Colorado rocks... and there’s nobody who rocks harder than Ed Sheeran!
Red Rocks is a dramatic setting for what is the concert of a lifetime
YOU can’t see Red Rocks Ampitheater from the road. The only thing in our field of vision is a snaking line of cars, all queuing up to see Ed Sheeran play this famed Colorado venue. My cousin, Adrian, starts moaning about what a nightmare it’s going to be to get out when the show is over and we have to head back to Denver. Then we turn a corner, and the two of us are speechless at the view before us.
Red Rocks is a concert venue in the middle of the Denver Mountain Parks system, ten miles west of the mile-high city. The majestic sweep of actually red rocks before us, with the amphitheatre nestled at the bottom, is spellbinding. We’re taking photographs before we even get out of the cark park.
The walk up to the venue seating amid the rocks yields fabulous views, and you can see the outline of Denver in the distance. People are constantly stopping to take photographs; we offer to take the camera for one pair of fans, and they, in turn, do the same for us. The sounds of Sheeran’s opening band, Rixton, are reverberating through the natural acoustics as we take our seats in mild July weather; I’m giddy with excitement to see Sheeran, one of my favourite singers of all time. I hatched a plan to watch him at Red Rocks – a bucket list venue – when I failed to get tickets to his Dublin gig (this is a whole other story, which left me screaming ‘Noooo!’ at my laptop just after 8am when my internet session timed out.)
I couldn’t give a toss about Dublin right now, as I eagerly anticipate Sheeran’s
appearance on stage. Just before he begins, a double rainbow appears directly over the amphitheatre, its arc fittingly ending just at the outline of the Denver skyline. Sheeran comes on and doesn’t disappoint; his infectious likeability, combined with his musical genius, has the entire crowd singing and waving their arms in unison. As the sun sets and he plays my favourite song in these wonderland surroundings, I’m not ashamed to say I actually start to cry. My little cousin looks ready to deny any knowledge of me, much less familial relation.
Before this, my favourite concert venue, without a doubt, was Jones Beach Theatre on Long Island, where the stage is set in the water and, much to my teenage delight, rockers were known to toss their guitars into the water after the finale (only to have them fished out by circling coast guard staff.) Red Rocks knocks Jones Beach out of the park. It is the most spectacular place and performance I have ever seen.
Despite Adrian’s initial misgivings, the queue to leave the venue – when the show is sadly over – is not bad at all. We zip back to Denver, which at least offers me some solace because, about an hour after getting off the plane, I fell in love with this city, too.
Most Europeans equate Colorado with skiing, and it’s unrivalled for the winter sport – but many locals I meet prefer the summer, and I can see why. Denver is sunny, hot without the humidity, and absolutely buzzing with life. It has an Old West-meets modernmeets outdoorsy vibe, and everyone seems to be outside, all the time.
MY guide, Jenna – an Iowan who repeatedly describes Denver as ‘paradise’ – says the saying is that the ‘forecast is always patio’. She’s not lying. People are cycling, people are walking, outdoor cafés are full and, as we walk to lunch at Linger restaurant in the trendy LoHi neighbourhood, there is a massive queue of everyone from families to couples waiting to buy ice cream at the famous and popular Little Man Ice Cream, where ‘business is conducted within a twenty-eight foot tall, 14,000lb cream can.’ We’ve been walking around for a few hours and I’m famished, so we skip the summer treat and head straight to Linger, a very fashionable restaurant located in, of all things, an old mortuary (it calls itself an ‘eatuary’. That doesn’t put me off, and I order Breakfast Dosa, scrambled eggs with avocado, masala potatoes and sambar curry – which, although I’m starving, is so generous I can’t finish.
When Jenna takes me to the nearby Denver Beer Co. in the early afternoon, the place is already packed – not just with people, because dogs are allowed in, which is an added bonus. The panting canines seem grateful for the respite. As I look around at all the tanned, fit, gorgeous young people – who look without exception like they fell out of a Hollister catalogue – I turn to Jenna. ‘Is every man in Denver hot?’ I say. Her answer: ‘Yes.’ Someone also tells me that Colorado is the most single state in America. So for all the young travellers: do not miss this spot.
For all the enthusiasm and opportunities for outdoor fun, however, the indoor scene is diverse and cool. The shopping options are plentiful; one well-known outfitter is Rockmount Ranch Wear, which sells every variety of cowboy boots, hats and garb. One of the most popular items at the moment – in keeping with the state’s legalisation of marijuana – is a black cowboy shirt featuring green cannabis leaves. I consider buying a cowboy hat in honour of my newfound adoration of Colorado, but the stock is high quality and suitably priced. If my track record is anything to go by after trips to Texas and Arizona, the cowboy hat will likely end up left in an overhead airplane bin. So I resolve to simply buy a cheap one elsewhere.
Just blocks away from the Western wear is a veritable smorgasbord of culture; we visit three art museums within minutes of each other. At night, the scene is fabulous; you can either follow in the footsteps of Jack Kerouac at the old beatnik hangout El Chapultepec or lounge at City Park Jazz, where young people sip on beer, families picnic and children kick around footballs to the sounds of music wafting during ten free concerts a summer at the meticulously groomed City Park.
Then there’s the opportunity to step back in time at The Cruise Room in the Oxford Hotel, an art-deco bar opened the day after Prohibition was repealed in 1933.
This is my last stop on one of the Denver nights out (we also make the obligatory visit to an Irish bar, Nallen’s, staffed almost exclusively by Dubliners).
The old-school layout of The Cruise Room is enchanting; the music makes me feel like I’m in the movie The Notebook, a popular romance set in the 1940s. I repeatedly proclaim this and make my poor friend dance with me, much to his chagrin. And even when I finally return to my hotel, there are more charming features waiting.
I’m staying at The Crawford, one of the city’s newest hotels, built at Union Station – where the Amtrak still rumbles through – although, somehow, you hear no noise in the establishment’s finely appointed rooms. Union Station isn’t just for the hotel or transport, though; it’s a hub in the middle of the city, with various bars, shops and restaurants.
Coming out of my room towards the lifts, you can look down on an atrium that is heaving with activity, as people meander in and out and recline on the old-fashioned train station benches that are beautiful, stately and, again, look like something out of a movie (do we notice a theme here?)
By the time I leave Denver, I’mhalfway towards jacking it all in and moving to Colorado – and I’d be in good company, as the state is a huge magnet for loads of from people other parts of America. I’m still a bit dazed by the fabulous exper at Red Rocks, and I’ve been bowled over by the friendliness, fitness diversity and overall fabulousness of the city. One thing’s for sure: I’ll be back very soon – in the cheap cowboy hat which somehow made it back to Dublin with me.