Skip to main content

Aspen

The flight from Auckland to LA was perhaps the bumpiest I've ever experienced. There were no hot drinks served for the duration, but they did get the meals to us on time. I had a good seat - right at the back of the plane where the fuselage narrows there are 2 seats instead of 3 in the side bays and I got one of them, on the aisle with a wide space beside me and extra legroom in front. I managed some sleep.

Then it was LAX, with the terminal looking all modern and clean and neat, and a large staff of uniformed people keeping the swarms of us moving through their system. It was surprisingly and pleasantly efficient, quick and friendly. Then I had about 20 minutes of walking from terminal 4 to terminal 7, a couple of hours in a lounge and a couple more in a Canadair regional jet.

We flew over that vast swathe of California and Nevada that seems devoid of trees and full of canyons. I saw Las Vegas below me, then the dusty grey brown landscape became speckled with snow as it rose higher. We circled and dodged through the rockies for a bit: higher than the Southern Alps but older, and therefore rounder. We flew past the forested slopes and into Aspen, a smallish airport whose tarmac was lined with dozens and dozens of personal jets.

A young guy from my hotel picked my up in a big Chevrolet SUV and I was in my small, comfortable, homely room about two hours by my watch after I left Dunedin.

This is a beautiful town. Simply beautiful. If it reminds me of anywhere it might be Queenstown, but it is gentler, more civilised. The buildings are no more than 3 stories high, and are mostly made of the same red brick and the architectural style is a restrained modernism. The roads are wide so the town feels airy and spacious. It sits at an elevation of about 7500 feet and the surrounding mountains go as high as 12,000 so the difference is not as marked as in Queenstown and the scenery here not quite so grand and steep. The shopping area is filled with art galleries, classy fashion houses, and restaurants: over 100 of them for a town of about 6,000. There is some serious money here. The houses are large and look well built, sitting in their snowy, tree lined streets. In a souvenir shop I could have bought a small fossil dinosaur skeleton for $32,500 or, for an undisclosed sum, a genuine and pretty much intact Tyrannosaurus Rex skull. 

I went to bed at 8, slept fitfully in an overheated room, and woke in time for the 8 am mass at Christ Episcopal Church. Unfortunately I hadn't got my watch adjustment quite right, so had to come back for the 10 am instead. I twice walked the 2 km return journey through the snowy streets. The days here are sunny right now and the nights bitterly cold, so the snow on the footpaths has thawed and refrozen a few times and in places there is 2 or 3 inches of clear hard ice underfoot. I'm glad I brought my big hiking boots with their grippy soles. The service was calm, understated, well done. A woman with a clear  mezzo voice led the hymns, someone played the pipe organ very well indeed, there was a thoughtful sermon. I have spent the rest of the day ambling slowly round this lovely place. I've brought camera number two with me but haven't used it much.

There is always a lead in time in a serious retreat - a couple of days when you have to leave the world behind and get ready to face yourself and face God. This is a time to sleep, and get used to being apart. I'm glad that the necessities of flight timetabling have given me a bonus of two days here, before I go to St. Benedict's, to get used to the time difference and leave behind the unnaturalness of sitting in a vast aluminium tube as it hurtles through the stratosphere high above the Pacific Ocean.

The Aspen Mountain ski area begins right on the edge of town. In fact a gondola up to the slopes begins right in the shopping centre. I looked at the skiers gliding over the slopes above me and I was pretty tempted. But, although I can rent skis here I can't rent clothing. I'd have to buy pants and goggles, and what with lift tickets, ski and boot hire I'd be looking at at least $350 for a day. I thought about how I might explain that particular item on the Visa statement to someone who has her heart set on a new kitchen. I remembered how long it has been since I last skied and my physiological changes since then and calculated the pretty good odds of knee and/or achilles damage. So, very very reluctantly indeed, I decided to be sensible. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ko Tangata Tiriti Ahau

    The Christmas before last our kids gave us Ancestry.com kits. You know the deal: you spit into a test tube, send it over to Ireland, and in a month or so you get a wadge of paper in the mail telling you who you are. I've never, previously, been interested in all that stuff. I knew my forbears came to Aotearoa in the 1850's from Britain but I didn't know from where, exactly. Clemency's results, as it turns out, were pretty interesting. She was born in England, but has ancestors from various European places, and some who are Ngāti Raukawa, so she can whakapapa back to a little marae called Kikopiri, near Ōtaki. And me? It turns out I'm more British than most British people. Apart from a smattering of Norse  - probably the result of some Viking raid in the dim distant past - all my tūpuna seem to have come from a little group of villages in Nottinghamshire.  Now I've been to the UK a few times, and I quite like it, but it's not home: my heart and soul belon...

Kindle

 Living as I do in a place where most books have to come a long way in an aeroplane, reading is an expensive addiction, and of course there is always the problem of shelf space. I have about 50 metres of shelving in my new study, but it is already full and there is not a lot of wall space left; and although it is great insulation, what is eventually going to happen to all that paper? I doubt my kids will want to fill their homes with old theological works, so most of my library is eventually going to end up as egg cartons. Ebooks are one solution to book cost and storage issues so I have been  using them for a while now, but their big problem has been finding suitable hardware to read them on.  I first read them on the tiny screens of Ipaqs and they were quite satisfactory but the wretchedness of Microsoft Reader and its somewhat arbitrary copyright protection system killed the experience entirely. On Palm devices they were OK except the plethora of competing and incomp...

En Hakkore

In the hills up behind Ranfurly there used to be a town, Hamilton, which at one stage was home to 5,000 people. All that remains of it now is a graveyard, fenced off and baking in the lonely brown hills. Near it, in the 1930s a large Sanitorium was built for the treatment of tuberculosis and other respiratory ailments. It was a substantial complex of buildings with wards, a nurses hostel, impressive houses for the manager and superintendent and all the utility buildings needed for such a large operation. The treatment offered consisted of isolation, views and weather. Patients were exposed to the air, the tons of it which whistled past, often at great speed, the warmth of the sun and the cold. They were housed in small cubicles opening onto huge glassed verandas where they cooked in the summer and froze in the winter and often, what with the wholesome food and the exercise, got better. When advances in antibiotics rendered the Sanitorium obsolete it was turned into a Borstal and...

The Traitor

A couple of people have questioned me privately about the Leonard Cohen song The Traitor , and about Cohen's comments on the song, "[The Traitor is about] the feeling we have of betraying some mission we were mandated to fulfill and being unable to fulfill it; then coming to understand that the real mandate was not to fulfill it; and the real courage is to stand guiltless in the predicament in which you find yourself". What on earth does he mean, and why am I so excited about it? For the latter, check with my psychiatrist. For the former, my take on the song is this: The Traitor is another of those instances, as in The Partisan , where Leonard Cohen uses a military metaphor to speak of life in general and human love in particular. Many of us hold high ideals: some great quest or other that we pursue. These are often laudable things: finding true love, finding the absolute love of God, becoming enlightened, spreading the Gospel, writing the great novel or some such ...

Camino, by David Whyte

This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede...