Translated material
My America. Death Valley
Return to publications the world of Kottsova Julia 
Dolina-Smerti-17 Death Valley. Photo: Anton Kottsov
I went to the photo hunt, and Anton remained in the car to better study the route that we had to overcome today. A visit to the desert, albeit cultivated, is serious matter, and we reacted to this with all seriousness. I was so fascinated by cacti that there was no good half an hour. 
Returning to the car, she found Anton, covered with wet wipes - the heat and overwork made itself felt, he had blood. We quickly coped with this trouble and prepared to go further, but then we noticed a police car in the rear view mirror, it is not clear how materialized on a completely deserted highway. “This is to us ...”, ”Anton said. And he was not mistaken.
The black policeman in black form already approached the driver's door, holding his right hand on his belt, where, as it unmistakably prompted me a flair, there should be a gun. Without waiting for the invitation, we lower the glass. “Good afternoon, such and such, do you have everything? You have been standing on the sidelines for more than twenty minutes, ”said Kop. Despite all the politeness and seeming goodwill, the policeman’s eyes, having studied us, glued stackedly along the cabin, for a second delaying the navigator, the DVR and other devices. The same flair suggested to us that, although before us the American, it was better to leave a smile for another case, and Anton reported as politely and serene as possible about the reasons for our standing on the sidelines, pointing to his nose for greater persuasiveness. “Did she hit you?” Kop asked without a shadow of irony. We laughed and shook our heads, only after a few minutes realizing that the question was asked quite seriously, the cop was considering this option of events and support Anton to his “joke”, I would definitely not greet me. We explained that the heat was to blame, we were already preparing to continue the way.
“Are you going to the Death Valley?”, - rather stated, and did not specify the guard of order. - “There is now even hotter than here. Think. Do you have a headdress? ” We nodded, smiled, drove a smile from his face and did not know what to do next. Once again, looking around the salon with a gaze, the policeman finally moves away, gets into his car, which does not touch. “Let's go,” the thought synchronously visited us, and we went home. The police car remained on the sidelines. How did he find out that we were standing for more than half an hour? Is it possible to stand on the side of the road for a long time? Where did he come from? Did he really suspect me? Do they have a satellite here, or something, the desert is monitoring? We talked to questions, and only after a couple of seconds turned out. The police car disappeared as suddenly as it appeared ... After this incident, we were sure that a big brother vigilantly was following us, and we also had an inexhaustible topic for jokes. The path lay through the Riolite city - an abandoned city of prospectors that produced silver ore in these places a century ago. Now one of the parts of the city is probably central, ennobled for tourists who keep their way to the death valley. The road to the National Park passes by Riolith. It is almost impossible to miss this town - the ghosts of prospectors (huge figures from white clay) are clearly visible from the road. 
We drive up to the house, apparently - surviving, not new construction, on the doors of which the mailbox hangs and invite you to enter the sign. We twitch the door - closed. Do not be surprised. Before the house stands a sofa pulled out into the street, in fact that it turned out to be a solid bench lined with fine tiles. 
On the other hand, an old bicycle, over which a figure dressed in a shroud, leaned.
We notice nearby a long stick with a figure upstairs, where the ass, where before - cannot understand ... crucifixion ...
Not far away, there are a number of ghosts, the very ones that we noticed from the road. We take pictures among them. The heat and desertedness, twisted space ... Where are we? What is this? Memory inconsistency ... 
We are heading for another famous attractions of the city - a house composed of empty beer bottles. It is said that the house was built by the local crazy volume Kelly from the bottles, which remained from visitors to the local beer. 
The beer house is not such a small, normal country shed, forming its bottles tightly fastened with cement. The house is fenced, not to come close, but it turns out to look out the window and see the utensils scattered across the floor. Did Strina Kelly live here? Unfortunately, we do not know, but the original house impressed very much. 
Not far from the bottle house there is an abandoned, grown car in the ground. It costs a century ... I have been covering my eyes and imagining how before, when Riolaite was lively and noisy (the population of the city was 16 thousand people), one of the miners drove this car along these streets. 
Perhaps he took his children to school, the dilapidated wooden building of which is visible nearby. Perhaps I went to the station, which we also saw. The station building is stone, and it has been preserved perfectly. The buildings of the bank and even prison have been preserved, but the wooden houses of the inhabitants of the city, which have now become a ghost, almost completely decayed. 
