We left the Hopis and continued on to the Navajo reservation while listening to Indian radio on 88.1 on the dial. That station ROCKS!! There is no descernible format really, and you'll hear the Bee Gees followed by Patsy Cline and then some traditional Indian ceremonial music and then back to KC and the Sunshine Band. My kind of schizo playlist. Our ultimate destination was the Thunderbird Lodge in a town called Chinle. It's pronounced "Chin Lee" with equal stress on both syllables, so I thought it was some Chinese outpost in the middle of the reservation. Not quite. It's pretty much a dusty little town in the Canyon de Chelly area (pronounced Canyon de SHAY.) After about 4 hours, we finally arrived, checked in and went straight to the cafeteria-style restaurant for aweful food that cost way too much. Unlike the Hopis who were so warm and giving, no one here seemed particularly friendly, so we decided we preferred Hopis to Navajos.
After dinner we went to our room which was actually very nice, watched some news coverage on Michael Jackson's death, where I gained a new-found respect for Deepak Chopra who just railed against those Hollywood doctors who indiscriminately write scripts for celebrities, get them addicted to all kinds of medication and promote drug habits. He went so far as to say that they are pretty much street dealers with medical licenses.
The next morning we woke up early and went on another adventure through the res, taking Hwy 191 down through all these historical little towns like Ganado where a particularly popular Navajo rug is made. In Ganado is the well-known Hubble Trading Post. We had a look around and bought some gifts for Tina and Ray. They had some really nice jewelry (different from the usual--and at this point, boring--Indian jewelry) we had seen so much of. The 2 Navajo clerks behind the counter were really nice and explained a lot of things about the artists, Navajo symbolism, etc. In the course of conversation, Daniel mentioned that they were the friendliest people we had come across on the res. This seemed to surpris the young man. I guess Navajos are viewed by most as very warm and kind people. Daniel said that no one seemed to want to talk to us, and that's when the clerk educated us about the one thing I'll remember from that entire conversation: Navajos consider it rude to make direct eye contact. Well that explained a lot! Not only are they not particularly chatty, they don't look at you too much because they don't want to be rude. Then, he gently turned it around on us by asking why eye contact was so important to white people. It was an interesting lesson in cultural differences.
We finally made it down to I-40 and headed to Flagstaff. We stopped off near the Petrified Forest National Park but didn't actually go into it. At this point I think Daniel and I were feeling a little tired and almost overwhelmed by the constant natural beauty that has surrounded us since we were in Colorado. I know, I know--it's like whining about having too many designer shoes in your closet. While we love the mountains, valleys, canyons, and rock formations, I for one have been losing a little steam when it comes to sightseeing. All this driving can get pretty taxing. We just wanted to get to FLAGSTAFF.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
6/26/09--Hopi Indian Reservation
As we were checking out of the Jacob Lake Inn, Daniel and I decided to ask John, the owner, if he had any recommendations for places we should see before leaving the area, specifically on the Indian reservations. Well he did, and that changed our entire course for the day. Daniel used the pay phone to make a reservation at the Thunderbird Lodge for the night. It is located at the far east side of the Navajo reservation. It would take about 6 hours to get there and there were lots of stops along the way. Our plans to camp this evening were scrapped.
We headed out of town on 89A. We drove passed the Vermillion Cliffs as we descended into the canyon. They were fantastically beautiful--deep rust/red color for as far as the eye could see. We got inside the borders of the reservation and stopped for gas at a town called Cliff Dwellers. All along the highway, there were these signs posted naming the family whose land we were on. We drove for miles without seeing anything but horses along the road and houses or hogams, which are octagonal-shaped structures that some Navajo live in. There were also lots of makeshift roadside jewelry and craft stands.
After about 2 hours or so, we reached Old Oraibi, the oldest continuously inhabited village in the U.S. That's when things got really interesting. The Hopi Reservation which is like a small island within the Navajo Res. is divided into 3 Mesas, Old Oraibi being on the Third Mesa. When you first get to Old Oraibi, you think it's an abandoned village. All the stone houses are crumbling, it's dusty and there really isn't much to see. We drove down the unpaved road past a few bends and came upon a gift shop. We walked inside and were warmly welcomed by the sales person. We spent a lot of time talking about things like how Hopi jewelry is made and other aspects of Hopi culture.
About 15 minutes after we got there, this guy walks in. The middle of his face looked like it has been pushed in. He immediately started talking to us. He was hard to understand at first (lots of nasal emission and a malocclusion that prevented him from saying /s/ correctly). He was self-conscious of it, so I told him I was an SLP and used to having to understand people who had trouble pronouncing words accurately. He said something to indicate that he'd only been this way for the last 3 years. Later we found out he had been in the military. We assumed he was wounded in combat. Native Americans are extremely patriotic despite the terrible ways the white man has treated them historically. It's really hard for me to understand.
So, the man with the broken face then introduced himself as Vinton Kutumya and pulled this wooden figurine out of his pocket. The figurine was actually a kachina doll representing the Sun Chief, Dawa. In Hopi mythology (as with other puebloan tribes), kachina dolls represent ancestral spirit-beings that live on the San Francisco Peaks just north of Flagstaff. They come in all kinds of forms--warriors, plants, clowns, etc. As Vinton and the clerk explained, the dolls traditionally are given to children to play with. Just after the winter solstice, the Kachinas are said to visit Hopi villages to bring life back to the world. Hopi men dress in Kachina costumes and perform dances for different ceremonies. The Hopi don't worship Kachinas. It's more of a mutual partnership because Hopis have things that the Kachinas want like cornmeal and feathers, and the Kachinas have things that Hopis want like rain and a good harvest.
Vinton told me and Daniel that he was dropping his doll off at the shop to be sold, but if we wanted to buy it directly from him, he would sell it to us at cost. It was a little awkward given we were in a gift shop and buying directly from the artist would cut into their profits, but the clerk said it was OK. This kachina doll cost more than we wanted to spend, but it was hard to say no because 1) the Hopis are so poor, you just want to help them earn a buck; and 2) I really wanted some type of souvenir from the reservation. Why not buy one from the artist who took so much time to explain every little detail on the doll? Daniel and I thought that even if we were being ripped off (city mentality?), it'd be OK because it wasn't going to break us. So, we bought the kachina doll from Vinton.
Vinton then asked us what we planned to do that day, so we told him we were on the hunt for piki bread, a type of "bread" made by pouring a thin sheet of watery blue corn gruel onto a hot stone and quickly rolling it up before it cools. It's a staple in the Hopi diet. John had told us about it, and said we had to try it along with "Hopi Tacos." Daniel joked that we had to get going because he was starving and we needed to get some of this bread fast. At this point, Vinton handed Daniel the 2 oranges he had in his pocket. Daniel politely protested but Vinton insisted. The shop clerk stepped in and said to take the ornages because sharing is so important in Hopi culture. So, Daniel took the oranges, and I peeled and ate one. Then, Vinton said his mother made piki bread all the time, and he was going to run next door real quick and get us some. We were so touched by how giving Vinton was despite his obvious poverty. We're talking no running water or electricity in any of these villages. The clerk mentioned earlier that all electrical appliances in the village were powered by only by solar energy including the radio that was playing in the background.
Vinton brought back 5 rolls of piki bread and we discovered that it isn't really "bread" as we know it. It's grayish blue in color, has the consistency of dried seaweed but taste like blue corn. I liked it, but it was hard to eat because it crumbles everywwhere. While we were eating the piki bread, Vinton wrote his name and address down for us as an open inviation to come visit anytime we wanted. That's when the shop clerk also offered me HIS business card because he sells art, too. According to the card, HIS name was MICHAEL. Up until that point, I thought I had been talking to a woman!!! I would have bet my life on it. His voice, his energy, his articulation, all female. I didn't hear another word he said for the next 5 minutes as I racked my brains to remember if I had referred to him as a woman at any point in our conversation.
Vinton then asked us for a ride to Hotevilla, the Hopi village he lived in 3 miles down the road. It would normally have taken him 1.5 hours to walk it and it was hot. The guy seemed harmless and we weren't near any kind of correctional facility, so we agreed. First, though, he took us out back and showed us the golden eagle his family kept in a cage, it's feathers to be used later for ceremonial purposes. He said it had been sent to them by the gods, and they were about to get another one. They used to keep their eagles on the roof of one of their houses but jealous neighbors got up there and plucked it's breast feathers out so they had to keep them in this big cage.
So we got in the car and headed back to Hotevilla, piki bread crumbling and flying all over the car because the windows were rolled down. When we got there, Vinton gave us a thorough tour of the dusty rundown village he called home. He pointed out the different shrines, ceremonial sites and the path that the Kachinas take to come into town after the winter solstice. We dropped him off at his house. He also told us about "Res Ball," an anything-goes version of basketball where apparently the only rule is that you have to say "My bad" if you take someone's eye out. Vinton invited us in, but we really had to go at this point. We did agree to "take a quick peek" at the stream he was so proud of just behind his 10'x10' concrete shack. Did I mention before that water is almost nonexistent in this part of the state?! That explains why he was so proud. We asked if we could take pictures of his part of the village because we weren't allowed to take any in Old Oraibi. He agreed. Then we all hugged and said good-bye. Daniel and I left knowing that we truly did have an open inviation to come back next time we were in the area.
