The Monk Silicon Oasis

[Custodio Groves]

The20-minute drive to the property from the small airport in Page, Arizona offered a first look at the region. Situated at the base of Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and the northwestern edge of Navajo Nation, this is a quintessential southwestern landscape of plateaus, canyons, and a few odd hoodoos in a palette of sand and rust.

The blue of Lake Powell snaked through the dry rock but isn't much of an oasis these days. The water was so low it could be mistaken for a minor river. Our driver, a Navajo woman who grew up and still lives on the reservation, recalled childhood summers spent swimming in the lake, her nostalgia tinged with real sorrow for the depletion of the man-made reservoir which would hold overflow from the Colorado River if there were any. She was the first of a few Native people here to relate a similar tale over my weekend stay.

You'll know you've arrived at Amangiri when you spy the megalith that's sometimes called the Praying Monk. It is a game guests play to see different faces in the rock. At various angles I saw the monk, but also a gorilla or a Native chief with an impressive headdress. Whatever you see, there is no denying it has some quality that seems to designate this 900-acre swath of land as special, even spiritual. And while we're told it is a nature-made sculpture, I can't help but think it appears to have been placed here as a monument by some prehistoric people (but then again, I have been binge-watching Ancient Apocalypse on Netflix!).

Aside from this unusual megalith, the approach to the resort is somewhat anticlimactic. I didn't even notice its modernist architecture until we arrived at the security gate. With room rates starting around $3,000 a night, you might expect a grander entrance, but there's not much in the way of lavishness here except for the long, magnificent stretch of quiet, unoccupied land. This is the understated luxury and ethos of Amangiri.

The service is flawless and every last detail refined, but there is nothing at Amangiri that screams extravagance; it is for travelers who don't need to be impressed by material things, for wanderers who care about things like environmental conservation and cultural integration. The impressiveness of the landscape is allowed to shine, a much-needed refuge for connection between humans and nature.

Like the natives who've kept eyes on this territory for centuries before us, we have little more to attend to than the sky, its desert sun and moon and uncanny smattering of stars, and the sweeping scene they all make, like an ever-changing live painting, as the day goes by. And then there's the land, where across miles of on-property trails our boots meet with well-worn sandstone and odd boulders studded with small river rocks said to be millions of years old, from back when this land mass was, like much of the ancient world, submerged in endless water.

On Amangiri's East Coyote Trail, we followed a dirt path marked by subtly placed cairns and marvel at these bizarre stones along with various native plants stubbornly shooting up from parched earth: Indian rice grass, some kind of yucca, desert sage and, on occasion, an otherworldly pop of color in a flower that has dried on its stalk but retained its hue of youth. But all these details feel tiny when you zoom out to see the bigger picture, which isn't really big so much as infinite, of undulating canyon and cliff face the seems both wildly textural and perfectly smooth at once, like a trompe-l'œil painted by the brush of elements and time. Guests can get a closer look of the geology with yoga on the rocks or, for thrill seekers, on the property's Via Ferrata climbing route.

At Amangiri, though, these optical illusions aren't reserved just for those who do the legwork of seeking them out. The terrain can be easily viewed through every window in the place. At breakfast in the welcoming but unassuming dining room, where the tamale benedict and cast iron pancakes are a no-brainer, the hardest decision you'll make is choosing which way to face: toward the valley floor ringed by mesas and crowned with magnanimous sky, or toward the pool, which is easily the property's pice de rsistance. On a winter morning, the chilly air meets the heated surface to mythical effect, sending up floaty steam that licks at a central rock formation, which juts out to greet its own reflection on a perfectly still plane of glassy turquoise water.

The excessively Instagramable central swimming pool is a hint of what's hiding out in the spa. My heart literally leapt when I opened the heavy door into an austere stone hallway, dark except for the light of dripping white pillar candles. Nothing could be more simple really, but when waking up at Amangiri feels like being born anew into a vast and wild world, stepping into its spa is more akin to tucking safely back into the womb. It's the essence of warm and cozy. There are wood-burning fireplaces, treatment rooms designed to feel like simple Navajo homes, and massages, body wraps, and facials geared toward grounding, purifying, and nourishing. You can sign up for guided meditations, a crystal sound bath and Pilates classes, but under no circumstance can you miss the private hot tub, again carved into the natural rock, for a blissful post-treatment soak.

