million times but never like this, it was a site I think I’ll never forget.



That night, after we got back to camp, I had one of the best dinners I think I’ve ever had in my life. And it was a potato.



There's just something about food cooked over a campfire that makes you wonder why appliances were ever invented. I cooked my potato directly on the embers. It came out charred and black on the outside but fluffy and white on the inside. I melted a pat of butter on it and doused it with tobasco sauce. I wouldn’t have traded that potato for a king’s feast. At the moment, it was just about the most perfect thing in the world.



The next morning, we visited an old ghoste town and an abandoned mine. We ate lunch at a casino and Bryan won $100 at black jack.



All in all, I'm so stoked that we went. It’s life, you know? It just rolls out in front of you. And it completely surprises you sometimes.

I can honestly say, the desert? – yeah, it’s beautiful. I get it now.



Oh, and the best thing EVER is that the inside of my car still smells like campfire.