We headed out of town on 89A. We drove passed the Vermillion Cliffs as we descended into the canyon. They were fantastically beautiful--deep rust/red color for as far as the eye could see. We got inside the borders of the reservation and stopped for gas at a town called Cliff Dwellers. All along the highway, there were these signs posted naming the family whose land we were on. We drove for miles without seeing anything but horses along the road and houses or hogams, which are octagonal-shaped structures that some Navajo live in. There were also lots of makeshift roadside jewelry and craft stands.
After about 2 hours or so, we reached Old Oraibi, the oldest continuously inhabited village in the U.S. That's when things got really interesting. The Hopi Reservation which is like a small island within the Navajo Res. is divided into 3 Mesas, Old Oraibi being on the Third Mesa. When you first get to Old Oraibi, you think it's an abandoned village. All the stone houses are crumbling, it's dusty and there really isn't much to see. We drove down the unpaved road past a few bends and came upon a gift shop. We walked inside and were warmly welcomed by the sales person. We spent a lot of time talking about things like how Hopi jewelry is made and other aspects of Hopi culture.
About 15 minutes after we got there, this guy walks in. The middle of his face looked like it has been pushed in. He immediately started talking to us. He was hard to understand at first (lots of nasal emission and a malocclusion that prevented him from saying /s/ correctly). He was self-conscious of it, so I told him I was an SLP and used to having to understand people who had trouble pronouncing words accurately. He said something to indicate that he'd only been this way for the last 3 years. Later we found out he had been in the military. We assumed he was wounded in combat. Native Americans are extremely patriotic despite the terrible ways the white man has treated them historically. It's really hard for me to understand.
So, the man with the broken face then introduced himself as Vinton Kutumya and pulled this wooden figurine out of his pocket. The figurine was actually a kachina doll representing the Sun Chief, Dawa. In Hopi mythology (as with other puebloan tribes), kachina dolls represent ancestral spirit-beings that live on the San Francisco Peaks just north of Flagstaff. They come in all kinds of forms--warriors, plants, clowns, etc. As Vinton and the clerk explained, the dolls traditionally are given to children to play with. Just after the winter solstice, the Kachinas are said to visit Hopi villages to bring life back to the world. Hopi men dress in Kachina costumes and perform dances for different ceremonies. The Hopi don't worship Kachinas. It's more of a mutual partnership because Hopis have things that the Kachinas want like cornmeal and feathers, and the Kachinas have things that Hopis want like rain and a good harvest.
Vinton told me and Daniel that he was dropping his doll off at the shop to be sold, but if we wanted to buy it directly from him, he would sell it to us at cost. It was a little awkward given we were in a gift shop and buying directly from the artist would cut into their profits, but the clerk said it was OK. This kachina doll cost more than we wanted to spend, but it was hard to say no because 1) the Hopis are so poor, you just want to help them earn a buck; and 2) I really wanted some type of souvenir from the reservation. Why not buy one from the artist who took so much time to explain every little detail on the doll? Daniel and I thought that even if we were being ripped off (city mentality?), it'd be OK because it wasn't going to break us. So, we bought the kachina doll from Vinton.
Vinton then asked us what we planned to do that day, so we told him we were on the hunt for piki bread, a type of "bread" made by pouring a thin sheet of watery blue corn gruel onto a hot stone and quickly rolling it up before it cools. It's a staple in the Hopi diet. John had told us about it, and said we had to try it along with "Hopi Tacos." Daniel joked that we had to get going because he was starving and we needed to get some of this bread fast. At this point, Vinton handed Daniel the 2 oranges he had in his pocket. Daniel politely protested but Vinton insisted. The shop clerk stepped in and said to take the ornages because sharing is so important in Hopi culture. So, Daniel took the oranges, and I peeled and ate one. Then, Vinton said his mother made piki bread all the time, and he was going to run next door real quick and get us some. We were so touched by how giving Vinton was despite his obvious poverty. We're talking no running water or electricity in any of these villages. The clerk mentioned earlier that all electrical appliances in the village were powered by only by solar energy including the radio that was playing in the background.
Vinton brought back 5 rolls of piki bread and we discovered that it isn't really "bread" as we know it. It's grayish blue in color, has the consistency of dried seaweed but taste like blue corn. I liked it, but it was hard to eat because it crumbles everywwhere. While we were eating the piki bread, Vinton wrote his name and address down for us as an open inviation to come visit anytime we wanted. That's when the shop clerk also offered me HIS business card because he sells art, too. According to the card, HIS name was MICHAEL. Up until that point, I thought I had been talking to a woman!!! I would have bet my life on it. His voice, his energy, his articulation, all female. I didn't hear another word he said for the next 5 minutes as I racked my brains to remember if I had referred to him as a woman at any point in our conversation.
