Peace, Love, and Prada

My friend Melisa and I are laughing and sharing a sinfully greasy grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes and green chilies at Keiser’s West in Sedona, Arizona, when my cell phone rings. After about three seconds, the connection dies, probably because I’m in the middle of nowhere and the reception—no matter how good the AT&T wireless network purports to be—is terrible.

Melisa leans in and motions me to come closer. “Have you noticed how quiet it is around here?” she asks. The dirty looks I get from other tables start to make sense as I tuck my phone away. Unlike in Dallas, where yuppies feel naked without a cell phone, the folks in Sedona don’t seem concerned about cutting-edge technology or getting good reception in a restaurant. They’re more interested in having their chakras cleansed, their palms read, and their other New Age thirsts quenched.

When I look down at the Prada bag and sunglasses I’ve casually tossed on the table, I realize just how terribly out of place we are—two Dallas girls with a slew of designer labels  between us in a city that claims a “vortex of femininity.” But that’s why we’re here. We’d heard about the absolutely stunning red rocks and the calming effect said scenery can have on a person. So we’ve come to Sedona for a little Dallas detox.

The first stop on our path to enlightenment is Enchantment Resort, which is even more un-Dallas than Keiser’s West, if that’s possible. Surrounded by the striking rock formations of Boynton Canyon, an area considered sacred by Native Americans, the resort is a jewel in the rough. Despite the otherwise no-frills ambience in this town, Enchantment’s one-story adobe accommodations are surprisingly luxurious, making it an easy transition for a pair of prisses clearly out of their element.

The resort makes the most of its surroundings, as each room offers panoramic views of the rock formations and pine trees. Melisa, who has dabbled in photography for as long as I’ve known her, hasn’t put her camera down since we first spotted a red rock outside of town. She takes a few moments after we check in to snap pictures from our balcony. Our Southwestern-style room is cozy yet spacious, with two, pillow-laden, queen-sized beds, a sitting area complete with a beehive fireplace, and a bathroom bigger than my entire duplex back home. We are becoming one with the earth in high style.

My top priority at Enchantment is to visit to the much-ballyhooed Mii amo spa, a two-story, Native American-inspired sanctuary designed to replicate the aesthetic of the Anasazi. The building itself is composed of pure materials, such as adobe brick, wood, and indigenous stones, to blend organically with the Boynton Canyon that surrounds it. Natural light and water are recurring themes throughout the space. It’s all very Zen.

Because Sedona has become a New Age mecca, the spa attracts the most sought-after healers, who perform a menu of delectable treatments such as hydrotherapy baths, cranial sacral therapy, Reiki energy healing, ayurvedic treatments, and body wraps. And, as you might imagine, spa-goers can also participate in meditation, drumming, chanting, and crystal therapy.

I get into the spirit of things and try a moment of meditation in the Crystal Grotto—a circular space that, in theory, connects the heavens with the earth, complete with a central quartz crystal that rests in a petrified tree base—but I fear my cynicism is an impediment.

Before I leave, I do partake in an ayurvedic body treatment, which is a little out there for someone like me who usually prefers aromatherapy massage. According to ayurveda, the ancient Hindu science of health and medicine, everyone inherits a unique proportion of three mind/body principles—vata, pitta, and kapha—called doshas. Before my treatment, my massage therapist determines which dosha is “most lively in my nature” and proceeds to give me the best massage of my life with the brew that most closely matches my energy. She then wraps me in steaming herbal sheets while I receive a balancing facial massage. It feels so good I almost ask her for a cigarette.

I emerge from my treatment room so relaxed that Melisa has to ask me twice if I’m okay. I don’t think she’s ever seen me so at peace with the world. I can barely keep my head up to enjoy lunch at the spa, where the menu of “guilt-free” items includes the calorie and fat counts of delicious dishes, including timbale of roasted mushrooms and goat cheese in phyllo, and smoked salmon and tuna tower. My hummus and grilled vegetable wrap hits the spot.

