Across the nation, pockets of desert terrain, scrubland, chaparral, and limestone ridges shape vistas that echo scenes described in ancient texts. Filmmakers have drawn from these valleys and washes when flights to the Holy Land weren’t feasible, and researchers note that climate patterns across California, Utah, and New Mexico resemble parts of the Levant. The similarity isn’t about sacred equivalence; it’s about how light, aridity, and elevation can awaken memory. Even in 2026, travelers pursue that sensation: landscapes quietly reflecting history.
RED ROCK CANYON, NEVADA
Red Rock Canyon shimmers like warm stone in late-day light, with sandstone ridges catching an amber palette that lends Levantine hills their timeless feel. The trails pass through dry washes lined with creosote and yucca, and the vegetation pattern reads like a Mediterranean rain shadow reinterpreted in the Mojave. Even on crowded weekends, pockets of quiet settle quickly once the scenic drive ends. It’s also a cinema-ready backdrop: broad sightlines, dramatic illumination, and terrain that can evoke an ancient valley without a constructed set, which is why productions return when that look is needed fast.
ANZA-BORREGO DESERT, CALIFORNIA
An expansive badlands panorama with rugged ridges and dry valleys stretching toward distant hazy peaks under a pale sky.
GHOST RANCH, NEW MEXICO
Ghost Ranch sits amid cliffs and arid plateaus that echo the edges of Galilee, not by copying a specific place but through layered sediment and dry air that create similar depth and quiet. In the golden hour, the rock strata resemble stacked pages, and shadows soften the land’s folds with a painterly calm. Retreat groups return year after year, drawn more by the landscape’s pace than by doctrine. It’s a setting where conversations naturally slow, as if the geology turns the volume down.
VALLEY OF FIRE, NEVADA
Valley of Fire feels pared to essentials. Red formations rise from open ground with so little vegetation that the eye lingers on stone, heat haze, and distance. The look mirrors the stark simplicity seen in Levantine wadis, where terrain and sunlight carry the narrative. Movement here follows desert logic: mornings and evenings are for walking, midday for shade and water, and the rules are nonnegotiable. That rhythm makes the place feel ancient, even though the roads and parking lots are modern.
JOSHUA TREE’S PINTO BASIN, CALIFORNIA
Pinto Basin lies wide and pale beneath distant ranges, a broad, quiet basin where space matters more than landmarks. Sparse shrubs and gravel lend a steppe-like simplicity that can evoke Middle Eastern wilderness, especially when wind erases footprints and the horizon seems level. The basin’s calm can feel stern, yet it invites contemplation because there’s nowhere for attention to hide. People tend to walk slowly here, as if rushing would look odd in so much open air. The night sky adds a final layer of humility.
MOAB CANYONS, UTAH
In the Moab area, canyons carve clean lines through rock, and sunset light bathes walls in copper and terracotta, a palette that often calls to mind Jordan’s desert photography. The likeness comes more from geology than romance: uplift, erosion, and time shaping similar curves and slots across continents. When wind moves through narrow corridors, it becomes the loudest element in the scene, directing attention inward. Even with Jeeps and hikers nearby, certain bends feel ceremonious, like a passageway meant for walking and reflection rather than conversation.
WHITE SANDS NATIONAL PARK, NEW MEXICO
White Sands doesn’t imitate the Levant’s hue, yet it captures the emotional dynamics of wilderness writing: exposure, shifting ground, and the unsettling absence of shade. The dunes glow at noon, then soften into long blue shadows as the sun sinks, shifting the mood in minutes. People often grow quiet here without prompting, because the landscape makes conversation feel like clutter. Wind reshapes the surface continuously, so tracks disappear and direction becomes a choice, not a guarantee. It teaches focus through simplicity.
SIMI VALLEY HILLS, CALIFORNIA
The hills around Simi Valley have doubled for biblical terrain in multiple productions, partly because the chaparral reads as Mediterranean vegetation and partly because the slopes hold clean, camera-friendly shapes. By late summer, golden grasses and dry brush create a familiar cycle of sun-warmed color, and the air carries a warm, herbal scent that signals drought without drama. The terrain also works for gatherings; a ridge, a windbreak, and open sky can feel like an amphitheater, which is why outdoor scenes that need nothing more than light and distance thrive here.
SEDONA’S HIGH DESERT OUTSKIRTS, ARIZONA
Beyond Sedona’s famed red-rock corridors, the high desert opens into flats and low ridges that feel closer to the southern Levant in mood. Rust-colored soil, scattered shrubs, and long sightlines create a calm that is less cinematic and more contemplative, the kind of setting where people stop performing for the view. Retreats prioritizing silence and natural light often favor these outskirts because they are quieter, less photographed, and easier to inhabit without distraction. The stillness is not empty; it is structured. The land holds attention with restraint, and that restraint is the point.
GRAND STAIRCASE–ESCALANTE, UTAH
Grand Staircase–Escalante is a geography lesson written on a human scale: terraces, cliffs, and slot canyons that layer time into the view. The dryness, pale stone, and sudden drops can evoke ancient travel narratives where distance is measured by shade, water, and the next passable route. Even short hikes traverse multiple worlds, from open slickrock to narrow, shaded corridors where sound changes and footsteps echo. The area rewards patience over speed, leaving visitors with the sense that history isn’t only something to be read, but something felt in the body.
