The trail to Wasson ridge in Tucson’s Saguaro National Park was pitiless. Sharp rocks and barbed cactus everywhere. But near the top, the scenery was breathtaking. A long valley full of Saguaro stretched before me, and in the distance jagged peaks pierced the sky. I turned around to begin the hike back down and saw a younger man, in his early thirties probably, coming up the trail behind me. When I stepped aside so he could pass, he smiled and said, “Nice day to climb.” “It is,” I pulled off my cap and wiped my forehead. “You sound like you’re from the U.K.” “Yeah, but I’ve lived in New York the past year. I guess I’ll never lose my accent,” he chuckled. He was out of breath and ready for a break so he stopped to chat awhile. “Arizona’s a long way from New York,” I said.
“I wanted to see this landscape,” he swept an arm out. “It’s magnificent! I flew to Arizona on holiday, but next month I return to London.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.” “Well…” he began, and then a phainopepla flitted past us and down the canyon wash into a mesquite tree. The bird caught our attention for a moment, its black, shiny wings flashing in the brilliant sun. “Britain is pretty chaotic right now. The prime minister is probably going to lose his job—which I’m in favor of actually.” I kicked a rock with the tip of my sneaker trying to remember the name of England’s prime minister. “Boris Johnson? Why don’t you like him?” “Oh, where to begin…” he squinted up into the Arizona sky. “For one thing, he’s a Nationalist. Like some of the people in the U.K., particularly older people, he still sees Britain as this powerful empire, ruler of the seas, and all that. We’re just an island country with limited resources. Don’t get me wrong, I love my country, but I’m realistic. We do have a history to be proud of, but it’s history. I’m more interested in the future. That doesn’t mean because of our glorious past England is somehow special.” He gazes down at the wide valley below us. I nodded, thinking what he said sounded familiar.
“We have that problem in America, too. Some people think we're ‘exceptional’ because of our democracy and wealth. We deserve more and other countries need to bow down to us. Like we have better genes or something—ha!”
He bent down to look at a cholla cactus, its nubby branches covered with needles. “Hitler thought we Brits had a genetic advantage. I’m a librarian, so I run across this kind of rubbish reading books.” “Well, Hitler would probably turn over in his grave,” I laughed, “if he knew a little African-American girl beat out thousands of blue-eyed, yellow-haired kids to win the Scripps Spelling Bee this year!” I was enjoying our talk. It was stimulating. I thought about inviting my new friend to supper at our vacation rental. My son and his wife were staying with my husband and I, and it was their turn to cook tonight. My son talked about making a new taco recipe with prickly pear cactus: nopales tacos. When I left to go climbing, John was heading out the front door wearing gloves and carrying a butcher knife. He was going to cut cactus fronds for his recipe.
“Hitler couldn’t see beyond people’s differences, but we're all human beings," I said. “It’s the same recipe, the same ingredients to make good humans no matter your race or nationality: stability, nutrition, education, and at least one loving care-giver. It’s not so much who we are or where we come from. It's the recipe, how we're put together."
“Speaking of which,” he said as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket to check the time, “I better move along. My care-giver, my girlfriend, is waiting for me back at the motel. It’s been so nice talking with you…” “Diana.” “Diana. I’m Felix.” “Nice to meet you too, Felix. Enjoy the rest of your day,” I smiled and waved as I turned to go back down the rugged path. It was a great conversation on a hiking trail in Arizona.
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