New Mexico was very cool, Albuquerque seemed like an alright city, and Santa Fe was gorgeous. But I was bummed. For no particular reason; I'm sure it was some sort of panic attack. That was Saturday. It did not help that my birthday was Sunday, and I'd be spending it alone; I didn't think I cared about that, but emotionally I was a mess. So when I got to Santa Fe, for the first time on this trek, I bought a hotel room.
And it was the best thing I could have done.
I re-entered my voyage, showered and refreshed, and aiming for Flagstaff, Arizona. On the way back to the interstate I stopped at an outdoor market and bought myself a birthday present - a necklace and earring set - from some nice Native American laides who wished me well in my adventures.
But this was "Indian Country," make no mistake. That much was obvious from the highway signs. No sensitivity whatsoever in the billboards and marquees noting "Indian Souvenirs!" and "Indian City!" Did these people skip 4th grade? This isn't India, we figured that out years ago, Columbus was all wrong. Of course, my school may have been a liberal powerhouse of tolerance and white guilt, but most of this I always felt was quite deserved; it's the nature of the beast (the beast being expansion and exploration by one community, which subsequently leads to exploitation of another - in this regard, no one race or creed is innocent. Except maybe eskimos. They're probably too cold for tribal warfare).
Now, here I am in the midst of the Navajo reservation, and the only solace from these discrepancies comes from passing the Casinos where "Indians" were hard at work emptying the pockets of the tourists. The ladies I bought my birthday present from definitely told me to hit up the Casino. But that's my gas money. And it would be gone in minutes.
It took a while for me to get the nerve to purchase that necklace for myself; this population of people was horribly mistreated, as everyone knows, and are now confined to the desert while we continue to draw up invisible lines in the fertile soil and call it "property" - if these people hold any grudges, who's to say they weren't cursing every bead that they threaded? These two ladies seemed nice enough, and so far I'm still alive and well.
Sufficed to say, I am not a fan of the desert. Well, maybe I'm a fan, but I could never stay here. Only a handful of species can thrive here, and I am not one of them. Survive, yes, but thrive? No way.
So, to all my friends back home, a word of caution from Gallup, New Mexico:
(I think the next panel should be Teenwolf...)
And it was the best thing I could have done.
I re-entered my voyage, showered and refreshed, and aiming for Flagstaff, Arizona. On the way back to the interstate I stopped at an outdoor market and bought myself a birthday present - a necklace and earring set - from some nice Native American laides who wished me well in my adventures.
But this was "Indian Country," make no mistake. That much was obvious from the highway signs. No sensitivity whatsoever in the billboards and marquees noting "Indian Souvenirs!" and "Indian City!" Did these people skip 4th grade? This isn't India, we figured that out years ago, Columbus was all wrong. Of course, my school may have been a liberal powerhouse of tolerance and white guilt, but most of this I always felt was quite deserved; it's the nature of the beast (the beast being expansion and exploration by one community, which subsequently leads to exploitation of another - in this regard, no one race or creed is innocent. Except maybe eskimos. They're probably too cold for tribal warfare).
Now, here I am in the midst of the Navajo reservation, and the only solace from these discrepancies comes from passing the Casinos where "Indians" were hard at work emptying the pockets of the tourists. The ladies I bought my birthday present from definitely told me to hit up the Casino. But that's my gas money. And it would be gone in minutes.
It took a while for me to get the nerve to purchase that necklace for myself; this population of people was horribly mistreated, as everyone knows, and are now confined to the desert while we continue to draw up invisible lines in the fertile soil and call it "property" - if these people hold any grudges, who's to say they weren't cursing every bead that they threaded? These two ladies seemed nice enough, and so far I'm still alive and well.
Sufficed to say, I am not a fan of the desert. Well, maybe I'm a fan, but I could never stay here. Only a handful of species can thrive here, and I am not one of them. Survive, yes, but thrive? No way.
So, to all my friends back home, a word of caution from Gallup, New Mexico:
(I think the next panel should be Teenwolf...)
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