the vortex made me do it: continued

"It sure is nice to get off the beaten path," my older sister said as our overloaded Dodge Caravan, stuffed with me, my wife, my sister, her husband, and a cousin, turned from one paved road to a narrower paved road. We were headed to Sedona.

The Caravan led a caravan of three cars, transporting some thirteen members of the Anderson and Polonenko clans, all related, all backseat drivers. We were about to meet the Vortex.

Sedona is a tourist trap in the finest sense of the cliché. Nestled amid famed red bouldery canyons, Sedona is home to an assortment of wealthy retirees and wealthier con artists. The latter prey upon the legions of dupes who come to Sedona looking for enlightenment without the effort, energy, and time required of meditative practice.

Behold, the Vortex! Four of them, actually. Columns of spiritual energy, or just plain energy, or magnetic fields, or invisible money drains. You can pay hundreds of dollars for tours to the vortices, for pseudospiritual mumbo-jumbo shamelessly plundered from Hindu, Buddhist, and Native American traditions. (See Penn and Teller's withering critique.)

And yes, people really do part with massive sums of money. Sitting near a "Vortex Tours" kiosk, I overheard this conversation:

Bored Attendant: How was the trip?

Dupe: It was fantastic! I was worried that we were going to cross rough terrain in the jeep, a little nervous, but then I saw that we'd be on nice roads the whole way, which was a relief.

Attendant: Uh-huh.

Dupe: Say, I think I left my vortex guide wedged between the seats. Could I just have another one?

Attendant: (thinking to self) You've paid upwards of $150 for an hour-long ride through the outskirts of Sedona, which you could have done yourself for free. Sure! Have a great day!

We spent parts of two days in Sedona. By the end of our time there, I believed in the vortex, in its power to baffle and confuse.

Fact: After only a few hours in Sedona, our troupe could neither stay together in a single caravan nor decide on a dinner spot without diplomatic negotation.

Fact: Not once, but twice, a pedestrian ran across the street in front of the van, doing the same silly spinning grab-the-sunglasses dance in the middle of the road and narrowly avoiding injury.

Fact: At the Wildflower Bread Company, a place where preppies and hippies can coexist peaceably, my younger sister ordered "Chicken Caesar salad with chicken salad on the side," and was surprised when her Caesar salad was chickenless. (The chicken salad was good, she informed us.)

Fact: There was no visible police presence in Sedona, which may be related to the other fact that it has only one ordinance in force: Thou Shalt Not Speak Ill of the Vortex.

Fact: You can spin two hours' worth of laughs out of the Vortex concept, even among teetotalers.

You really ought to visit Sedona. Even if incense nauseates you, even if you're as spiritual as a liver fluke, even if your only nearby crystal is in your Timex, Sedona is for you. It's beautiful, and if you park within city limits, free.

Go in peace, and may the Vortex guide you.