Greg had never seen the Grand Canyon, so we felt it would be appropriate for us to see some of own natural wonders before returning to the working world. So we headed out from LA on a 5-day loop around Northern AZ and Southern UT.
We drove out to the Canyon where we had reserved a room at the Bright Angel Lodge, located right on the south rim of the canyon. The first day, we went to several points to try and grasp the vastness of this spectacular geological phenomenon. Greg was blown away by the colors, the intensity of detail, and the inability to truly measure its size with the human eye. Being there in the winter meant there were very few people around and a dusting of snow that created an amazing contrast between rock, snow, and sky. We were also amazingly lucky to be there for the biggest and brightest moon of the year – which illuminated the canyon and the snow in a clear blue light that allowed you to see every detail of the area.
On the second day, we set out on a 4 hour hike down into the canyon. It’s not until you descend for 2 hours and find yourself barely a third of the way down that you realize how deep it is. IT’S HUGE! The trail would have been treacherously icy if it hadn’t been for our trusty “stabilicers” – rubber thingies with teeth on the bottom that go over your hiking boots. But where the trail was in the sun, it was perfectly warm and tranquil. Again, relatively few people – must be a highway in the Summer.
The next day was my birthday. And being my birthday, I slept in while Greg froze his butt off watching the sunrise over the canyon. He said it was inspirational watching the new sun catching the tips of the canyon’s towers. We checked out and made a b-line for the East end of the park and the Watchtower – a fortified Hopi Indian ruin that sits on the canyon rim. It was freeeezing, so we spent all of 5 minutes taking in the surrounding views of vast desert plain. Back in the car – we wanted to make it to Canyon DeChelly (de-shay) by early afternoon. We drove through Hopi reservation country to get there – a sweeping set of plains with strange rock formations and snowy peaks in the distance – incredibly rural.
We got to DeChelly by 1:30 – the only national monument with no cover charge. It’s a long canyon cut into red sandstone hillside that houses the “White House” and other ancient Anasazi settlement ruins. We headed down the easy trail to the White House, which sits under a huge overhang. It’s not as large as Mesa Verde in NM, but impressive nonetheless. There was a group of young Navajo men hanging around near the site selling carvings and other local crafts. We spoke with them a little and inevitably, bought some of their wares. They told us that their tribe’s real name is Dine (din-a), not Navajo, which was given to them by the Spanish and means “horse thief”. They were totally cool, and all live in the canyon. Chinle, the nearby town where we spent my birthday night in the Best Western hot tub, was pretty interesting – Greg and I were the only non-native people anywhere we went. We had no idea that sort of environment still existed! Great to know it does. We saw Chris Rock last year in Oakland and he made the point that no one you know hangs out with Native Americans, because they’re simply not around. Now we know why – they’re all out here eating Church’s Fried Chicken. Oh, and contrary to stereotype, not one store in town sold liquor or wine – no chilled bottle of Mumm’s for our celebration.
The following day, we drove up to Monument Canyon, just over the Utah border. The location of basically every western movie ever made, this place is picturesque to say the least. The highways around here are drawn with a ruler and go to the horizon. The valley is huge but only takes an hour to see. So we were on our way back to AZ and on to Lake Powell in no time.
We stopped for lunch in tiny Kayenta, where a native woman mistook me for one of her own. And a high school student no less! A year older and look a decade younger. Thanks Asian genes! The turquoise necklace probably helped a little.
We made our way to Page, AZ, on the Southern shores of Lake Powell. For those of you that have never been to Powell, imagine the Grand Canyon filled with water, and in the high season, white trash on water skis. We spent the rest of that afternoon exploring the smooth pink rock around the shores of the lake, with not a soul around. We even found – literally – fields of petrified coral on the tops of hills – clues to this areas prehistoric marine origins.
We intended on just staying the night and Greg needed to get some job prospecting done. But we hadn’t realized that the famous Antelope Slot Canyon is just minutes away. So at 1pm the following day, we had a local tour outfit take us into this incredible crack in the earth. Our guide, and young guy named “Blaine” (his Navajo name is something like Ash Ka Do T’sei and means Boy Who Doesn’t Listen) was really cool and told us all about the history of the area. His grandmother owns the land that the canyon is on. He grew up in a Hogum, a mud version of an igloo, with no windows, electricity or running water. His grandmother taught him the Navajo language and influenced his desire to preserve his ancestral culture – which is quickly disappearing. The canyon is a maze carved from sunset-hued sandstone by violent flashfloods, which have been known to kill anyone unfortunate enough to be in their way. Blaine played Navajo flute for us, which made walking through the canyon a peaceful and spiritual experience. And Greg was able to capture some great pictures - you can se them here: http://picasaweb.google.com/gmcallister/Canyons#. The canyon was amazing, but also getting to talk about Native American culture was over the top. Those kind of unexpected cultural experiences are what have made this trip so rewarding.
We drove up to Tropic, UT to stay the night and go to Bryce Canyon the following day. Tropic had to be a balmy 10 degrees and was totally dead in January. We slept in and made our way up to Bryce. We were there to see the famed amphitheater of “hoodoos” – a dense collection of pink and orange sandstone spires lightly covered with snow. Looking out over the weird formations is visual unique and reminded us of the fairy chimneys of Cappadoccia, Turkey. In fact, so many of the geological formations we’ve seen out here are similar to places we saw in the Mid-East – some of the Hopi reservation land looked so much like the Jordanian desert. There’s even a Moab, Jordan. It took us only 3 hours to take in the amphitheater, including an hour-long hike on Navajo Loop where you descend amongst the odd towers and land bridges.