I would have wandered around Riolit for a long time, who, I assure you, still retained my character and energy of people who inhabited him, but, as always, it is time to move on. We wanted to get to the canyon of the Titus on the road going in the mountains of the vine. As we understood from the guide (as it was then higher, erroneously), the dashed road to the title was supposed to begin a little further, but on one of the branches of the main road we notice the pointer: Canyon Titus, the movement on all -wheel drive cars was recommended. “What are we, not in a jeep or something,” says Anton, and we will turn into the unknown. 
The road is narrow, very much loop and shakes even more. At first I tried to correlate with the guide for the correct direction. I tried to calculate whether we drove 18 miles, and whether what we see, it seems to the fork, which the guide promised to us 18 miles. But soon she left this venture. We confidently approached the familiar mountain collapses, and no less confidently drove into the path leading to the mountains. The views around were breathtaking, even though we dare to say, have already seen a lot in National parks of Nevada and Arizona. Pretty steeply taking up the road was narrow and I would never dare to get behind the wheel in my life. The mobile stopped taking a signal, neither in front, nor behind (and the road in both directions was not bad) there was not a single car. I was absolutely sure that we were going the wrong way, if something happened to the car - it is not clear where to wait for help from. True, the case of the police arose from the air gave confidence a little. One thing was comforted - the road was grader, which means that it was specially laid here, and that means that it must have taken us out of the canyon on the highway.
And we all rose and rose, not forgetting to take indescribable photos. Suddenly, the rocky breed stained in burgundy, it was striking. We slowed down. Burgundy cliffs, burgundy dust .. Red pass! He was mentioned in the guidebook! Hooray, we are on the right track! With the sensation of deep relief (I speak for myself), we continue the difficult path along a shaking road that went to the descent. Coons of Canyon and a narrow road were not at all in sight. I go to the arrow showing the amount of gasoline (we go quite slowly, shaking and twitching, the air conditioner works on the whole coil), a dead phone and a completely deserted (non -humane) space. Immersed in anxious thoughts, I notice a house that is lonely standing right among the mountain protrusions. I do not know how to explain why it was great. The collapsed hibar among the dead rocks. But it was unbearably beautiful! We slow down near the Lidfield, Dead City signs.
Lidfield laid down in 1926 existed for no more than six months - the ore discovered here by prospectors was unsuitable for use. The tiny town was empty as rapidly as it appeared. Several dead houses that have survived to the present day doomedly darken against the background of rocks. The path leads from the nearest to the far house, you can reach. Several surviving adults are also visible. I would be happy, but it's time to go. So far, we cannot yet evaluate how much we still loop and shake along a narrow mowed road leading to the Canyon Titus. We all go down, the machine is quite briskly sneaking along the grader, voluntarily voluntarily in the way of the boulders .. where did we fall out? And most importantly - when? And now - he! The long -awaited pointer! Titus! We went down by car to the very bottom of the canyon! Let not we wandered along the bottom of the impregnable grand, and Brais looked at the top, but we drove in a car at the bottom of the canyon, which was in the hottest place on the ground. I forget anxieties and experiences - we did it ...
Finally we drove along a flat road - do not climb up, do not go down. True, there was a feeling that we were in a huge well - the walls of the Titus grew and rallied, standing shoulder to shoulder and trying to close the sky. Inspired by luck, look around - the landscape is previously unprecedented and therefore it is impossible to take his eyes off it. And suddenly a miracle! “We notice on the road a slowly crawling Ford in front!” People !! A flat road and the approaching end of the path added confidence to us, and we decided to stop and take a little walk in search of Petroglyphs, which the guide promised in this place. In addition, Ford was dragging so slowly that we decided to let him go forward - still then catching in, as practice usually showed. We go a gossok along a narrow road, a small area arises on the left, and Ford turns there, inferior to us. OK. We overtake, take off, and slow down after some time near a very beautiful slope of the mountain on which cacti grow.
The most beautiful is upstairs, and we decide to make a small ascent, admire and again give Ford the opportunity to tear ourselves. But it was not there! The machine drives up, stops, an American pair comes out of it. No matter how far a forward road was visible, we did not see their car. It remains only to guess at what speed and how long they dragged along the unfriendly and complex mountain trail. Judging by their faces, they were very happy to see us. Although, on the other hand, who will figure out these always friendly Americans ... We joked a little on the topic of what the hell brought them to these galleys and whether they had confused the road, and admired cacti.
