We were somewhere around Page (Arizona), on the edge of the desert, in search for the elusive Antelope Canyon, when the radiating heat began to take hold (thank you Hunter). A quick pit stop at a petrol pump revealed that it was around the corner. Raaightt. This close to civilisation. Damn brouchures. U-turn, on the road, 4 miles to go. A little sign, dusty from its residence shows the way, to the parking lot. We pay $20. Squint and walk to the shack. More money. $25 each this time. And then wait. A dust storm is swirling towards us. No, two. A glint in the searing sun lets us know that they're jeeps. Smiling people get off. Smiling people get on. The Navajo Native American folks running the establishment had things planned pretty close. One hour per group. Includes the 10 mins taken off road, to go to and from the caves/canyons.
Antelope Canyon is a result of Navajo Sandstone getting sculpted by ravaging floods. The result is some of the most surrealistic caves I've ever seen. Everything is motion here. Even the tourist groups that are hurried along by expert guides. Expert at shepherding and pointing out which formation looks like a bear. I lagged behind, far more interested in the abstract forms that were dancing in my subconscious, screaming to be let out in pictures. No tripod or flash of course. As always.