Sedona to Santa Fe
Today we hit the 1000 mile mark. Here's some of the road we've traveled.
Has it really only been 5 days since we left our beloved Los Angeles? Today was a driving day: 400 miles from Sedona to Santa Fe. We got an early start (for us!) and left town by 9:30 after picking up salads for a picnic lunch.
There's a big Native American population in the Southwest and their cultures have been kitschified into souvenir shops every few years selling jewelry, pottery and rugs. But on the road from Sedona to Flagstaff, we came across several Navajo women in a park, their open-air tables laden with turquoise-and-silver jewelry and various kinds of pottery that had all been signed by individual artists. (As one of the vendors was explaining these ancient techniques and symbols to someone, another vendor swiped a buyer's credit card with the little white Square reader plugged into the vendor's iPhone.)
That was the end of the line for authenticity. We passed at least three "Indian Centers" between Flagstaff and Santa Fe with teepees and totem poles in the parking lots and periodic billboards which started miles before and promised all sorts of authentic products.
And why are they still calling themselves Indians? They're Native Americans. They should insist on being called that. It's more accurate and dignified and it would save Indians from India answering a lot of stupid questions, like what tribe we're from. I'm not kidding. When I was a kid, I got asked that a lot when I said I was Indian. Now I say, "Indian. Dot not a feather." Or "Indian. Call centers, not casinos."
We passed through the Petrified Forest and the Painted Desert and the part of me that wants to make sure I've covered all the bases and seen everything and done everything there is to do wanted to drive in so I could check it off my mental list but we decided it was more important to get to Santa Fe in time to enjoy a full evening than to do the 56-mile roundtrip detour into the forest.
"Doesn't look like much of a forest," Marina said.
"Well, it's been petrified. So I guess the trees are all dead."
And with that, we pulled back onto the highway and kept on driving.
We had our salads at a picnic bench in a Shell gas station with an enormous parking lot. The main building was larger than any other gas station I've seen and stocked to the rafters with Native American souvenirs. Soothing flute music wafted through, making the place feel sacred, instead of a gas station in the middle of nowhere off an interstate highway. The walls of the women's room were lined with photographs of these Navajo women.
I didn't check, but I'm guessing the men's room had similar photos of Navajo men. I was glad that the Navajo were profitting from their culture, but unfortunately, most of the souvenirs looked and felt like they were made in China. I hoped that the owners of the gas station were Navajo and I wondered if they went home at the end of the day and laughed at the gullible idiots buying this stuff: "Revenge is sweet. Ha!"
They did have some lovely posters, though.
And this one is my personal favorite.
We arrived in Santa Fe while it was still light and managed to walk into town and admire the architecture and quaint shops.
It looks like there are a lot (and I mean, A LOT) of shops selling stuff like this.
The best part of the day was dinner. Marina is English, and she does like her tipple, especially at the end of a long day of driving, but most vegan restaurants don't serve alcohol (why is this, people? Spring for the damn liquor license already! Do you think all vegans are health-conscious granola nuts? We are not, and some of us struggle daily with how to be fashionable, vegan and slightly buzzed all at the same time.) So we ended up at a place called Cafe Pasqual's, which had something to make us both happy.
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| Cafe Pasqual's |
It looks and feels like a Mexican birthday party exploded inside.
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| Cafe Pasqual's |
The place was packed and we opted to wait for two seats at the communal table. I've only ever shared a table with strangers at a theme park or a food court, and "Is this seat taken?" is just about the only conversation we have. But it's hard to ignore people sitting right next to you while you're all waiting for food or watching each other eat and drink. We struck up a conversation with the couple next to us, who engaged the mother and daughter next to them, who brought into the conversation the couple next to them and pretty soon we were all chatting amiably over wine and dinner as if we were at a friend's dinner table. Isn't this why we travel? To meet new people and discover new ways of doing things? To see the familiar in a new way and to see new things (and people) in a familiar way?
One couple was from Frisco, Colorado. They had both grown up in Oklahoma and dated in college 40 years ago. When the man's wife passed away, he looked up the woman on Facebook. Her husband had passed away and she was living in Hong Kong. A year ago, she moved back and they were in Santa Fe to buy silver wedding bands which they were going to design themselves. If that story doesn't make you go "Awww,", you're a cold-hearted beady-eyed person who's probably lived in Manhattan too long.
The mother (Gail) in the mother and daughter team had lived in Kansas her whole life until 11 months ago, when she moved to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Her daughter (Julie) lives in Chicago and they were both traveling down through Austin and eventually to New Orleans, where the sister is graduating from Tulane U next week. Julie and several others had encouraged Gail to start a blog but she offered the excuse I have heard from so many women: "I just don't think anyon'es going to be interested in what I have to say." I told her she should write for herself and not for others. (Not that I follow that advice. As I go through each day on this trip, I am only thinking of you, dear reader, and what you might find interesting. And then I disregard that and write what I want to.)
Julie, Gail, Marina and I agreed that even the smartest women sometimes think no one is interested in what they have to say and the dumbest men all think the whole world is interested in what they have to say. Why is it that men have so much confidence and women so little?
Another couple wandered in from New York and yet another couple (we stayed chatting through at least 3 different seatings!) met up here from Albuquerque (woman) and Colorado (man). Eventually, an older couple showed up, the man from Vouvray in France and the woman from Arkansas or Kansas, I forget which.
Not a local among the lot, but what was fascinating was how easy it was to talk to all these people, how well-traveled and intelligent they all were. The table was like a magnet and it was extraordinary how every single person had something interesting to contribute. Fascinating too was how transient our society has become. This is old news but sitting at a table like that and hearing all the stories of moving across states and continents, I was reminded that the story of immigration and reinventing oneself isn't limited to those who move across international borders. There's a lot of migration happening right here in America.
We left the restaurant laughing and marveling at the evening. A couple stood outside looking at the menu. We encouraged them to go in and sit at the communal table.
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| The red blush of fine wine and good conversation |
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