Unfortunately, we did not find Petroglyphov anywhere. The lady, lifting her head, looked at us and at the cacti, stroked a huge flat stone with her hand, apparently in the hope of finding Petroglyph on it, and Ford flashed towards the exit from the canyon. We recorded all the cacti, walked, rested, looked for crooked drawings and finally set off on the road. The first thing we saw around the bend was the lady walking backwards, apparently paving the way for those who were afraid to make turns into the unknown gentleman at the wheel. For our happiness, another site arose, this time to the right of the road, and Ford was stepping back again. We famously taxi and no less dashingly draw the remaining path along the bottom of the Canyon Titus. Here is the exit. The mountains opened and the road on the highway, as well as the Valley itself, became visible. We stopped again, went to the toilet-a lone structure in the middle of the desert, which even here was samples and indicative, flipped through the guide, admired the canyon, from the unauthorized captivity of which they still got out, drank water, pulled out from the canyon, the familiar Ford crawled out and without stopping, headed towards the highway. We looked at each other with a smile, and when we turned around, we saw only the rear headlights, confidently striving towards civilization. We could no longer catch up with it ...
Saying goodbye to the Titus, which gave us so many vivid impressions, we went to watch the singing dunes of the Death Valley.
Death Valley (Death Valley) is the largest national park in the United States, located in the Mohava desert. The lowest point of the valley, Lake Badwater, is located at a depth of 86 m below the sea level. The absolute maximum air temperature recorded here is 56.7 C, the sand warms up to 95 degrees. The name is associated with the death of this place from the thirst for a group of gold miners. Entrance to the valley is preceded by a sign “Danger! It is recommended to use only 4x4 cars. ” We drive up and get out of the car, not the jamming of it and without turning off the air conditioning. In the desert - no other way, heat and dryness are felt, even to a red -hot fir that happened here in the summer, even more than a month. From here, the death valley does not look like a “endless desert” - a highway passes behind the back, a canyon rises, a turn to the picturesque peak of Dante and Zabriski is visible.
On hot sand, which the wind was decorated with lambs like the sea, sometimes weak, dull plants are found. Here it is, a thirst for life. Here she is - thirst! I don’t want to move far away from the car, the burning sun is covering the eyes with the haze, the amount of sand around it seems to increase every minute. The sun strives for sunset, and long shadows lie on the sand, weaving perfectly into the landscape as the silent inhabitants of these sands.
For our short journey, we managed to see many interesting and unusual places, but the desert ... This is a desert. The legs get stuck in the dried sand, but the dunes are beckoning, as if they are dragging. I put Panama on the very eyes and peer into the distance, as if wanting to make out a mirage. I listen, but I do not hear the songs of the dunes, although it was promised that under the influence of the wind, the sands ring stretched strings.
Anton returns me to reality and calls to return with the car. Waking up, I am happy to dive into a conditioned paradise. We do not have time to inspect all the attractions of the National Park, and choosing a long time between the devilish field for golf, Dante's romantic peak, sung to Zabbski and the lowest point of the desert - the lake “Bad Water”, we choose the latter. Pictures on the guide and the Internet promised another unearthly landscape - the bottom of the lake drying in the summer is a salt crust, divided into scales, again under the influence of wind. It turned out to go to Badwotra much further than we pretended. On the way, we notice water from the right side of the road .. Lake? Mirage??
Waving his hand for a while, we slow down and run to the water ... It was a huge space covered with salt. Salted sand, salty plants. In some places, water shines with small puddles.
Apparently in the winter the lake really spills here. But this is not a Badwater, you still need to get to it. The paths flash the signs of the artists, the peak of the guiding star, the golden canyon ... We close our eyes to avoid the temptation, and we go further. And here is the Badwater.
Alas, not so picturesque and unearthly as in pictures. Of all the promised here, only a strong wind is present. The lake has already dried up, but the remaining salt is dirty, without embossed patterns. The sun and the wind did not have time to work on fame, they will create a magical landscape here for those brave ones who come here by hell in the summer. It is time to return to Vegas, early in the morning we have a departure to San Francisco. The wildlife of America, which was so hospitable for us in all its glory, waved to goodbye to the branches of unprecedented cacti ...
