Chaco Canyon: Heart of the Anasazi Ancestors

We Had An Entire 1,200 Year-Old Lost City All To Ourselves

Imagine being the last person to walk the planet, isolated as a refugee from an apocalyptic world, but simultaneously finding yourself in complete freedom and unity with Time and Space. Only then will you understand the whirlwind of emotional sensations that followed me on the winding route to the "Lost City", a remote and alien world surprisingly not too far from home.

The year 2020 has been nothing short of ominous, even downright catastrophic for those who have been directly victimized by raging pandemic, rising poverty, and a ruthless president. Having witnessed the harsh realities of life for many across the globe, I've always been told to count my blessings, a task that grew ever more challenging as daily life became more complicated, months of hard work more grueling, and all plans of respite quickly vaporizing. While I managed to keep my home, employment, and comfortable lifestyle, I began to realize that 2020 would certainly be the first year of my life that would rob me of my only true reason for existence - international travel. I began to silently suffocate behind my N95 mask, with the growing nightmare of being trapped for over a year in a country whose passport power had begun to diminish as fast as its integrity and prowess. I desperately needed physical stimulation and mental liberation away from the sickness of society, as well as the plague of politics. I needed an open space to clear my head. And this year, that place and adventure would have to be somewhere domestic.

The desert badlands of Bisti-De Nah Zin, en route to the remote Chaco Canyon

An alien landscape of forms and colors in the late afternoon

Trekking through a sandstorm with 65 kph winds

There's a story in American history that is never told in schools, from a time long before the arrival of colonizing Europeans and the "taming" of this wild land. In the legends of the native tribes of the Southwest, it is the tale of a Golden Age of humanity, when Man, Nature, and the Spirits walked the same earthly paths outlined by the gods with celestial orbs in the heavens. In more scholastic archaeological terms, this was the 9th-13th century age of the Ancestral Puebloan civilization, which created the most advanced and sophisticated society in pre-Columbian North America. A rich culture of star-gazers and engineers, they erected unrivaled masterpieces of urban and ceremonial architecture that easily evoke textbook images of imposing sandstone villages and precarious cliff-dwellings, all constructed without metal, machinery, pack animals, or the wheel. But by the time the currently predominant  rival Navajo tribe had migrated into the region during the 15th century, the earlier civilization they had called Anasazi ("Old Enemy Ancestors") had all but entirely dissolved, its silent towers, temples, and towns abandoned to decay like skeletons left to vultures. Some say their decline was mainly due to dramatic climate change, while others claim it a consequence of socio-political turmoil. In any case, the doomed fate of their past eerily resembles the damned trajectory of our future.

 

While the ancient cliff-dwellings of Mesa Verde, Colorado, have been made renowned worldwide, few have ever visited or even heard of a greater indigenous metropolis (and UNESCO heritage site) lying further to the south in the remotest and harshest desert terrains of northwest New Mexico. But from my unconventional childhood fascination with contemporary Pueblo tribes, along with their mystical migratory ancestors, I had always known and longed to visit - or more romantically, make pilgrimage - to the oldest, largest, and holiest of Ancestral Puebloan cities, the forgotten spiritual navel of a pan-Native American culture stretching from the American Plains to the Valley of Mexico. Together with my timeless adventure partner, whose own travel plans were also a victim of current circumstances, we finally found time to set off for the fabled "lost city" in Chaco Canyon.

 