If you can muster up the motivation to leave this wellness heaven, Amangiri's adventure concierge can set you up with any of numerous epic activities including excursions into nearby Bryce Canyon, the Grand Canyon, and Zion National Park. Prefer a bird's eye view? Summon a hot air balloon or a helicopter. My brief stay allowed time only for a short jaunt off the property but it was an inspiring one, and one I hope to long carry with me.

And so this is how my visit to Amangiri inspired a new year's resolution that I access from time to time: When I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I will take a deep breath and exhale it into the southwestern slot canyon of my mind's eye, and watch it swoop and fly away and transform into something beautiful.

Well, that may appear to be true if you never veer off Interstate 10, but there is a wealth of culinary and cultural wonders hidden in Pinal County halfway between Arizona's two largest cities. A number of those surprises come from an enclave of Greeks who make some of the best olive oil, artisanal bread and stuffed grape leaves I have ever tasted.

It is not merely their way of preparing food that excites me, but the care with which these Greek immigrants grow this food in an arid landscape that others might dismiss as inherently unproductive. While their call to a contemplative and prayerful life is the core reason that six Greek Orthodox monks of St. Anthony's Monastery came to this desert in 1995, they have also excelled in producing fruits, vegetables, pistachio nuts and olive oil in this land of little rain.

What's more, they have attracted to Pinal County a number of other Greek Orthodox devotees whose family businesses now enrich the lives of Arizonans as well. Along with a pilgrimage to chapels, gardens, gift shop and acres of orchards and vineyards at St. Anthony's south of Florence, you may want to consider a day-long culinary tour of the county by adding on visits to the Mount Athos Restaurant and Cafe in Florence and the superb Mediterra Bakery in nearby Coolidge.

First, a word about arriving at St. Anthony's in the proper state of mind and appropriate attire. While the monks and their abbot do indeed welcome visits to see their gardens and orchards and to purchase their food products and live fruit tree saplings, St. Anthony's is first and foremost a spiritual sanctuary and is simply not suited to the boisterous tourist or inquisitive foodie. The monks are cordial and generous in orienting visitors to the lush gardens, orchards and vineyards, but they insist that both men and women be conservatively dressed, reserved in their behavior and restricted to certain pathways through the gardens. The day visitor's guide posted on their website outlines the proper code of conduct and the strict dress code, as well as the current hours of permissible visitation (typically 10:30am to 2:30pm seven days a week, but check for closures on holidays).

That said, the monastery is well worth visiting, not only because of its beauty, but because it reminds us how important contemplative traditions have been to the development of cultures and cuisines of desert oases all around the world. The monks not only grow most of what they eat, but also contribute extraordinarily fine food products to other communities through their relationship with Dan and Diego Rosado, the founders of the Local Natural Foods distribution network.

The monastery is easy to get to from either Phoenix or Tucson by getting on the Pinal Pioneer Parkway (Highway 79). After crossing miles of creosote bush flats and saguaro cactus forests, it is a rather stunning surprise to come upon a true oasis rising up from the desert floor, replete with date palms, olive orchards, vineyards and vegetable gardens. Twenty-four acres of farmlands, ornamental gardens and fountains surround beautifully constructed chapels, cathedrals, dormitories, guest houses and the trapeza dining hall. As soon as a guest arrives, he or she is offered a cup of water and the confection known as loukoumia (Greek or Turkish delight) made with fruit juices, nuts, gelatin and powdered sugar. After checking in at the gift shop for a brief orientation by a monk and a wardrobe adjustment if needed, visitors are free to follow the designated trails on their own through all the greenery.

Nevertheless, many visitors linger in the gift shop for a moment longer, looking at all the hand-crafted foods prepared by the monks and their desert neighbors. The tall glass bottles of unfiltered olive oil first caught my eye, for they virtually glow with golden hues when a sunbeam reaches them. But there is a kiosk stacked with jars of honey and citrus marmalades, mango chutneys and hot pepper sauces, baklava pastries and koulourakia cookies, which one may purchase and take home.

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