Dolina-Smerti-17 Death Valley. Photo: Anton Kottsov10 day, May 1
In early May Day in the morning we already left a fantastic Vegas and headed for the Mohava desert, or rather, a reserve in this endless desert, called the Death Valley. We began to feel the heat in the city of sin - heat and thirst. The closer we got to the desert, the more fascinating the landscape outside the car window became. We rode along a beautiful highway laid directly through endless sands and cactus fields. I ask Anton to stop the car - a whole garden of various cacti, half -living earth, a unsteady haze from the scorching sun and asked for a camera. I went to the photo hunt, and Anton remained in the car to better study the route that we had to overcome today. A visit to the desert, albeit cultivated, is serious matter, and we reacted to this with all seriousness. I was so fascinated by cacti that there was no good half an hour. Returning to the car, she found Anton, covered with wet wipes - the heat and overwork made itself felt, he had blood. We quickly coped with this trouble and prepared to go further, but then we noticed a police car in the rear view mirror, it is not clear how materialized on a completely deserted highway. “This is to us ...”, ”Anton said. And he was not mistaken.The black policeman in black form already approached the driver's door, holding his right hand on his belt, where, as it unmistakably prompted me a flair, there should be a gun. Without waiting for the invitation, we lower the glass. “Good afternoon, such and such, do you have everything? You have been standing on the sidelines for more than twenty minutes, ”said Kop. Despite all the politeness and seeming goodwill, the policeman’s eyes, having studied us, glued stackedly along the cabin, for a second delaying the navigator, the DVR and other devices. The same flair suggested to us that, although before us the American, it was better to leave a smile for another case, and Anton reported as politely and serene as possible about the reasons for our standing on the sidelines, pointing to his nose for greater persuasiveness. “Did she hit you?” Kop asked without a shadow of irony. We laughed and shook our heads, only after a few minutes realizing that the question was asked quite seriously, the cop was considering this option of events and support Anton to his “joke”, I would definitely not greet me. We explained that the heat was to blame, we were already preparing to continue the way.
“Are you going to the Death Valley?”, - rather stated, and did not specify the guard of order. - “There is now even hotter than here. Think. Do you have a headdress? ” We nodded, smiled, drove a smile from his face and did not know what to do next. Once again, looking around the salon with a gaze, the policeman finally moves away, gets into his car, which does not touch. “Let's go,” the thought synchronously visited us, and we went home. The police car remained on the sidelines. How did he find out that we were standing for more than half an hour? Is it possible to stand on the side of the road for a long time? Where did he come from? Did he really suspect me? Do they have a satellite here, or something, the desert is monitoring? We talked to questions, and only after a couple of seconds turned out. The police car disappeared as suddenly as it appeared ... After this incident, we were sure that a big brother vigilantly was following us, and we also had an inexhaustible topic for jokes. The path lay through the Riolite city - an abandoned city of prospectors that produced silver ore in these places a century ago. Now one of the parts of the city is probably central, ennobled for tourists who keep their way to the death valley. The road to the National Park passes by Riolith. It is almost impossible to miss this town - the ghosts of prospectors (huge figures from white clay) are clearly visible from the road. We drive up to the house, apparently - surviving, not new construction, on the doors of which the mailbox hangs and invite you to enter the sign. We twitch the door - closed. Do not be surprised. Before the house stands a sofa pulled out into the street, in fact that it turned out to be a solid bench lined with fine tiles. On the other hand, an old bicycle, over which a figure dressed in a shroud, leaned.
We notice nearby a long stick with a figure upstairs, where the ass, where before - cannot understand ... crucifixion ...
