a traveling bard

Today was a day that just didn’t make sense. We left Flagstaff this morning around nine after stopping in town for a Mexican breakfast that had me considering a move to Arizona. We drove through the mountains about an hour and a half to Grand Canyon National Park. Right now I am sitting on a hotel bed in the middle of the night at the Stratosphere Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. I’m having another one of those, “how the hell did I get here?” moments.

The Grand Canyon was as incredible as any picture or painting that I have seen of it. It is a giant ditch in the ground, but there is no question as to why it is one of the greatest natural wonders of the world. We hiked along the Rim, stopping to take pictures, and stopping to just gaze off into the miles of visible canyon. It was such a cool thing to see in person, but while we walked I thought back to one of my classes this past semester. In a four-hour Monday night session of Nonfiction literature, we talked about how we are a generation brought up by technology. Information spreads so fast, especially today, but this goes beyond social media. From the beginnings of photography and television, we have been experiencing cultures and places without actually visiting or interacting with them. We can say we’ve never been to Paris, but we can imagine what it looks like because we’ve seen movies, photos, and paintings of it. Sure, being someplace in the physical is different that seeing a picture, but having seen an image of a place is what makes being there so surreal: it’s the feeling that you’ve been there before. My favorite example of this is to imagine the first time someone sees the ocean. I don’t remember the first time I saw the ocean, because my family is obsessed and we’ve been vacationing on the beach forever, but imagine a grown person from a land-locked state that sees the ocean for the first time in their life. It is probably an amazing feeling, but it’s not something they haven’t seen before. What would it be like if they saw the ocean for the first time having never seen a picture of the endless blue on the horizon or heard the sound of a crashing wave? It would be unlike any experience I’ve had, and probably unlike any you’ve had. I guess what I’m trying to get to is this: the Grand Canyon didn’t blow my mind. It was an incredible place to see and I’m glad to have gone, but it didn’t change my life. I’ve already seen its beauty. What was amazing was the elk that came within two feet of us, and our hike down the canyon that could have easily lead to our death.

At the suggestion of our friends that had gone to the canyon the day before, we set out to hike along the Bright Angel trail, a two-foot-wide path that curves from the rim to the bottom, often at steep angles, and during this time of year is packed with a thick layer of ice. [In retrospect this was probably the most dangerous thing we could have done at the Grand Canyon, just short of jumping.] Walking with our cameras in hand, we walked very slowly down the trail of death, stepping on areas of dirt and deliberately stepping in mule shit for traction. With each step, eyes focused on the ground in front of my feet, the trees and cliffs in my peripheral vision were creating a strange vertigo feeling. I guess I will admit it was a little bit scary. The fleeting moments of dread were worth the views from within the canyon. This hike was an amazing way to see what we had set out to see, and was something we could not have experienced simply from looking at a postcard. It was the part of the experience that made the trip worth it, the part that was genuine and particular to us.

I don’t want to sound like I didn’t appreciate or enjoy the Grand Canyon because I did and I definitely think it should remain on the bucket list of every American. It is an amazing reminder of why the earth is so worth preserving. Living in the city, it is easy to think there aren’t areas left that haven’t been developed, depleted, and destroyed, but that isn’t true. Spend time in the desert.

Speaking of destroying the earth, from the Grand Canyon we drove four hours west to Las Vegas, Nevada. I think I hate Vegas more than I’ve ever hated any place. I can’t appreciate it for any reason, and I’ve tried so hard. Vegas is everything that is wrong with American culture, overdeveloped and plopped in the desert, surrounded by nothing. It is addiction, alcoholism, obesity, negligence, and exploitation wrapped up in bright lights. It is excess: American excess at its core. I want to know how much money would be saved if the city of Las Vegas turned off the lights for one night. Seeing the most authentic natural wonder followed by the most embarrassing display of waste in one day sent me into serious sensory overload. I spent most of the night with a pounding headache, on the verge of a panic attack, and unable to speak. I feel badly for my terrible mood, because I was not a lot of fun, but I still can’t understand how Vegas is a thing.

Regardless of my desire to never return to Las Vegas, today was an unbelievable day. We’re off to Los Angeles tomorrow, to finally cross the border into California. We can’t wait to eat a burger at In-N-Out.

Flagstaff, Arizona is adorable. It’s a college town full of bars, cacti (cactuses?), and Mexican food. Last night we went out to the downtown area, got some enchiladas and margaritas, and walked around town. There was an art walk going on, so all of the shops and galleries had their doors open, with free food, and there were tons of people wandering the streets. We caught Flagstaff on a good night; the town was alive and it seems like a really great place to go to school, or to live for a little while. While on the art walk we stopped in a shop that was displaying local art, had a café, and was also a small music venue. We walked inside and there were two women offering free chair massages and eyebrow threading. Eyebrow threading is a form of hair removal that literally involves a thread that wraps around the hair and pulls it out. As opposed to waxing, there are no chemicals or creams involved so it is a method favored by those with sensitive skin and the free-trade-granola-crunching hippies of Flagstaff.  We all got our eyebrows done. Ian and Shane have never looked better.