Vinton then asked us for a ride to Hotevilla, the Hopi village he lived in 3 miles down the road. It would normally have taken him 1.5 hours to walk it and it was hot. The guy seemed harmless and we weren't near any kind of correctional facility, so we agreed. First, though, he took us out back and showed us the golden eagle his family kept in a cage, it's feathers to be used later for ceremonial purposes. He said it had been sent to them by the gods, and they were about to get another one. They used to keep their eagles on the roof of one of their houses but jealous neighbors got up there and plucked it's breast feathers out so they had to keep them in this big cage.
So we got in the car and headed back to Hotevilla, piki bread crumbling and flying all over the car because the windows were rolled down. When we got there, Vinton gave us a thorough tour of the dusty rundown village he called home. He pointed out the different shrines, ceremonial sites and the path that the Kachinas take to come into town after the winter solstice. We dropped him off at his house. He also told us about "Res Ball," an anything-goes version of basketball where apparently the only rule is that you have to say "My bad" if you take someone's eye out. Vinton invited us in, but we really had to go at this point. We did agree to "take a quick peek" at the stream he was so proud of just behind his 10'x10' concrete shack. Did I mention before that water is almost nonexistent in this part of the state?! That explains why he was so proud. We asked if we could take pictures of his part of the village because we weren't allowed to take any in Old Oraibi. He agreed. Then we all hugged and said good-bye. Daniel and I left knowing that we truly did have an open inviation to come back next time we were in the area.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Vermillion Cliffs, Cliff Dwellers and Wilderness Camping
MICHAEL JACKSON DIED!!! WTF?! Didn't see that one coming and I feel completely out of the loop, I'm probably the last person in the world to find out (next to Daniel who couldn't care less about these things). That's what I get for going to these remote places.
In about 10 minutes, we are going to check out of the Jacob Lake Inn. We are heading to the Vermillion Cliffs and the Cliff Dwellings, both on the Navajo Indian Reservation. Then we will camp somewhere in the Kaibab National Forest at that little site we discovered yesterday. I won't be able to post for at least 2 days. You'll hear from me again when we get to Flagstaff.
In about 10 minutes, we are going to check out of the Jacob Lake Inn. We are heading to the Vermillion Cliffs and the Cliff Dwellings, both on the Navajo Indian Reservation. Then we will camp somewhere in the Kaibab National Forest at that little site we discovered yesterday. I won't be able to post for at least 2 days. You'll hear from me again when we get to Flagstaff.
Navajo Lecture (evening of 6/25/09)
This evening we had dinner at the restaurant at the inn (no other choice really unless you want to drive 45 minutes in either direction). After, Daniel wrote postcards while I attended a lecture on Navajo Culture presented by the owner of the Jacob Lake Inn. His name is John and he has incredible passion and compassion for these people and their culture. He told all kinds of interesting stories from when he was a kid including the one about how he and his Indian buddies used to put a juniper berry in their mouths whenever they would go on all day errands on their horses because there is NO natural water to drink in this area. I guess if you bite down on a juniper berry every once in a while it causes you to salivate and keeps you from getting thirsty. I’ll have to try that sometime.
The whole point of the lecture had to do with John’s concern that the art of rug making—for which the Navajo are known—is dying out, and it sort of is. Only about 2,000 of a population of 300,000 weave and that number is reduced by 10% yearly. And why? Chaulk it up to another casualty of the collision between the ancient and modern worlds. First, the Navajo believe that if you weave for too long, you can get sick and you need a cleansing ritual to get well. Second, it takes a lot of time to make a rug and the pay averages out to a lot less than what you can earn at McDonald’s or Wal-Mart. And third, you need a pretty distraction-free environment in which to weave a rug. The Navajo rug weavers credit “Spider Woman” for giving them the inspiration for their designs. Nothing is preplanned. Working from an established pattern is about the worst thing you can do. All the counting and stitching has to come from your head and heart. If you are constantly distracted by kids, ringing phones, TV, etc. you can’t make a good rug because you lose your concentration. The rugs John showed us were so beautiful. I would have loved to take one home except that they cost a minimum of $400 a piece for a 2’x3’ rug. The ones I really like were way more than that because they weren’t traditional.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself with the exception of the annoying lady who kept saying things like “That’s exquisite!” and “What a celebration!” every time John showed us another rug. Then she’d nod her head furiously whenever she liked a point he had to make as if he were addressing only her. Toward the end of the lecture, Marilyn, the Navajo rug weaver stopped by. She is employed by the inn to weave in the lobby for guests to see. I had spoken to her for a while earlier in the afternoon. She was very shy and didn’t want to talk in front of others. So what does Annoying Lady do? Annoying Lady insists on hugging Marilyn. And it wasn’t just a quick hug with a pat-pat-pat on the back. It was a LONG, meaningful hug accompanied by a drippy, heartfelt “Thank you for your wonderful spirit and work.” I wanted to vomit.
