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.
Showing posts with label Navajo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Navajo. Show all posts
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.
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