This morning we ventured down about an hour south of Flagstaff to the most beautiful place in the world. Sedona, Arizona is a small town that sits surrounded by red rock mountains. At the suggestion of Susan, who went to school in Flagstaff, we took a scenic highway to Sedona; it curved through the snowcapped mountains and past cliffs of red rock. It was a gorgeous trip. Once in Sedona we walked around the town in complete shock at what we were seeing. Everything there, including the stoplights, was the color of the mountains on the horizon. There were cars parked along the street from states as far away as New York, Washington, and Hawaii. The sun was warm and it was completely surreal walking around in almost seventy-degree weather in January.

Danna, Shane, Me, and Ian in Sedona

We went hiking up on one of the mountains, stopping to take pictures of the cliffs and cactuses along the way. It was so nice to be outside, to spend the day basked in sunlight surrounded by 360-degrees of mouth-dropping natural views. We ate prickly pear ice cream and visited the local brewery. We spent $1 in a Zoltar-like machine, Sedona Sam, to have him tell us something we already knew: we were relaxed.

Driving back to Flagstaff we took the same scenic highway. It was an hour before sunset and the glow on the cliffs was magical. The moon, almost full, was sitting on top of the mountain as we drove back into town. It’s crazy to think that places like this actually exist, that they aren’t just there when you happen to be visiting. Sedona and Flagstaff are this beautiful all the time and we were fortunate enough to experience them, if only for a couple days.

This trip has been such a whirlwind. It still doesn’t feel real. Every time we are in a new city or town we get acclimated and start to understand where we are, until we get back in the car, drive for a few hours, and are completed shocked again. America really is an amazing country and has so many different people, places, and cultures. It has been so exciting every day that it feels like we’ve been on the road for months. It’s strange to think that in just under three days I will be on an airplane flying over the country I’ve just met.

We spent last night in the old downtown of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Santa Fe is the oldest capital city in the United States, dating back to 1610. The oldest church in the country is downtown, a magnificent cathedral devoted to Saint Francis of Assisi. The streets are lined with one or two-story faux-adobe (fauxdobe?) buildings, most of them shops boasting art. It is a sleepy town, very laid-back, and it matched our mood perfectly. After a week and a half on the road, we have been in need of unadulterated relaxation.

We met up with a friend of Danna’s, an Emerson alum who graduated last May. He has been living in Santa Fe with his girlfriend; we met up with them for drinks at the local brewery’s tap room. While we sat down with a BLT pizza and beer we were joined by another Emerson alum, and then another. Pretty soon we were a table of seven members of the Emerson mafia. I didn’t know any of these people until last night, but it was nice to trade stories and to reference the places and things that we all have in common.

Since graduating I’ve been thinking a lot about moving. I love Boston and I see it as the city where I could settle, but I’m 21-years-old and I am too young to settle. Going on this trip has been a bit of an audition for all of the cities we’ve passed through. Are any of them calling me? Can any of them measure up to what I think I’m looking for? I want to live in different places, to pick up and move without a solid community waiting for me. I want to travel while I’m young, while I don’t have strings holding me anywhere. I’ve learned so much just traveling for short amounts of time—from this trip and from my time in Europe last year—I think it would be so rewarding to go outside my comfort zone and build a home for myself somewhere new. Maybe this is the naive romantic in me talking, and maybe it’s a terrible idea to move to a city hundreds or thousands of miles from my family, where I don’t know anyone, but I think it’s something I need to experience.

Maybe I’ll move somewhere far away, Oregon or Washington, and run into a little Emerson mafia. I think that would be awesome.

Ian, Danna, Shane, and I are in Flagstaff, Arizona. Our drive from Santa Fe was about five and a half hours, but it was absolutely beautiful. We drove through red rock mountains and stretches of desert we have only seen in Wile E. Coyote cartoons. Tomorrow we’re venturing down to Sedona to hike and enjoy the sunshine. This can’t even be real life.

I got four text messages today from various people asking if I had died in a ditch somewhere. I have not. We haven’t had Internet since New Orleans, nor do I have some kind of fancy smart phone that defies wireless. We are currently in Santa Fe, New Mexico, alive and well.

