#RSRSeesTheUSA Day 15: Navajo Nation & AZ
After yesterday’s spur-of-the-hot-springs change of plans, I woke up to discover I was basically camped inside of Oljato-Monument Valley.
The perfect social media version of this story would be all gorgeous pictures and commentary about how inspiring the natural world is. It wouldn’t include how my sleeping bag isn’t rated quite warm enough for me to avoid cold last night. It wouldn’t include my back and hip pain on waking. It definitely wouldn’t include how I accidentally set off my own car alarm in the middle of the night when I had to pee.
But that’s the stuff that makes travel memorable: the idiosyncracies, whether they’re positive or negative.
Like how Chopper and Diamond (the dogs of the owner whose land I was camping on) decided to escort me on my morning walk. They showed me the way and came back to check on me and played keep-away with a spare work glove. Memorable.
Like how a 15-minute walk the owner recommended to me took me to a ridge overlooking the valley with views just as good as any in the official park itself. I was alone (except for the doggos) with this view and the ability to walk around on my own and take my time. Memorable.
It’s something I’m coming to appreciate more and more about this trip, actually: the odd conditions of this moment (seasonally, COVID-ally, politically) that are making little moments sing. I’ve already written about how much I love seeing touristy places in their off-season. I’ve written about some of the attitudes I bring to my travels, which includes an enjoyment of when things don’t go quite right.
This whole trip has been taking place in an off-season (although the weather conditions of all these off-seasons are quite different). Not only are the sites not all open or fully-functional, but they’re also (mainly) not crowded, and it feels like I’m seeing the behind-the-looking-glass alterna-version of all these places.
Today, the scenic drive through Monument Valley was limited to 25 cars in the park at a time (the Navajo Nation COVID policies are no joke) with no wait to get in. Had I looked up and planned for this outing in advance? Nope. I figured I’d need to pay park admission to the Navajo Nation, but otherwise, I wasn’t sure what I was in for when I pulled up to the entry fee collection booth.
So the gorgeous morning and exciting near-solitude got to come as a surprise when I found all kinds of info at the park about how usually there’s a 1-2 hour wait to get in. A surprise because of my lack of preparation? Yes, definitely. A surprise that I found sneaky joy in? 100%.
The idiosyncracies of this trip go beyond the off-season aspect. Because I’m booking my places to stay the night before or the day of that stay, my usual planning isn’t in place, either. The imperfect, un-social-mediafied version of that is I have plenty of moments of anxiety on that score and that I’ve missed out on staying in some truly adorable and alluring Airbnb’s that could have been mine for a night if I’d booked in advance.
That more transparent version of the trip also includes the fact that I’m writing this from a literal treehouse that I found this morning on Hipcamp (trufax: I have always wanted to find a treehouse short term rental like this to try out). Idiosyncracies that are positive and negative, all in one real, specific truth. It’s what’s so great about traveling.
When I look back on this visit to Monument Valley, yes, I imagine that I’ll remember the (literally) awesome natural forces on display. I will also probably remember how few people were there. And how fierce the wind was, blowing fine-grained red sand into every little crevice. And that grit in my teeth and nose and the corners of my eyes. I know I’ll remember the special feeling of the walk with the dogs in the morning. I’ll probably remember that car alarm I set off in the middle of the night.
This trip will eventually distill into little flashes of memory that are a hodge-podge of good and bad. The rough outlines of the trip will be in my memory vault somewhere, but I won’t easily remember the route I took or the states I visited in exact order. The memory bits that will stay sharp will be the odd moments: the private dog hike this morning, the duck march in Memphis, the car and collectible museum in New Mexico, the heaviness of the Lynching Memorial/Legacy Museum, and the fizzing joyous lightness of finally being reunited with friends. And probably that 3am car alarm, too.
OK, that’s enough waxing philosophical. You all just want to see pretty pictures of rocks. Here are a few.
Also, I told you I was sleeping in a treehouse tonight, right? I wouldn’t tease you with that and not provide pics, either. Sorry I missed out on the Airbnb that was in a silo, but this literally-suspended-in-a-tree Hipcamp site is no slouch.
