Four years ago today I was on my honeymoon. The trip was split over three cities. We flew into San Francisco, then a few days later went over to Las Vegas and then down to San Diego for the rest of the trip.
September 14th was the day we flew over the Grand Canyon. This was really why we'd gone to Vegas, we don't drink and aren't interested in gambling so it was all a bit surreal (like Vegas can ever not be surreal) from that point of view. Anyway on that Sunday morning a car took us to a little commercial ariport outside the city and we got into a very small plane, flown by Captain Ron.
My enjoyment of the flight was slightly marred by a very large couple from Gateshead (North East England) who shouted all the way through, complaining that they'd had too much to eat and drink last night and were hovering over the sick bags. You can always trust the English!
That aside it's one of those indescribable experiences that you think would be a good subject for a blog post and then you realize it's indescribable. I love looking out of the window in an aeroplane when we're cruising over land anyway, but here it was more like the best bit, when you're taking off or coming into land and not at 30,000 feet. Of course there are pictures, but none of them can do justice to the massiveness of what you're seeing. If you find yourself in that part of the desert, do yourself a favour, have an early night and a light dinner the night before and get up in a plane and see a river that's cut through hundreds of feet of rock over hundreds of thousands of years.
