Cities of Gold: A Journey Across the American Southwest in Pursuit of Coronado
Douglas Preston, Walter W. Nelson
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
This new ebook edition of Cities of Gold includes for very first time over 100 never-before-published photographs taken during the author’s epic, thousand mile horseback journey across Arizona and New Mexico.
It also includes many rare and extraordinary historical photographs of the Old West, Native Americans, pioneers, prospectors, Indian pueblos, and vanished landscapes.
About the Authors
Douglas Preston is a journalist and author who has published twenty-six books, nonfiction and fiction, several of which have been #1 New York Times bestsellers. In addition to Cities of Gold he is the author of several books on Southwestern history, including Talking to the Ground and The Royal Road.
Preston is the co-creator, with Lincoln Child, of the Pendergast series of novels, including Relic and The Cabinet of Curiosities—both of which were named in a National Public Radio listener poll as being among the 100 greatest suspense novels ever written. Preston’s most recent nonfiction book, The Monster of Florence, is being made into a movie starring George Clooney.
Preston also writes for the New Yorker magazine, the Atlantic and Smithsonian, and he taught nonfiction writing at Princeton University. He divides his time between Maine and New Mexico.
Walter W. Nelson began his creative career in 1967 and it has spanned a period of 40 years. He first explored the field of photography, traveling around the world, discovering spiritual places, deep landscapes, places of origin, experimenting with abstract colors and textures, always seeking the visual heart of existence in the desert, mountains, canyons, rivers, and cities of the world. He later branched out to painting and sculpture, and combined all three into an ever-expanding visual tapestry of mind and consciousness. “My life and my art,” Nelson wrote, “is a constant journey into the unknown, always looking ahead, never behind, a positive and spiritual quest to understand and portray inner and outer existence.”
Nelson’s work has been collected by many museums, including the Museum of New Mexico, the Albuquerque Museum of Art, The San Diego Museum of Photography, the Houston Museum of Fine Arts, the New Orleans Museum of Art, and Stanford University. It is also represented in a number of corporate collections including Coca Cola, IBM, Exxon, and American Express.
Nelson’s most recent photography book, The Black Place, was published by the Museum of New Mexico Press in March 2014. Douglas Preston wrote the introduction.
other Flake. “Have you seen any changes in this country?” I asked. He shook his head slowly, back and forth. “Nothing’s the same,” he said. “These days all people think about is money. Now take this old ranch. See that dozer over there?” He pointed off toward the horizon. To our surprise we saw a distant puff of diesel smoke drift upward and could hear a throbbing at the edge of audibility. A yellow spot crawled up a rise, like a carrion beetle. “Fellow who owns this ranch is dividing it up.
having a recurring dream. In the dream I woke up in my apartment, got out of bed, and discovered a door that I had never noticed before. The door opened into a large, whitewashed room, with dust motes drifting in banners of light. Through casement windows I could see a landscape of sandstone and yucca, with a line of blue mountains in the distance. The discovery filled me with an inexpressible feeling of joy, as if I had been released from a prison. Then I really did wake up. There was, of
result of the theft of dozens of Ahayuda, or Twin War Gods, from shrines around Zuni. The War Gods, created during Bow Priest ceremonies, are placed in open-air shrines on the reservation, where they are left to “eat themselves up” and decay into the earth. “The War Gods,” one anthropologist wrote, “embody an eternal spirit which protects the tribe and all the peoples of the earth if attended to by proper ritual. If a War God is out of its place… all its mischievous and potentially malevolent
sliding over a buckskin-colored bed of sand; Arizona, unbeknownst to us, was edging into its worst drought in half a century. Cicadas roared in the hot cavern of shade created by the overhanging trees, and beyond that rose up the humps of barren hills. In the farthest distance we could see a zigzag of blue mountains. Tumbleweeds had piled up along the fence, and the border was deserted; the only sign of human activity was a column of smoke rising from a burning field in Mexico. Our beginning was
started. The horse acted like he’d just received a load of buckshot in the ass. He sprang forward and went blasting through the brush at a dead run. I held on for dear life and followed Wicks’s advice for arresting a runaway horse. When I finally got him under control I saw what had spooked him. Banjo was in the middle of the river, leaping and twisting and kicking, trying to shuck his pack. Our gear was popping off every which way. Then, with the pack half undone, he galloped like hell up the