The whole point of the lecture had to do with John’s concern that the art of rug making—for which the Navajo are known—is dying out, and it sort of is. Only about 2,000 of a population of 300,000 weave and that number is reduced by 10% yearly. And why? Chaulk it up to another casualty of the collision between the ancient and modern worlds. First, the Navajo believe that if you weave for too long, you can get sick and you need a cleansing ritual to get well. Second, it takes a lot of time to make a rug and the pay averages out to a lot less than what you can earn at McDonald’s or Wal-Mart. And third, you need a pretty distraction-free environment in which to weave a rug. The Navajo rug weavers credit “Spider Woman” for giving them the inspiration for their designs. Nothing is preplanned. Working from an established pattern is about the worst thing you can do. All the counting and stitching has to come from your head and heart. If you are constantly distracted by kids, ringing phones, TV, etc. you can’t make a good rug because you lose your concentration. The rugs John showed us were so beautiful. I would have loved to take one home except that they cost a minimum of $400 a piece for a 2’x3’ rug. The ones I really like were way more than that because they weren’t traditional.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself with the exception of the annoying lady who kept saying things like “That’s exquisite!” and “What a celebration!” every time John showed us another rug. Then she’d nod her head furiously whenever she liked a point he had to make as if he were addressing only her. Toward the end of the lecture, Marilyn, the Navajo rug weaver stopped by. She is employed by the inn to weave in the lobby for guests to see. I had spoken to her for a while earlier in the afternoon. She was very shy and didn’t want to talk in front of others. So what does Annoying Lady do? Annoying Lady insists on hugging Marilyn. And it wasn’t just a quick hug with a pat-pat-pat on the back. It was a LONG, meaningful hug accompanied by a drippy, heartfelt “Thank you for your wonderful spirit and work.” I wanted to vomit.
Cape Final Trail to Cape Royal (6/25/09)
I can’t believe we have only been on this trip for 4 days! We have seen and done so much it seems like longer. Today, we woke up naturally around 5:40a.m. The sun was shining so brightly already, I thought it was at least 7. We grabbed a cup of coffee at the inn diner and then headed toward the Grand Canyon National Park, which is about 30 miles from Jacob Lake. The striking thing about the North Rim is that NO ONE goes here. It is so uncrowded compared to the South Rim. I am really happy to not encounter throngs of people everywhere we go.
We decided to go to Cape Royal to see the views and hike the Cape Final Trail. It took forever to get out there because apparently, the Model-T Ford Club was holding its annual convention and we got stuck behind about 50 of them, all being driven by men over the age of 65. Model-T Fords do not seem to have the ability to go faster than 35 mph, and the drivers were quite rude, refusing to pull over at the turn outs to let modern cars pass despite the signs everywhere saying to do so. Completely annoying! It never cases to amaze me what kinds of things people can be in to. Who even knew there were any Model-T Fords left?
The Cape Final Trail was about 4 miles long and hardly anyone was on it. It winds through forest and has 2 lookout points over the Grand Canyon that offer these incredible views. I truly do not know how I can describe what I saw. The GC is vast beyond imagination, and I felt very small sitting on the rock looking out over it. The sound of the wind in the trees was the only thing we could hear. It didn’t even look real! It was like a painting with vivid earthtone reds and greens in the foreground with fading shades of beige and brown in back, like the backdrop on a movie set of an old western. There was this little black bird with yellow on its wings flying around, and I was so jealous that it could fly over the GC anytime it wanted. Maybe in my next life. For now, maybe we should do the helicopter tour. By the time we got to the final lookout point—Cape Royal, no one was there. It was just me, Daniel, the wind, the birds and tiny little sand lizards. If we never got to see any other part of the GC, we will have at least seen this part. I am not sure how any other view can top it.
On our way back we looked for and found the PERFECT campsite to stay at tomorrow night. The thing about the North Rim of the GC is that you can camp anywhere (except near the main road or any water source, even though there aren’t really any) and it’s FREE. So we turned off Hwy 64 onto this small road and took that another 6 miles in until we came to this little site truly in the wilderness. If something happened to us, we’d be eaten by mule deer before anyone found us! I am noticing how often I refer to danger or bad things happening in these remote areas. But hey, I am a city girl and I do watch a lot of crime shows. Camping in the wilderness is so incredibly beautiful and filled with sites and sounds I NEVER get to see and hear, it ends up being more exhilarating than it is scary. I love the adventure. We will return to this place tomorrow night.
We decided to go to Cape Royal to see the views and hike the Cape Final Trail. It took forever to get out there because apparently, the Model-T Ford Club was holding its annual convention and we got stuck behind about 50 of them, all being driven by men over the age of 65. Model-T Fords do not seem to have the ability to go faster than 35 mph, and the drivers were quite rude, refusing to pull over at the turn outs to let modern cars pass despite the signs everywhere saying to do so. Completely annoying! It never cases to amaze me what kinds of things people can be in to. Who even knew there were any Model-T Fords left?