"Cliff Palace", the largest and most famous of dwellings in Mesa Verde

Channeling my inner indigenous vibe

"Square Tower House" boasts Mesa Verde's tallest structure at 8.5m

"Spruce Tree House" is known for its 3-storey facade of windows

In the blink of an eye, the clouds overhead darkened, the air grew frigid, and the white flakes began to fall. In an unpredictable region typically battered by arid windstorms and seared by scorching temperatures, the weather forecast predicted a purportedly rare and rather historic storm - for only one day, exactly when I planned to reach the ruins of the ancient city. Clearly, Nature was sarcastically trying to test my resolve. Checking the reports frequently, I nervously clenched my teeth as the snow began to pile and my visibility through the bleak desert landscape blurred to white. After days of driving, would we even be able to make it to the canyon in these conditions? The ruins are remote and in a barren wasteland, as Chaco Canyon is 110 km away from the nearest substantial town, with 30 km of rough dirt roads separating it from the only highway in the region. And as the temperature began to dip to 0°C, -5°C, and finally -9°C, the ice thickened to dangerous levels for virtually any vehicle. Painfully slow, we inched and skidded our way across the flat snow-engulfed badlands, the thought of our vehicle breaking down and getting stranded in a blizzard looming in the back of our minds. Our mobile phones lost reception, our GPS finally lost signal, but we semi-blindly pushed forward, as we had come too far to turn back. By the end of a stressful hour, towering buttes suddenly appeared like apparitions in the whiteness and we descended into a massive open canyon.

 

Trekking into the canyon through the historic -9C snowstorm

All alone in the canyon

 

The ethereal beauty of Chaco Canyon, with its colossal stone ruins dripping with sparkling icicles and cactus gardens coated in frosting, is a sight unlike anywhere I've ever beheld before. One could not ignore the otherworldly silence, the absolute stillness and sense of isolation enveloping the pristine canyon, a long-overdue detachment and escape from the collapsing country I was fleeing. Trudging deep into the wash through the powdery snow to the largest ruins at Pueblo Bonito, we came face-to-face with the magnitude and quality of these primordial communal constructions, a complex of over 800 rooms with some areas reaching a towering five stories in height, the tallest structures in North America until the 19th century. The masonry of fine sandstone bricks was perfectly fitted like delicate warm-hued mosaics, while simultaneously concealing sturdy walls nearly a meter in thickness, a perfect balance of elegance and strength for sacred edifices designed to stand through the passing of ages. As I stood among the largest stone kivas, the ubiquitous circular pit "temples", I could almost hear the faint voices of chanting ancestors, their healing songs wafting with the snowfall throughout open spaces that were once entirely concealed below ground in the "spirit realm". With the entire structure perfectly aligned to the cardinal directions, alongside special windows facing the magical path of the solstices, it felt paradoxically humbling and empowering to stand at the physical center of a civilization's known universe.

 

In the center of Pueblo Bonito, the largest and most famous of ritual complexes

Feeling indigenous at the ruins of Chetro Ketl

Approaching Pueblo Bonito through the snow

 

One of the massive kivas, or sacred circular pit temples used for ritual dances

 

 

Glimpse inside one of the sacred chambers, 4-5 stories in height

"Cawww!" The deafening silence was broken by a fluffy black raven, the only living creature in the canyon to cross our path all morning. Pieces of sweet bread from our simple lunch warmed the creature to us as it approached with more confidence and curiosity. As it flew off towards the imposing stone mesa that hovers above the ruins, we followed its path along the vertical cliff walls, which served as a veritable prehistoric gallery of intricately carved petroglyphs and exquisite rock art, a medley of anthropomorphic figures, lizard signs, and hypnotic spirals emanating the enigmatic energy of long lost stories. The trail ended at the site of another great ruin complex at Chetro Ketl, the black raven patroling us from its perch upon an immense stone wall overlooking an even larger kiva. It continued to follow us from ruin to ruin that entire afternoon. To view the entire complex from above, we hiked our way in the snow to the north, reaching the ruins of Pueblo del Arroyo and Kin Kletso, where a steep hidden trail began to climb a gigantic crack in the stone and scale the massive mesa. The route tightly tunneled its way up between two sheer rock faces, where it eventually opened onto a flat terrain dotted with snow-covered boulders, cactus gardens, and megalithic sheets of fine sandstone. Through a scene from a Martian snowstorm, we meandered along the perilous cliff edge overlooking the entire canyon, passing the foundations of sacred circular spaces and perfectly round hand-carved water basins hewn from the living rock. Our raven reappeared and flew to a stone on the very edge, faithfully calling us to view the entire honeycomb framework of the many ancient pueblos from 100 meters in the air. "Breathtaking" simply cannot sufficiently describe the sense of beautiful inspiration combined with blissful liberation that overcame me as my watery eyes gazed out over the shimmering winter wonderland with a native twist. The stresses of unending work, national division, viral outbreaks, and even the surrounding sub-zero temperatures all seemingly melted away into the snow. 

