Sedona Arabella, Her Vortexes & My Wide-Eyed Slumber

This is Red Rock Country. In all its glory, in all its fiery mountains majesty, Sedona is a land that can’t help but enchant everyone who wanders through it.

What do you think of when you hear about Sedona? Probably massive red rock formations sprouting from a sea of green coniferous vegetation. Perhaps you think of crystals, gemstones, people in yoga poses, New Age shops filled with incense and oils. Maybe the word "vortex," and a vague image of what that might be, float through your mind.

I have a distant memory of always being drawn to Sedona. I think perhaps before I even knew anything about it. Its red rocks are probably the first tangible entities that drew me to it, but even before that, I think maybe just the name, Se-doe-nah, such a peaceful sounding name, appealed to me. The name "Sedona" actually came from one of the area's first settlers; a woman named Sedona Arabella Miller Schnebly. Her mother, Amanda, made the name up and chose it because "it sounded pretty." And now that I know that history, a few other things around the town make sense. There's a hotel called Arabella, and it's a lovely place to stay; surrounded by magnificent, 360-degree views of the towering red mountains and lush green canyons that decorate the high desert, you've got the best of everything this geological wonderland has to offer, right outside your hotel window. Plus, at the Arabella, you're right in the heart of AZ-179, Sedona's Red Rock Scenic Byway – which is not only stunning, but the main vein that runs through the town's many stops, shops, galleries, and eateries.

And Schnebly Hill Road was named after Sedona Arabella's husband, Theodore Carlton Schnebly. He used this winding, rising road to transport lumber from Flagstaff, and apparently, the road hasn't been fine-tuned much since he first began traveling on it back in the 1900s. Some of it's paved, but much of it is a rutted dirt road that ascends nearly 2,000 feet to its scenic vista. I've very intentionally never traveled on this road. In fact, every time I see the sign for it, I grip the steering wheel harder as to keep my impulsive hands in check. I'd been warned a long time ago, never to travel that road in anything but a high-clearance, AWD vehicle. 

On my very first day trip up to Sedona from Scottsdale, I stopped in a visitor center, though for the life of me, I can't find any trace of it online. I know it wasn't the Red Rock Ranger District Visitor Center (though everyone coming into Sedona should stop there for the best info around). And it wasn't the Sedona Chamber of Commerce Visitor Center unless that place has had a significant facelift, but nonetheless, I stopped into some phantom visitor center somewhere along AZ-179 for a map and some tips. I believe my exact words must have been, "How much can I cram into just one day in Sedona before sunset? And where should I watch the sunset?" (This was long before I became an obsessive trip planner, who can't help but research all of the possible things to see and do in towns before I get to them.) A charming young guide highlighted many well-worth-getting-lost-to-find points of interest on a black and white map that I can still so vividly see in my mind today. She asked what kind of car I was driving, and I told her, "A little Mazda I rented down in Phoenix," and with that, she instantly sharpied a big X over Schnebly Hill Road. "Next time you come, take a nice Pink Jeep tour or rent a Wrangler and give it a try, but for today, whatever you do, just do NOT take Schnebly Hill Road—we've seen too many people get stuck not knowing any better." And to this day, eight years and five trips later, I see the sign for that road and think DANGER, stay away! But my curious eyes still can't help but peer down the road as far as I can see, as I creep around roundabout number eight along AZ-179. Someday, I know I'll give it a go, strapped to the nines with anti-motion sickness wrist bands, binoculars, and a sack of Goldfish, but for now, I'll just keep trying not to drive on it. You know that feeling? Maybe it happens at a do-not-enter sign, or if you happen to be walking barefoot on a treadmill and you want to see just how close you can get your big toe to the top of the conveyer belt without getting it stuck in the machine. That, let's-see-how-close-I-can-get-to-the-edge-without-falling feeling that tempts us?

Schnebly Hill Road in Sedona always beckons me. As does hiking to Havasu Falls, even though I'm a relatively inexperienced hiker. Arizona, in general, has always called to me. I guess most of my posts are like love letters to travel, to America, and mostly, Arizona. But Sedona specifically, was the first place I'd ever really set out to see on my own. I was pretty broke, but tagging along on my mom's business trip. I flew out with her, rented a car and made day trips to and from a whole host of places I could relatively easily get to from our hotel in Scottsdale. She'd be in meetings all day, every day and I'd be off exploring this wondrous foreign land I'd never set foot on before. One drive (to Bisbee) was a bit too long, at the time, for a rookie road-tripper like me, so for the very first time in my life, I spent the night all by myself in a Marriott Residence Inn down in Tucson. I was instantly hooked. On road-tripping, on planning my own itinerary, playing my tunes and chowing down on gas station grub along the way, followed by room service in a giant king-sized bed all by myself. From that trip on, I knew I had to do this as often as humanly possible. It's adventure mixed with the best form of therapy I've ever found.

