Two for Tucson

Now I know where Bruce’s love for cactus came from. Right here.

Now I get it. I am in love, too.

We are in the midst of the most wondrous natural cactus garden here in Tucson.

On the face of the mighty Mountain Lemmon, part of the spectacular backdrop of this low, flat desert city, we are surrounded by saguaros, tall pillar cactuses which cover the hillsides like a crazy

punk hairstyle. Very old saguaros grow arms, and even characters. They seem to salute the sky and welcome the sun. They also grow extraordinarily high over their long lives. And they become homes to assorted birds which find and make holes to build nests within the prickly defence of the plant. In spring, these cacti produce pretty and

nourishing flowers to add to the general symbiosis. They are not blooming now. But, as I keep sighing, they are blooming gorgeous. Imposing, primeval, and indomitable.

Bruce has been waiting to see them on the landscape. Now he has a surfeit. He is not complaining.

Our wonderful Loews Ventana Canyon Resort covers a lot of vertiginous Tucson real estate and much of it has been made into a cactus walk. Paths weave around the hillside through the ancient plants. A waterfall cascades down a steep cliff face into a green pond beneath, the waters weaving on down the slopes in a green, rushing stream, gathering as a lake at the back door of the hotel. The hotel pool is set

amid the cacti. One lies in the sun and gazes at this primitive beauty.

Oh, rave, rave, rave.

Of course, there are many other cacti in the mix here. And there are some lovely trees, many of the acacia family of which mesquite is one.

The hotel is huge and busy. It features a luxurious golf course and lots of people who ride golf buggies and play golf.

Our room is at the front with a view out over the valley across which the big, flat, centreless city of Tucson sprawls. Mountains, cacti, lovely night lights which twinkle. On our first night, we are advised that an astronomer is coming to give a telescope tour of the wonderful stars. Oh,

moaned an air hostess, checking out as we check in, the night sky here is the most beautiful I ever saw and I’m going to miss that.

After a couple of average margaritas at the bar and a pleasant enough dinner, we go out and find the astronomer in the dark by the pool. He is wearing a suit and tie which seems incongruous in this resort setting. Now, when I say dark, I mean moonless but not dark. There are underwater lights in the pool. There are path lights around the garden. There are lights everywhere. So the northern stars are not really star turns, so to speak. My enthusiasm is immediately dampened. But since only four of us have turned up for his presentation, I don’t feel I can just walk off. He’s a very mild, small man with an earnest agenda of stars. They don’t show up very well through his telescope. It is not a patch on stargazing at Encounter Bay or Kangaroo Island. One doesn’t want to be rude. I stay quiet. Bruce keeps the show on the road with lots of educated questions. I think the astronomer is unused to such erudition. The desert mountain night is cooler than I expected. I shrug into a jacket and wonder how to get out of this. A few more people have arrived. The original couple excuse themselves. I grab my chance. Sorry, I am too cold. I must go in. Bruce does not need encouragement. We scuttle off. I think the astronomer is used to it.

What an odd experience.

We don’t have a long time here. We toy with the idea of taking a tour. The concierge says that there are no tours as such in Tucson. There is not enough to see. Oh.

So we choose two day trips of our own.

Firstly, the Desert Museum.

It is quite a drive out of town, through staggeringly dramatic and beautiful mountain landscape and, of course, zillions of glorious cactus which continue to have us oohing and aahing with joy.

We have to cross a mountain range to find

the park. Oh, my. Here is a forest of saguaro. They seem to love mountainsides. This landscape could come from a Spielberg movie, it is so extreme and alien.

The park is designated into loops of pleasant walking trails, each emphasising different aspects of the desert environment. There are even animals. Of

course, the moment we set out to walk it, it rains.

We seek cover in an art gallery which thrills with a show of giant works on a butterfly theme.

There is quite an emphasis on butterflies in this garden - and quite a lot of them, despite it being the end of the season.

Oh, but it is the humming bird aviary which steals our hearts!

They’re bold little things and they buzz fearlessly about us,

checking in on their red feeding stations, perching on twigs and watching us, zipping down again. So fast. So cheeky. A whizz of buzzing air past the ear. They are playing, tiny pert little aerobatic stars that they are. It is impossible not to adore them.