Not far away, there are a number of ghosts, the very ones that we noticed from the road. We take pictures among them. The heat and desertedness, twisted space ... Where are we? What is this? Memory inconsistency ... We are heading for another famous attractions of the city - a house composed of empty beer bottles. It is said that the house was built by the local crazy volume Kelly from the bottles, which remained from visitors to the local beer. The beer house is not such a small, normal country shed, forming its bottles tightly fastened with cement. The house is fenced, not to come close, but it turns out to look out the window and see the utensils scattered across the floor. Did Strina Kelly live here? Unfortunately, we do not know, but the original house impressed very much. Not far from the bottle house there is an abandoned, grown car in the ground. It costs a century ... I have been covering my eyes and imagining how before, when Riolaite was lively and noisy (the population of the city was 16 thousand people), one of the miners drove this car along these streets. Perhaps he took his children to school, the dilapidated wooden building of which is visible nearby. Perhaps I went to the station, which we also saw. The station building is stone, and it has been preserved perfectly. The buildings of the bank and even prison have been preserved, but the wooden houses of the inhabitants of the city, which have now become a ghost, almost completely decayed. I would have wandered around Riolit for a long time, who, I assure you, still retained my character and energy of people who inhabited him, but, as always, it is time to move on. We wanted to get to the canyon of the Titus on the road going in the mountains of the vine. As we understood from the guide (as it was then higher, erroneously), the dashed road to the title was supposed to begin a little further, but on one of the branches of the main road we notice the pointer: Canyon Titus, the movement on all -wheel drive cars was recommended. “What are we, not in a jeep or something,” says Anton, and we will turn into the unknown. The road is narrow, very much loop and shakes even more. At first I tried to correlate with the guide for the correct direction. I tried to calculate whether we drove 18 miles, and whether what we see, it seems to the fork, which the guide promised to us 18 miles. But soon she left this venture. We confidently approached the familiar mountain collapses, and no less confidently drove into the path leading to the mountains. The views around were breathtaking, even though we dare to say, have already seen a lot in National parks of Nevada and Arizona. Pretty steeply taking up the road was narrow and I would never dare to get behind the wheel in my life. The mobile stopped taking a signal, neither in front, nor behind (and the road in both directions was not bad) there was not a single car. I was absolutely sure that we were going the wrong way, if something happened to the car - it is not clear where to wait for help from. True, the case of the police arose from the air gave confidence a little. One thing was comforted - the road was grader, which means that it was specially laid here, and that means that it must have taken us out of the canyon on the highway.
And we all rose and rose, not forgetting to take indescribable photos. Suddenly, the rocky breed stained in burgundy, it was striking. We slowed down. Burgundy cliffs, burgundy dust .. Red pass! He was mentioned in the guidebook! Hooray, we are on the right track! With the sensation of deep relief (I speak for myself), we continue the difficult path along a shaking road that went to the descent. Coons of Canyon and a narrow road were not at all in sight. I go to the arrow showing the amount of gasoline (we go quite slowly, shaking and twitching, the air conditioner works on the whole coil), a dead phone and a completely deserted (non -humane) space. Immersed in anxious thoughts, I notice a house that is lonely standing right among the mountain protrusions. I do not know how to explain why it was great. The collapsed hibar among the dead rocks. But it was unbearably beautiful! We slow down near the Lidfield, Dead City signs.
Lidfield laid down in 1926 existed for no more than six months - the ore discovered here by prospectors was unsuitable for use. The tiny town was empty as rapidly as it appeared. Several dead houses that have survived to the present day doomedly darken against the background of rocks. The path leads from the nearest to the far house, you can reach. Several surviving adults are also visible. I would be happy, but it's time to go. So far, we cannot yet evaluate how much we still loop and shake along a narrow mowed road leading to the Canyon Titus. We all go down, the machine is quite briskly sneaking along the grader, voluntarily voluntarily in the way of the boulders .. where did we fall out? And most importantly - when? And now - he! The long -awaited pointer! Titus! We went down by car to the very bottom of the canyon! Let not we wandered along the bottom of the impregnable grand, and Brais looked at the top, but we drove in a car at the bottom of the canyon, which was in the hottest place on the ground. I forget anxieties and experiences - we did it ...
Finally we drove along a flat road - do not climb up, do not go down. True, there was a feeling that we were in a huge well - the walls of the Titus grew and rallied, standing shoulder to shoulder and trying to close the sky. Inspired by luck, look around - the landscape is previously unprecedented and therefore it is impossible to take his eyes off it. And suddenly a miracle! “We notice on the road a slowly crawling Ford in front!” People !! A flat road and the approaching end of the path added confidence to us, and we decided to stop and take a little walk in search of Petroglyphs, which the guide promised in this place. In addition, Ford was dragging so slowly that we decided to let him go forward - still then catching in, as practice usually showed. We go a gossok along a narrow road, a small area arises on the left, and Ford turns there, inferior to us. OK. We overtake, take off, and slow down after some time near a very beautiful slope of the mountain on which cacti grow.
The most beautiful is upstairs, and we decide to make a small ascent, admire and again give Ford the opportunity to tear ourselves. But it was not there! The machine drives up, stops, an American pair comes out of it. No matter how far a forward road was visible, we did not see their car. It remains only to guess at what speed and how long they dragged along the unfriendly and complex mountain trail. Judging by their faces, they were very happy to see us. Although, on the other hand, who will figure out these always friendly Americans ... We joked a little on the topic of what the hell brought them to these galleys and whether they had confused the road, and admired cacti.