We decided to bag Zion National Park – we were parked out. So we headed back to LA, getting in late that night.
We are looking forward to getting home to San Francisco, seeing all our friends, and resuming life as we knew it.
We said our farewells to Paul and crew. We had a nightmare experience getting to the tiny town of Salento that came highly recommended by Paul – 6 hour buseta (minivan for hire) ride, another hour bus ride, and an hour taxi ride, getting in at 10pm. Luckily, the owners of our destination hostel, Plantation House, were gracious enough to give us a bed, even though our reservation had been given away hours ago. A tough day, but we stuck to the plan – no matter how annoying today is, we want to wake up in Salento. And we did.
Salento is at about 5000 feet, so in January, it’s never hotter than 70 during the day and cold as a witch’s tit at night. The Zona Cafeteria is exactly as I imagined: rolling hillside, lush vegetation, a kaleidoscope of flower and bird colors. And the town is picturesque. Our only regret was that we couldn’t see the Plaza’s multicolored buildings in all their splendor because we arrived during the biggest festival of the year. Music blared until 4am, the Plaza was packed every night with locals, out-of-towners, police that don jungle fatigues and automatic rifles, food stalls, carnival games (Fred and I almost won the dart gun contest), and singing acts on multiple stages. And the local coffee farmers look EXACTLY like Juan Valdez – gaunt face with big handlebar moustache, wide-brimmed hat, folded rug over the shoulder, decorated machete sheath on their hip, donkey laden down with boxes of coffee beans. Sooo cool.
The owner of the hostel gave us a tour of his coffee plantation which was super interesting…and in English! And Fred and I ventured out into the Valle de Cocora, the exclusive home of Colombia’s national tree, the Wax Palm. After a grueling hike up to about 9000 feet in wellies, we descended through fog and jungle and out into groves of as-high-as 200 foot palm trees. An amazing sight. The only way to get to the valley and back is in one of the many WWII-era Jeep Willys that locals operate and trick out with colorful paint and accessories. On the way back, there were 14 of us and 1 dog in, on top of, and hanging off of the Jeep (Fred and I stood on the back steps and hung on to the roll-bars for dear life).
While we stayed at Plantation House, Christie – of course – got some nasty mosquito bites on her leg while sleeping – yes, her left leg…again. (Not sure if you’ve been keeping track, but to-date she has been bitten by bedbugs, mozzies, a dog, and a leach – all on her left leg!) Although we now know it was only an infection due to scratching, we – and the hostel owner – thought that she might have a Bot Fly infestation. Apparently, in this region there is a fly that lays its eggs on a mosquito, the mosquito bites you, you scratch it open, the larvae enters the wound, gestates for about 8 weeks while nourishing itself on your flesh, and then emerges as a fly. Oh My God! And the only way to get it out before then is to cover its air hole (the original bite site) with a piece of meat or petroleum jelly to suffocate the little bugger and when he comes to surface for air, tweeze it out. As you can imagine, Christie is freaking out while one of the hostel employees roots around in her leg to see if anything is in there. Long story short, she’s fine.
And then it was time to say our goodbyes to my dear friend Fred, send him off on his solo mission, and navigate our way back to Bogota and home. The sending off part was easy – there’s no one I know that can handle himself better in a foreign environment through planning and strategy than Fred. If it weren’t for him, I would probably be lying dead on a mountaintop somewhere in northern California right now. But the navigation part was a little tricky.
My Spanish has gotten a bit better in the month in Colombia. At first, I understood very little anyone said. Then I could understand what Fred was saying, but no one else, and not say it myself. But by the end, I could formulate a thought, rehearse what I had to say, and be understood. So when we got the bus station an hour from Salento and all the signs said “No Hay Bogota” I knew we were in deep shit. No night buses to Bogota. Only a packed buseta that left at 7pm (getting in at 2am). With no choice, we squeezed ourselves into 2 of the last 3 seats. About 2 hours into the trip, the kid across the aisle puked all over the floor – lovely. About an hour later, her brother in the seat right in front of me puked all over himself, dowsing my new sneakers in the process – wonderful. We had a hell of a time finding a hotel room that night as well. But in the end, it was all fine. And my sneaker doesn’t smell like the contents of a 3 year old’s stomach anymore…sorta.
One the last day in Bogota, I returned to the police museum – the site of Wang’s hilarious fainting incident. I saw all kinds of great stuff, including the death mask (rubber cast of the corpse – no idea why they do this) of the guy who put Colombia on the map for violent crime in the early 80’s. He was known for “The Vase” – cut the victims arms and legs off while they’re alive, let them die, cut the head off, and insert the limbs into the torso…and voila…a vase! Yikes.
We met up with one of Christie’s old Wells Fargo workmates, Jake, that last night in Bogota. He is attending Thunderbird business school in Phoenix and his roommate is from Bogota. We had a great time eating, drinking, and talking with Sergio and his friends. It was the perfect cap to the month: Jake, being an avid world-traveler, was one of the central influences in deciding to take this trip in the first place, and having an opportunity to meet some educated, worldly Colombians who are passionate about the country’s heritage and future was a refreshing change from tourism.
3 hours of sleep and a healthy dose of nausea later, Christie and I were on a plane headed for Houston and on to LA. But it’s not over yet! After a day of unwinding, we headed out to the Grand Canyon and other sites in northern Arizona and southern Utah. The truck is still running well. And I’m super excited to see some of my own country’s famous sites before heading back to SF.