The Cape Final Trail was about 4 miles long and hardly anyone was on it. It winds through forest and has 2 lookout points over the Grand Canyon that offer these incredible views. I truly do not know how I can describe what I saw. The GC is vast beyond imagination, and I felt very small sitting on the rock looking out over it. The sound of the wind in the trees was the only thing we could hear. It didn’t even look real! It was like a painting with vivid earthtone reds and greens in the foreground with fading shades of beige and brown in back, like the backdrop on a movie set of an old western. There was this little black bird with yellow on its wings flying around, and I was so jealous that it could fly over the GC anytime it wanted. Maybe in my next life. For now, maybe we should do the helicopter tour. By the time we got to the final lookout point—Cape Royal, no one was there. It was just me, Daniel, the wind, the birds and tiny little sand lizards. If we never got to see any other part of the GC, we will have at least seen this part. I am not sure how any other view can top it.
On our way back we looked for and found the PERFECT campsite to stay at tomorrow night. The thing about the North Rim of the GC is that you can camp anywhere (except near the main road or any water source, even though there aren’t really any) and it’s FREE. So we turned off Hwy 64 onto this small road and took that another 6 miles in until we came to this little site truly in the wilderness. If something happened to us, we’d be eaten by mule deer before anyone found us! I am noticing how often I refer to danger or bad things happening in these remote areas. But hey, I am a city girl and I do watch a lot of crime shows. Camping in the wilderness is so incredibly beautiful and filled with sites and sounds I NEVER get to see and hear, it ends up being more exhilarating than it is scary. I love the adventure. We will return to this place tomorrow night.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
On to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon
Today I learned that no matter how much you love someone, being alone with someone for 3 days straight with no alone time can get a little intense--or should I say "tense"? Daniel and I drove for about 13 hours today in order to make it to our destination--Jacob Lake Inn at the North Rim of the Crand Canyon.
We left our campsite at around 7 in the morning and immediately made our first lucky mistake. We turned right instead of left when we left the camp site and headed toward a town called Leadville, an prominent gold mining town back in the day, where the residents today still look like the miners of yesterday. We stopped off and had an awesome breakfast at this little restaurant called the Golden Burro. The waitress asked where we were from and then proceeded--in a moment of unexpected, disarming honesty--to tell us how she had been trying to get the hell out of this town all her life and how it's a really beautiful town unless you live here.
We drove all day long, through the rest of Colorado, then through Utah. The soundtrack of this leg of the jouney was the album "Happiness" by the Weepies, especially the song, "You Can't Steal Happiness." All the driving, the fact that I hadn't changed my clothes in 2 days and was in bad need of a shower made for a fun Sonia, but that song made it a little better. What an album for this trip. Anyway, we drove through the Rockies and saw the most incredible views! Some of it reminded me a Scotland. The air is so clean, it almost makes you dizzy! Maybe the dizziness comes from being over 10,000 feet above sea level, who knows? At the very top, at the Continental Divide, I was making snowballs to throw at Daniel in a tank top! It's very strange to see snow and not be cold.
Just before we left CO, we stopped at a camping store to buy a few necessities I insisted on for future nights of camping: a lantern and a sleeping pad. I held my tongue the first night but I don't think I could continue holding it without these things.
Finally we got to Utah. The terrain changes drastically once you leave Colorado. The rock formations look like loads of sleeping elephants huddled together. Then it becomes all sandy-colored, red and brown mesas. I remember thinking that Utah was beautiful when we went through it on the way to California when I was 12. We had actually stopped at Bryce Canyon then. I was sad that we didn't have the time to stop there now, but we were in a race against time to make it to our inn.
So, we took turns driving a minimum of 80 mph through the desert. The desert is so vast I think it's difficult to patrol so you don't see any cops at all. The most interesting town we passed through was Kanab, just outside the AZ border. Kanab is the home of the Big Rock Candy Mountain that inspired Daniel to star singing the song of the same name he had learned in school as a kid. I couldn't stop laughing. Something about "soda streams" and "lemonade fountains." Apparently, this is heaven to the anonymous hobo author of the song.
We reached the Jacob Lake Inn in Jacob Lake, AZ about a half hour before the front desk closed. How to describe this place? First thing you notice is how GOOD it smells--fragrant cedar and pine. Instantly puts me in a great mood. As for how it looks? Think 1950's Niagara Falls or Starved Rock honeymoon destination-chic. All timber interior, curtains that have wildlife scenes, rugs hanging on the wall and a restaurant menu that offers an assortment of pies that you can have "a la mode." This sweet little place is nesteld in the Kaibab (pronounced KY-bab) National Forest at the intersection of 67 and 89A. As we were checking in, I noticed that there seemed to be a very diverse mix of people from bikers on road trips with buddies to families to young couples. Daniel bought me some delicious cookies. We made our way to our cabin (that has no TV--refreshing), took showers and hit the sack. Big day tomorrow.