Unfortunately, we did not find Petroglyphov anywhere. The lady, lifting her head, looked at us and at the cacti, stroked a huge flat stone with her hand, apparently in the hope of finding Petroglyph on it, and Ford flashed towards the exit from the canyon. We recorded all the cacti, walked, rested, looked for crooked drawings and finally set off on the road. The first thing we saw around the bend was the lady walking backwards, apparently paving the way for those who were afraid to make turns into the unknown gentleman at the wheel. For our happiness, another site arose, this time to the right of the road, and Ford was stepping back again. We famously taxi and no less dashingly draw the remaining path along the bottom of the Canyon Titus. Here is the exit. The mountains opened and the road on the highway, as well as the Valley itself, became visible. We stopped again, went to the toilet-a lone structure in the middle of the desert, which even here was samples and indicative, flipped through the guide, admired the canyon, from the unauthorized captivity of which they still got out, drank water, pulled out from the canyon, the familiar Ford crawled out and without stopping, headed towards the highway. We looked at each other with a smile, and when we turned around, we saw only the rear headlights, confidently striving towards civilization. We could no longer catch up with it ...
Saying goodbye to the Titus, which gave us so many vivid impressions, we went to watch the singing dunes of the Death Valley.
Death Valley (Death Valley) is the largest national park in the United States, located in the Mohava desert. The lowest point of the valley, Lake Badwater, is located at a depth of 86 m below the sea level. The absolute maximum air temperature recorded here is 56.7 C, the sand warms up to 95 degrees. The name is associated with the death of this place from the thirst for a group of gold miners. Entrance to the valley is preceded by a sign “Danger! It is recommended to use only 4x4 cars. ” We drive up and get out of the car, not the jamming of it and without turning off the air conditioning. In the desert - no other way, heat and dryness are felt, even to a red -hot fir that happened here in the summer, even more than a month. From here, the death valley does not look like a “endless desert” - a highway passes behind the back, a canyon rises, a turn to the picturesque peak of Dante and Zabriski is visible.
On hot sand, which the wind was decorated with lambs like the sea, sometimes weak, dull plants are found. Here it is, a thirst for life. Here she is - thirst! I don’t want to move far away from the car, the burning sun is covering the eyes with the haze, the amount of sand around it seems to increase every minute. The sun strives for sunset, and long shadows lie on the sand, weaving perfectly into the landscape as the silent inhabitants of these sands.
For our short journey, we managed to see many interesting and unusual places, but the desert ... This is a desert. The legs get stuck in the dried sand, but the dunes are beckoning, as if they are dragging. I put Panama on the very eyes and peer into the distance, as if wanting to make out a mirage. I listen, but I do not hear the songs of the dunes, although it was promised that under the influence of the wind, the sands ring stretched strings.
Anton returns me to reality and calls to return with the car. Waking up, I am happy to dive into a conditioned paradise. We do not have time to inspect all the attractions of the National Park, and choosing a long time between the devilish field for golf, Dante's romantic peak, sung to Zabbski and the lowest point of the desert - the lake “Bad Water”, we choose the latter. Pictures on the guide and the Internet promised another unearthly landscape - the bottom of the lake drying in the summer is a salt crust, divided into scales, again under the influence of wind. It turned out to go to Badwotra much further than we pretended. On the way, we notice water from the right side of the road .. Lake? Mirage??
Waving his hand for a while, we slow down and run to the water ... It was a huge space covered with salt. Salted sand, salty plants. In some places, water shines with small puddles.
Apparently in the winter the lake really spills here. But this is not a Badwater, you still need to get to it. The paths flash the signs of the artists, the peak of the guiding star, the golden canyon ... We close our eyes to avoid the temptation, and we go further. And here is the Badwater.
Alas, not so picturesque and unearthly as in pictures. Of all the promised here, only a strong wind is present. The lake has already dried up, but the remaining salt is dirty, without embossed patterns. The sun and the wind did not have time to work on fame, they will create a magical landscape here for those brave ones who come here by hell in the summer. It is time to return to Vegas, early in the morning we have a departure to San Francisco. The wildlife of America, which was so hospitable for us in all its glory, waved to goodbye to the branches of unprecedented cacti ...
To be continued
Kottsova Julia also read the world of Karl Naumburgh - about how to belittle the world Faith Jones - about their life in the sect "Children of God" to load more