There are other aviaries, less exciting. There are vistas of cacti and mountain. There are large enclosures for the native animals - a sad

black bear with a wounded paw, an aloof mountain lion, baying wolves, a lonely coati which is a clever racoon-like thing. I still don’t care for caged animals.

Snakes and lizards and spiders all have indoor display areas and we do get a strong feeling for the desert floor life while also staying a bit dry.

Little worm things in an aquarium caught out attention for a long time. The pop up and down like aquatic prairie dogs.

Like two big children, we nudge each other and laugh at their antics. Neither of us has seen anything like them. But why would we? Pond-diving has never been a big part of our lives.

The light is glorious as we wander off in search of the dear old olive green Rogue. The showers, the clouds, the soft glow of sun between the clouds... Everything looks so sharp and clear and bright. The assorted cactus textures are are rendered vivid. One pauses, sighs, drinks it in. What a world. What a world.

The rain gets more serious as we drive off through the cactus-lush roads and back into the mountain pass. Amazing, dazzling, glorious rainbows accompany it.

The road winds in steep S-bends. I hold my breath. There are fabulous vistas everywhere, seguaros as far as the eye can see in steep gorge and on high rock. They grow right out of the rocks, it seems. As much as I hate vertiginous roads, this is something else.

We reach the prickly top of the prickly mountains and it is as if we have driven right through the magical rainbow, for there, on the other side of the mountain, is bright sun and blue sky.

Next day we head out of town again, this time to Biosphere 2. Biosphere 1 is Planet Earth. Bruce is absolutely not the big fan for this expedition. He is humouring me. The Biosphere Project fascinated me back in the 1990s when the little team of Bionauts shut themselves in the great eco domes to see if they could sustain

themselves in a conditioned environment in a way that could be replicated for colonising Mars.

There, way out on the desert, are these bizarre structures - the great pyramid, the domes… Inside the Biosphere, they even created an ocean with tides and coral reef. The coral died. A lot failed. The whole thing, in the end

of the day, failed, and tensions reigned between the eight Bionauts . They did not make enough food or oxygen.

The University of Arizona now runs the place for its own experiments on global warming and water behaviour in desert lands. The University pushes these projects

hard and gives one a lot of repetitive information on them. One suspects the place is a bit of a white elephant and they are trying hard to justify its massive expense. It certainly is an interesting tourist experience.

We traipse over boardwalks aloft in the rainforest which now is so overgrown that it threatens to break the glass. We look at the University’s jumbo soil slabs perched on the diagonal above what used to be the Bionauts’ huge indoor kitchen garden. You might actually meet a

scientist here, says Victor, the guide.

We toddle dutifully around the self-sufficient, water-recycling eco-hydrologic mezzocosm vegetable garden - er, a tank of hapless coi who poo in the water which drips onto tiers of herbs and veggies and with the excess water running into a cinder filter box at the bottom before being pumped back to the fish who will again poo in it and so forth. Um.

Well, we love the name. It really translates as potplant, we think.

You might meet a real scientist here, says Victor.

Just as well we didn’t. Bruce was beside himself at the epic scientific folly of this project.

I am kind. I thought it was a nice exercise for

school students.

We go into the great lungs of the place where a huge bellows-like machine rises and descends to keep the air pressure balanced. It is fascinating. Victor, opens the door so we are blasted out in a gale. Fun.

We visit the kitchen and living quarters of the Bionauts and contemplate how miserable it must have been battling both malnutrition and each other. We have covered the Biosphere territory. With two promo documentaries thrown in to the mix, it has taken the entire afternoon. I am still fascinated. Bruce is beyond ho hum.

The long drive back into town produces some more rain. Bummer. But the desert is glorious every which way we look at it. In the dying light of Tucson again, the views are divine.

We reflect on how far we have come. Far. We are three quarters around the country on our map.

We order room service and hole up to watch politics on TV. The hotel can’t deliver the roast chicken. It has run out of chicken. Well, to be honest, it forgot to order chicken. Huh? Would I like the pasta, instead?

I have the pasta. It is awful. As is the Oklahoma sauvignon blanc I open. What possessed me to buy it? To see what it was like? Now I know. Ugh.