We had an incredible New Year’s Eve in New Orleans, so much more fun than any of us could have anticipated. At midnight we were sitting on a chain-link fence overlooking the Mississippi River and saw incredible fireworks (although Sean, New Orleans native, said fireworks always make him nervous because of the “murder problem” in the Big Easy). It was spectacular.

On the First we drove about nine hours to Shane’s house south of Austin, Texas. We were greeted by a puppy and grandma-made enchiladas. We spent our time in Texas eating amazing food. We had authentic breakfast tacos in New Braunfels and fried pickles and queso with Emersonian, Melinda, at the Alamo Drafthouse in Austin. We hiked around a beautiful park outside the city and spent time in the first Whole Foods.

On the Third, with Shane in the car, we drove close to thirteen hours to Taos, New Mexico, a ski town in the mountains close to Colorado. On our drive we stopped to throw tumbleweed across the deserted highway in western Texas and to chase the piece of the Kia Soul, and repair it, which flew off in the wind. We stopped in Roswell to dine with the aliens and played many car games along the way.

Danna’s high school friend, Mary, works at Taos Ski Valley and lives with a few friends in a small house in the mountains twenty-five minutes outside of town. To get to Taos we drove through the moonlit Rockies, where I quickly became terrified of hitting animals or having a run-in with a mountain lion. Mary’s house is tiny, has no running water or heat, and has solar-powered electricity, enough to watch Moulin Rouge on a sunny day. There is an outhouse in the yard and we listened to coyotes howl as we went to bed. When we arrived at Mary’s address-less abode, we walked in to see her roommate, Matt, shirtless by the woodstove, whittling a flute from a juniper log. It was like camp. While we were there, Ian whittled a spoon, shot things from the roof with a bb gun, and he and Shane learned to make fire the caveman way: by rubbing sticks together. Danna can now distinguish the difference between male and female mountain lion tracks, and we’ve all seen the sun set over the widest sky we’ve ever seen.

We’ve met so many wonderful people on our trip. We set out to find a great adventure, not thinking too much about the people we’d meet along the way. New Orleans wouldn’t have been the same without Zach and Sean showing us around and being embarrassed as we adopted the Saints’ motto, shouting “who dat?” throughout the streets, and it wouldn’t be the same without Mary’s roommates Ian (number two) and Matt, in Taos, boasting about the rabbit they killed and honey-glazed.

We are more than two thirds of the way through the United States, sitting comfortably in Mountain Time. We haven’t yet murdered one another; one might say we even enjoy the days in the car. Ian is winning at Hey Cow (the game where you roll down the window and scream “hey, cow!” at every passing cow, getting a point if they turn their head), we are all tied in Hey Bale (similar to Hey Cow, but instead you yell at the hay bales), and I am the champion, by far, at Taco Bell (where you say “Taco Bell” every time you see a Taco Bell).

We’re going to Arizona tomorrow, to Flagstaff and Sedona. Expect a post soon!

We got into New Orleans last night, checked into our awesome hotel near the Superdome and headed out to find dinner in the French Quarter. We ended up in a dive bar off Bourbon Street, where we devoured chili burgers and po-boys and a local Louisiana pale ale. We shared an appetizer of gator balls, which were deep fried balls of Cajun spices, alligator meat, green peppers, and onions. It tasted like chicken.

We headed down Bourbon Street and embraced the absence of open-container laws. It is so bizarre to see walk-up bar windows like you might see one that sells ice cream. You can walk up, buy a beer or a frozen drink or a strangely colored shot, and walk away again; down the street, and through crowds of adults rediscovering their youth.

New Orleans feels like Europe, and reminds me a lot of Marseille. Brightly colored houses, palm trees, too many tourists, and stumbling drunks. It’s a beautiful city, but it is so far from what we’re used to, that our visit feels like a dream. It is 70 degrees on New Year’s Eve. We’re walking around like it’s summer while people back home bundle up to watch fireworks, or stay in with the fire to watch the Ball drop. [Side note: I just heard someone throw up outside my hotel window.]

We spent today walking around and exploring the city, attempting to find areas slightly less congested. New Orleans recently ranked number one as the best destination to celebrate New Year’s Eve, so the areas less congested we did not find. Even still, the city is beautiful in a laid-back and unique way. We want to spend summer days in rocking chairs on the second floor balcony of almost every home we saw.

Tonight I will ring in the New Year with two of my best friends on one of the greatest adventures I’ve ever had. We are on a mission to not only see Drew Brees but to head down to Jackson Square to watch the fireworks over the Mississippi River and count down to midnight when the Fleur de lis drops. We are celebrating the end of 2011: the year I spent months in Europe, welcomed a new sister-in-law into my family, and graduated from college. This has been a great year, and there is no doubt in my mind that 2012 will be just as amazing.