I vow not to waste my massage buzz on something hard-core like shopping, so Melisa and I head to Castle Rock, one of Sedona’s four official vortexes (another is in Boynton Canyon near Enchantment). Never heard of a vortex? Neither had we. According to a book we bought on the subject, What Is a Vortex?, by Dennis Andres—an autographed copy, no less—a vortex is “a place in nature where the earth is exceptionally alive and healthy,” a place where “the aliveness and health of the earth is reflected in a tremendous natural beauty,” and “a place on the planet of increased energy.” Basically, most people believe they’re going to feel a cosmic connection near a vortex. And, because Sedona has four (or seven, depending on whom you ask), it’s a pretty spiritual place. We are determined to keep an open mind.

Or, at least, we are determined to enjoy a spectacular sunset, and apparently Castle Rock is the place. When the light hits the rocks, the colors soar from red to fiery orange just before dark settles in. This phenomenon attracts locals and tourists alike, including a Seattle transplant and his two dogs, who play fetch around the rocks and creeks. Even if we aren’t moved spiritually, this is certainly a more spectacular event than the sun ducking behind Reunion Tower.

Once the sun goes down, we head to the more modest but equally serene accommodations at L’Auberge de Sedona. Our room for the night is a recently renovated, creek- side cottage, where we enjoy a quick glass of wine and some cheese on the porch while we watch ducks frolic in the creek.

That evening we dine at the Heartline Cafe, a recommendation from a friend in Phoenix who loves it for its many vegetarian options. In another city, the Heartline Cafe would probably lean toward the pretentious, with its $15-and-up entrée selection and extensive (though reasonably priced) wine list. But in Sedona, the cafe feels more like your best friend’s house: laid-back, friendly, and satisfying.

We settle in with a bottle of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand and order the soup of the day—a heavenly cream of tomato that puts La Madeleine’s to shame—and a savory Dungeness lump crab cake with roasted peppers and béarnaise. Melisa selects her favorite fish, pan-seared Alaskan halibut, and I choose the beef tenderloin with garlic mashed potatoes and onion chutney (calories be damned). As we indulge, the table of four twentysomethings behind us gets a little rowdy, but no one seems to mind. One of the girls gets up and asks the table next to us, who, we find out later, is celebrating an anniversary, what “their song” is. Then she proceeds to ask people at other tables around her, including us (though there is no couple at our table), and we all get a kick out of reminiscing about our favorite love songs. We decide this sort of camaraderie would never be tolerated in Dallas. In Sedona, no one blinks.

As Dallas girls, we have a fourth dosha: shopping. Surely our path to spiritual enlightenment points to a mall of some kind. So the next day, after a nice breakfast of Boursin and mushroom omelets at L’Auberge Restaurant, we get in the car and drive to Tlaquepaque, the Spanish colonial-style arts-and-crafts village named after a tiny town just outside Guadalajara, Mexico. Celebrating its 30th anniversary this year, Tlaquepaque boasts more than 40 shops within its walls, including the awesome El Prado Galleries Inc., which represents Lyman Whitaker, the artist responsible for the spectacular, DNA-molecule-inspired wind sculptures dotting the courtyard of Tlaquepaque and the sculpture garden of the gallery itself. (Speaking of the courtyard, you simply must grab a pack of caramelized pecans or almonds to nosh while you shop. You won’t be able to resist the aroma that seduces your olfactory senses when you enter the village.) We also score big at Panara, where we pick up vibrantly colorful mittens and scarves made from leftover Nepalese sari silk. (If only we had a real winter in Dallas!) Other favorites are Eisenart Innovations, where we go gaga over Nelson De La Nuez’s campy juxtapositions of classic art, religion, and pop culture, and Calling All Angels, where we browse “adornments for the home, body, and soul,” including darling jeweled boxes, handmade jewelry, handbags, and signs stating “Now Accepting Applications for Eligible Men.”

So we regressed a bit with the shopping expedition—miracles don’t happen overnight. But at least I’ve learned that I can enjoy a vacation without my Prada bag.

Photo Courtesy of Enchantment Resort