When you think of Sedona, spirituality, red rocks and natural beauty come to mind–but a tattoo parlor?

After a long day of souvenir shopping and coffee breaks, the clouds just wouldn’t let go of the red rocks, and by the end of the day, the sky turned angry.

My friend Inge and I, drove back to our hotel room to rest for a while before dinner. I took a quick shower, placed my tired body on the queen size bed when the phone rang.

“Sonia, I found a tattoo parlor. Want to come with me?”

“Sure,” I said, more out of curiosity than anything else.

The streets were dark and wet, adding ambiance to a freaky night. I programmed the address on our GPS, which started barking commands and finally shut up, when Inge pulled up on a gravel driveway. No lights were on but tucked away in a corner, was a “Tattoo” sign and an arrow pointing to a back door.

“Think it’s open?” I asked.

“Let’s knock,” she said.

The door creaked open and a woman greeted us. Her warm smile made me relax, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her skin. Her arms, upper chest and back were covered in black and colored tattoos. A couple of guys heard us speak and came out from a kitchen next to the operating room with different sheets of tattoo patterns, covering the white walls.

“I’d like to get a tattoo with ‘love’ in Japanese characters,” Inge said.

“Show me what size you’d like and where,” the woman asked.

One of the guys pointed to his forearm which had the exact tattoo, she wanted.

After Inge settled on a stool, her skin disinfected, and the tattoo machine ready to start, I covered my eyes so as not to see her pain when the needles poked her upper right shoulder blade.

Inge remained calm. She said it didn’t hurt and that next time she wanted to get the ‘peace’ sign tattooed.

We stopped at “Safeway” on the way back to our hotel. Since rain pelted down, I ran inside to get some disinfectant cream for Inge, and a bottle of Chardonnay for us to share. I needed a glass of wine, probably more than Inge did, after watching her get the tattoo.

The following morning, Inge felt fine, the tattoo looked very black with its fresh ink, and we headed off to a small village with something I’d never seen before: furniture made out of rocks. The chairs were just as comfortable as a normal chair.

Have you ever had a tattoo? Do you want one? If yes, why? If no, why not?

This is Sedona. Beautiful red rocks, clean air, mesas, yuccas, cacti, pine trees and spirituality.

When I caught my first glimpse of the majestic red rocks of Sedona, I knew this trip would be different. Gray clouds hugged the rocks like giant cloaks allowing the mind to “see” ghosts. This was the perfect location for a scary movie. Red mud flowed down the mountains puddling onto the one lane road. Cars crawled flinging bloody water onto the empty sidewalks.

This was the start of our two night stay in Sedona. My German friend, Inge, invited me on this trip, and our goal was to have fun and relax. After a lovely, “expensive” seabass dinner–I know, why order fish when you’re in the middle of the desert?– Inge and I were in the mood to listen to music. With the rental car’s windshield wipers in full swing–driving well below the speed limit–we squinted along highway 89A to

The Olde Sedona Bar and Grill supposedly the best night spot in town. The outside reminded me of an old western saloon, not exactly the techno-style night club, I prefer. A small group of heavy duty smokers leaned against an outside patio wall, puffing away as the rain pelted down.

Inge and I headed straight to the bar area where an alternative rock band was scheduled to play that evening. A little ill at ease with so many eyes scanning the room for the “catch” of the evening, I felt relieved when a couple of women joined our table for some lively conversation. Our waiter, an older version of Antonio Banderas with a tiny gray pony-tail, seemed to attract all three women at our table, except me. I haven’t been in a night club without my husband since we married 22 years ago, and I soon realized how alien I felt. Scared to look at men, I took every opportunity to latch onto one woman, and whenever she needed to smoke, followed her out to the patio smokers club. I hate smoke, but this was better than avoiding eye contact with the younger men sitting at the table, three feet away from ours.

The rock band started and my friends were in dancing mode. I froze. I pretended I needed the restroom and then followed the smokers outside for my third exposure to rain and coughing.

I could see Inge through the window, dancing and laughing, and wanted her to have some fun. She is single after all, as were the other women. I never expected to react this way.

It was then that I decided to…. (NEXT POST) Don’t want to bore you with too much text.

What about you married ladies. Have you felt uncomfortable in a bar with single people?