But anyway, back to Sedona. The day before I was planning on heading up there a particularly unpleasant, and an extremely untimely recurring health issue I'd been having reared its ugly head. At the time, I was suffering from random extreme dry eye. Out of nowhere, my eyes would burn like hell, tear up uncontrollably to the point where it was very difficult to see, let alone drive. Being in a dimly lit room with sunglasses on was much too painful for my poor, tormented eyes. And my doctor couldn't quite figure out what was causing it. I thought perhaps the e-cigarettes I was heavily huffing at the time were to blame, but my doctor didn't seem to think so. I'll save you the suspense and tell you what we eventually discovered, long after that first Arizona trip. The reason my eyes were getting dryer than I could bear, is because I very unintentionally, but somewhat regularly sleep with my eyes open. I won't even try to pacify you with some they're-only-open-a-slit explanation, though I'd imagine most nights they are. Nope, at the time, I was horrifying roommates left and right with my creepy fish-like ways. 

Back in college, one of my roommates thought that I was mad at her when she came home late from the library one night, only to find me lying in bed, wide-eyed, with my desk lamp on, seemingly awake. She asked, "Hey, what are you doing up so late," and got no response. She told me later that she followed up with, "You ok, Laur?" and still, no reply. I have no recollection of any of this whatsoever, but poor Kristin thought I was passively aggressively annoying her, that night. Another roommate once asked if he could borrow my keys to move my car early one morning, unbeknownst to me. "Yo, is that cool?" He got no reply. "I mean, if you wanna move it you can, I just figured it's early so—oh shit, are you asleep with your—oh shit! What the—" I woke up to him knocking into walls, doors, and picture frames, trying to scamper away as quickly as humanly possible to erase the haunting memory I'd just regrettably created for him. Luckily, there weren't many more casualties that I'm aware of. 

But anyway, back to Sedona. Part of what exacerbated this dry eye issue was that I always needed to sleep with a fan or a.c. unit blasting directly on my face. And believe me, the irony is not lost on me that I've most likely been pre-menopausal since birth, finding comfort only in the coolest of temperatures, yet I long for life in the desert like the bag of chips that's just slightly out of reach atop the highest shelf in the grocery store. So while I was on this trip, I wasn't yet aware that I needed to sleep with an eye mask on to protect my own eyes and the eyes of innocent bed resters nearby. So I woke up the day before my Sedona road trip, with some moderate burning in my eyes, but I refused to let it keep me away from embarking on my journey.

That morning, I just so happened to receive a Facebook message from an old childhood friend who'd recently moved out to Scottsdale. She could see that I was out there, so she gave me travel tips and restaurant recommendations and told me I just had to see Sedona. She mentioned that she wasn't in love with Scottsdale, but that Sedona was pure magic. "There's just something about it...I don't know. It's hard to explain, you just have to go. It's gorgeous, it's fun, there are great places to hike and walk around, and it's somehow really healing." She went on to tell me that when she first moved out to Arizona, she had a horrible sinus infection and her head was a mess, but she made a day trip to Sedona and was somehow completely symptom-free for her entire trip up there. Perhaps the town's famous vortexes and their natural healing properties played a role? "I'm telling you, Lauren, I went up there, and I could breathe again, I felt like a new woman! It was unreal!" I can't remember what happened when she eventually went back home, but as if I needed another reason to get myself up to Sedona – now I was dying to see if this place could heal my burning eyes!

Anybody wanna take a guess what happened next? Well, it's not quite the medicinally magical ending I'd like to pretend it was. About halfway up I-17 North, I had to pull off to use my in-case-of-emergency eye drops because my eyes were torturing me. BUT, back then, at the peak of my eye issues, I would've had to use at least four drops per eye over the course of an hour in order for the medicine to take full effect. But on this particular day, I only needed one drop per eye. And I do believe that Sedona's something was responsible for that. I've always wondered how I would've been if I hadn't used the drops at all. I have a feeling I would've been problem-free because that seems to be the theme up in Sedona. I will add, however, that everything seems to be electrically charged up there. Coming from a person who feels everything to the tenth degree, I seem to feel even more while I'm out there. A local once told me that it's because of the red rocks.

I forget what her geological/metaphysical reasoning was, but she told me that some people go up there and sleep better than they've ever slept before, and other's go up and find they can hardly sleep at all; they're too energized. I'm the latter. Again, more irony, because I cherish sleep, but I love Sedona and would love to live there someday. 

More stories from Sedona, Arizona and beyond, to come. Thanks for reading.