We left our campsite at around 7 in the morning and immediately made our first lucky mistake. We turned right instead of left when we left the camp site and headed toward a town called Leadville, an prominent gold mining town back in the day, where the residents today still look like the miners of yesterday. We stopped off and had an awesome breakfast at this little restaurant called the Golden Burro. The waitress asked where we were from and then proceeded--in a moment of unexpected, disarming honesty--to tell us how she had been trying to get the hell out of this town all her life and how it's a really beautiful town unless you live here.
We drove all day long, through the rest of Colorado, then through Utah. The soundtrack of this leg of the jouney was the album "Happiness" by the Weepies, especially the song, "You Can't Steal Happiness." All the driving, the fact that I hadn't changed my clothes in 2 days and was in bad need of a shower made for a fun Sonia, but that song made it a little better. What an album for this trip. Anyway, we drove through the Rockies and saw the most incredible views! Some of it reminded me a Scotland. The air is so clean, it almost makes you dizzy! Maybe the dizziness comes from being over 10,000 feet above sea level, who knows? At the very top, at the Continental Divide, I was making snowballs to throw at Daniel in a tank top! It's very strange to see snow and not be cold.
Just before we left CO, we stopped at a camping store to buy a few necessities I insisted on for future nights of camping: a lantern and a sleeping pad. I held my tongue the first night but I don't think I could continue holding it without these things.
Finally we got to Utah. The terrain changes drastically once you leave Colorado. The rock formations look like loads of sleeping elephants huddled together. Then it becomes all sandy-colored, red and brown mesas. I remember thinking that Utah was beautiful when we went through it on the way to California when I was 12. We had actually stopped at Bryce Canyon then. I was sad that we didn't have the time to stop there now, but we were in a race against time to make it to our inn.
So, we took turns driving a minimum of 80 mph through the desert. The desert is so vast I think it's difficult to patrol so you don't see any cops at all. The most interesting town we passed through was Kanab, just outside the AZ border. Kanab is the home of the Big Rock Candy Mountain that inspired Daniel to star singing the song of the same name he had learned in school as a kid. I couldn't stop laughing. Something about "soda streams" and "lemonade fountains." Apparently, this is heaven to the anonymous hobo author of the song.
We reached the Jacob Lake Inn in Jacob Lake, AZ about a half hour before the front desk closed. How to describe this place? First thing you notice is how GOOD it smells--fragrant cedar and pine. Instantly puts me in a great mood. As for how it looks? Think 1950's Niagara Falls or Starved Rock honeymoon destination-chic. All timber interior, curtains that have wildlife scenes, rugs hanging on the wall and a restaurant menu that offers an assortment of pies that you can have "a la mode." This sweet little place is nesteld in the Kaibab (pronounced KY-bab) National Forest at the intersection of 67 and 89A. As we were checking in, I noticed that there seemed to be a very diverse mix of people from bikers on road trips with buddies to families to young couples. Daniel bought me some delicious cookies. We made our way to our cabin (that has no TV--refreshing), took showers and hit the sack. Big day tomorrow.
Camping in Denver (6/24/09)
Today was a very cool day. We left aweful Nebraska and right now, we are in Colorado. We stopped off in Denver for a few hours and walked around the 16th Street Mall, the main drag in town. Immediately, I noticed that people in Denver seem to be pretty laid back and friendly, always smiling as they pass on the street. This is a little strange for a Chicagoan, but what is even stranger is how different black people are as compared to the urban black people back home. There is little difference (besides skin color) between blacks and whites here, which seems to really underscore just how segregated Chicago is. The accents of blacks and whites are the same, the mannerisms, and you see black people at all levels of society. It really was striking to me in a refreshing sort of way.
Other things about Denver that I love: men seem to wear their hair longer, all the outdoor seating in restaurants is filled to capacity, the air is clean and as Daniel pointed out, even gross-looking fat men eat salads. Everyone just seems generally healthier here. You see lots of people riding bikes (like serious bike riding, all decked out with the special clothes and shoes etc.) and backpacking with rock-climbing gear. The city is surrounded by mountains and in June, you can still see snow caps and runoff falling down the sides in waterfalls.
We left Denver at around 2 p.m. and headed to a remote campground in the White River National Forest in Minturn, CO off of Hwy 24 that we miraculously found despite the fact that our fancy map did not show the little roads we needed to get here. It was a phenomenal drive to get here but a scary one as we got caught in a wicked rainstorm. Buckets of rain pouring down, lightening rods everywhere. Just what you want on winding mountain roads! We couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front of us. Scaaaaa-ry!
