Death Valley is the hottest place on Earth where the lowest temperature ever recorded in July stands at 69°F (21°C). The record highest temperature is almost twice that: 134°F (57°C). Only mad and Europeans visit outside the high season (November to March). 8am in October is the latest when you want to stay outdoors, and during hot autumn nights swimming pool may seem more inviting than your not-so-cheaply rented hotel bed.

Plan Your Visit

Despite its name and well publicized incidents of vanished Germans, stranded mother and son, marathon speed hiker, Death Valley is not particularly deadly. Despite ample potential for heat stroke, dehydration, rare but destructive and sometimes fatal flash floods, it doesn't make the list of the deadliest parks.

Taking the recommended precautions renders a visit to the Death Valley in the summer not so much dangerous as uncomfortable. Thankfully, the Death Valley - the lowest point in the United States - is surrounded by a mountain range exceeding 10 thousand feet. Telescope and Wildrose Peaks are perfect summer hikes affording amazing views and plenty of cool breeze. Or you can travel by night and stay in an air-conditioned room during the day like a pair of French cyclists that we've met. Then again, if your goal is to pedal in pitch dark, a stationary bike, a pair of black goggles and an occasional trip to the fridge are probably a more economical option.

7:49 AM

Having done the obligatory tour of the most popular points from Devil's Golf Course to Zabriskie Point to Mosaic Canyon on our first visit years ago and hiking the Telescope Peak last year, we opted this time around for a drive through the one-way Titus Canyon followed by a stroll into the nearby Fall Canyon. Walking up the canyon on a cloudy day in late November it's hard to believe you are in the place that can harm or even kill you. It gets even harder to believe when, after one of the numerous turns, we meet a group of happy hapless hippies with way too many musical instruments and certainly not enough of hiking boots. They can't be older than 20 and their shoe situation (or lack thereof) ignites my usually well hidden parental instincts: helping them negotiate one of the down climbs is rather like helping a stranded dodo. But all ends well and we leave them to continue enjoying the life devoid of any problems before they share the fate of extinct flightless game.

Telescope Peak

This time of year the worst that can happen to you in the Death Valley is a dragon lady behind the bar at the Badwater Saloon. She seems to be really unhappy about the unholy European invasion of French, Italian, Spanish and Belgian origin. She demands passports of everyone and proceeds to carefully examine them as if the date of birth was printed on all possible pages with the exception of the one displaying a photo. The fact that you can't legally buy beer in America unless you are 21 is mercilessly drilled into everyone who wants or does not want to listen. She adds 18% automatically to the price of drinks and happily accepts tips on top of that, which turns 2 bottles of Fat Tire into a $20 dollar affair. She grudgingly announces to a frightened foreigner: Well, speak up - I do not know what you want. What do you drink in your country anyway? A moment later she explains to a rather confused German couple that she stopped drinking Budweiser after it was acquired by a German (as in Belgian-Brazilian) company and is not American any more. If it was up to her she would not even serve it. I happen to agree with this sentiment although corporate ownership is not the deciding factor. But I am not trying to make a living selling beer.

Titus Canyon

We spend the evening sipping our overpriced drinks and waiting for some kind of international disaster to transpire. Patrons, however, seem to treat the entire scene as part of the Death Valley experience: a desert, a salt flat, a canyon hike and a lady who missed her calling as a Stasi interrogator and in a strange twist of fate ended up serving alcoholic beverages. We leave after she starts a loud argument with one of the waiters. It's one thing to be rude to those pesky foreigners, offending your compatriots is where we draw the line.

One stunning, misnamed valley and two faces of America: one too happy to care, one too rude to put up with. Both equally oblivious to the world watching.

Did they believe in vortexes as we do? asks 8-years old boy. We don't know, USFS volunteer who shows us around the Palatki site patiently answers. This is a typical answer when it comes to ancient ruins and their builders in the American Southwest. The question however is only typical to Sedona where New Age belief in psychic influence of red phallic protrusions reins supreme. At least boy's grandfather looks vaguely embarrassed.

Extinct volcanos are bound to be disappointing. We expect to arrive at the scene of a catastrophe. We end up admiring picturesque hills. I guess Pompeii is an exception: a city buried under ash, destructive power of the explosion preserving ancient artifacts for our benefit.

If the land you are crossing is desolated yet captivating, then there is an excellent chance you are in what AAA calls the Indian Country. Misappropriation of the name aside the Indian country is where one comes to see incredible geological formations and to witness the progress of a 200 years experiment in civilizing natives.

There was no war here. Nor a natural disaster. The lake did not flood the town as it did in New Orleans. The German army did not march in methodically burning houses like in Warsaw. No bombs were dropped. But you'd be excused to think something terrible must have happened. The place looks like the infamous lower 9th ward in the aftermath of Katrina.

Anasazi or Ancestral Pueblans as modern Pueblo Indians prefer to call them lived in the Mesa Verde for hundreds of years until late 1200s. And then they disappeared. More exactly they stopped building. Quite abruptly as testified by an unfinished Sun Temple. And similarly they abandoned the Chaco Canyon about hundred years earlier.

We rarely stay in a bed-and-breakfast type of lodging. You never know if the owner is a sweet lady who is going to serve you fried eggs in the morning or a mis-employed prison guard who will track your every step with an evil glance and start vacuuming at 8am without bothering to switch off the deafening TV. On the subject of lodging: our friends suggested we try a place with magic fingers, but they are not easy to find. Nowadays even the oldest dump advertises its free broadband. At least this is what we prefer to think after seeing a sign proclaiming availability of a highspeed breakfast. These has to mean two separate and familiar things, right?