We finally made it to our campsite which was about 20 feet from the banks of Homestake Creek which is really more of a rushing river. There were only 11 camp sites here and Daniel was worried that they’d all be taken. It ended up not being a problem seeing as it was a weekday. I will admit, I was pretty apprehensive on the 7-mile drive on unpaved road leading to the campsite in the middle of nowhere because we kept seeing bullet spray all over the road signs! Fantastic! All I could think about was how we get zero cell phone reception or internet, we have no weapons to protect ourselves with if we get approached by some crazy mountain man, and we don’t know the area. But those thoughts were quickly tempered by how absolutely gorgeous the land was.
After we set up the tent, this older gentleman from across the way approached us. He seemed friendly enough and introduced himself as “Jack from Texas.” The next thing he said was, “Do y’all wanna see some moose?” How often does someone ask you that? So naturally, I blurt out, “Yeah! Where?” Daniel, always more cautious than me, simultaneously comes out with a flat out “No.” I don’t know why I said yes so quickly because as Dan and I determined later, we were both thinking the same thing—that the moose Jack was referring to was really a moose’s head, kept in his deep freezer. Turns out, Jack was really cool. He and his wife had the super fancy RV across from our camp site. They had been there for a month already and he was working for the forest service as a host at this particular campground. He told us about this reservoir a few miles up the road. In the little Subaru that could, we drove over rocky, unpaved road to get to it. That’s when Daniel and I realized how much we loved our dust-covered, filthy, little Subaru.
We camped in our little blue tent that night. We had gone to bed early because we forgot to buy a lantern so we couldn’t see anything in the pitch black. Also, the temperature dipped into the 40s. Our sleeping bags were plenty warm but we didn’t have any good padding, Daniel didn’t have a pillow (he made fun of me when I bought mine at REI) and it was not the most comfortable sleep either of us had. He ended up moving to the car during the night. I didn’t complain though because I knew that he really wanted my first experience camping to be a good one and I knew that it meant a lot to him that I had a positive attitude. I racked up a few good-girlfriend points, I think.
Other things about Denver that I love: men seem to wear their hair longer, all the outdoor seating in restaurants is filled to capacity, the air is clean and as Daniel pointed out, even gross-looking fat men eat salads. Everyone just seems generally healthier here. You see lots of people riding bikes (like serious bike riding, all decked out with the special clothes and shoes etc.) and backpacking with rock-climbing gear. The city is surrounded by mountains and in June, you can still see snow caps and runoff falling down the sides in waterfalls.
We left Denver at around 2 p.m. and headed to a remote campground in the White River National Forest in Minturn, CO off of Hwy 24 that we miraculously found despite the fact that our fancy map did not show the little roads we needed to get here. It was a phenomenal drive to get here but a scary one as we got caught in a wicked rainstorm. Buckets of rain pouring down, lightening rods everywhere. Just what you want on winding mountain roads! We couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front of us. Scaaaaa-ry!
We finally made it to our campsite which was about 20 feet from the banks of Homestake Creek which is really more of a rushing river. There were only 11 camp sites here and Daniel was worried that they’d all be taken. It ended up not being a problem seeing as it was a weekday. I will admit, I was pretty apprehensive on the 7-mile drive on unpaved road leading to the campsite in the middle of nowhere because we kept seeing bullet spray all over the road signs! Fantastic! All I could think about was how we get zero cell phone reception or internet, we have no weapons to protect ourselves with if we get approached by some crazy mountain man, and we don’t know the area. But those thoughts were quickly tempered by how absolutely gorgeous the land was.
After we set up the tent, this older gentleman from across the way approached us. He seemed friendly enough and introduced himself as “Jack from Texas.” The next thing he said was, “Do y’all wanna see some moose?” How often does someone ask you that? So naturally, I blurt out, “Yeah! Where?” Daniel, always more cautious than me, simultaneously comes out with a flat out “No.” I don’t know why I said yes so quickly because as Dan and I determined later, we were both thinking the same thing—that the moose Jack was referring to was really a moose’s head, kept in his deep freezer. Turns out, Jack was really cool. He and his wife had the super fancy RV across from our camp site. They had been there for a month already and he was working for the forest service as a host at this particular campground. He told us about this reservoir a few miles up the road. In the little Subaru that could, we drove over rocky, unpaved road to get to it. That’s when Daniel and I realized how much we loved our dust-covered, filthy, little Subaru.
We camped in our little blue tent that night. We had gone to bed early because we forgot to buy a lantern so we couldn’t see anything in the pitch black. Also, the temperature dipped into the 40s. Our sleeping bags were plenty warm but we didn’t have any good padding, Daniel didn’t have a pillow (he made fun of me when I bought mine at REI) and it was not the most comfortable sleep either of us had. He ended up moving to the car during the night. I didn’t complain though because I knew that he really wanted my first experience camping to be a good one and I knew that it meant a lot to him that I had a positive attitude. I racked up a few good-girlfriend points, I think.
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