 

It was nearly inconceivable to imagine that we had the entirety of a vast ancient city completely to ourselves, in pure uninterrupted solitude... something that few, if an, people could ever claim to have experienced before...

 

At that moment, the raven flew off, never to be seen again. It was as if our briefly adopted "spirit animal' had been specifically sent to lead us to this magnificent climax, a simple sign of gratitude for what little morsels we could provide. I had never before felt so intensely the veiled, watchful gaze of the ancestors. 

 

The trail along the base of the mesa reveals ancient petroglyphs

  

Our raven "spirit animal" guides us to the edge of the mesa for a view of the Pueblo del Arroyo ruins

 

View of the immense Pueblo Bonito complex from 100m above

 

View of the Kin Kletso ruins from the cliff

 

For all the blessings bestowed upon us during our unique and magical time in Chaco Canyon, the ancestors apparently still had one last test of faith up their sleeves - getting out of the canyon. As the temperatures began to quickly warm from -9°C up to 1°C, the ice and snow on the dirt roads began to melt into a soggy slush of nearly impassable sludge. The rush to escape Chaco before potentially being stranded overnight without food nor heat in subzero temperatures immediately set in, as we floored the gas pedal in frantic attempts to plow through long deep troughs of sticky mud. Tires spun furiously as our filthy vehicle continuously struggled to gain enough traction to summit even in the slightest inclines leading up the mesas, the fear of imminent entrapment rapidly rising as the last 16 km of dirt road seemed to drag on into tortuous infinity. After an hour, and by sheer luck, we finally struck solid pavement in a relieving return to our own dearly doomed civilization, our own familiar ruins. But at least now, I felt I possessed a newfound outlook for this convoluted year.

Archaeological evidence has shown that the decline of the Ancestral Puebloan culture didn't result in their complete annihilation. Rather, small groups migrated in all directions away from troubled times and chaotic conditions in search of new opportunities to rebuild and renew, their descendants still living in the form of today's Hopi, Zuni, Jemez, Acoma, and Tewa tribes. From the natural world they knew and derived, they fully understood and accepted both the transience and impermanence of all things in Life, where everything is said to have its specific time. And while the modern world that we know may seem to be crumbling around us, the fundamental human spirit has always maintained an underlying, oftentimes unawakened tenacity to initiate meaningful change and move forward for the better. But before we can ever start anew, we first must learn to listen to the silence.

 

No Reservations: In Search of Native America

I’ve seen a decent number of tribal peoples over the years - from the jungles of Latin America (Maya, Kuna, Piaroa, Yanomami, Quechua… to name a few) out to the savannas of Africa (Hamar, Mursi, Karo, Maasai, Tuareg… I could go on) and even around various expanses of Asia (Banjara, Kayan, Shan, Hmong, Yao... ok, please stop me). The world surely has no shortage of aboriginal communities, even if their individual populations are ironically under the perpetual threat of decline. While the ethical question of “ethno-tourism” continues to remain a controversial and heavily debated topic on travel forums, I grew up possessing a natural curiosity and strong fascination for indigenous societies that could only be satiated by seeking them out. Though informative and educational, books and documentaries would never provide me with the level of understanding comparable to physically interacting with and learning directly from tribal members about their unique ways of life.

In light of the many tribes I’ve visited, it sadly dawned on me that I’ve never actually encountered the original inhabitants of my very own country. The United States government officially recognizes more than 500 distinct native groups, none of whom I’ve ever crossed paths with. How is this possible? Indeed, recent history has not been kind to Native Americans, whose once flourishing civilizations have been devastated by disease, enslavement, eviction, and even genocide at the hands of Spanish missionaries and American settlers. More shamefully, it’s a story that’s still not mentioned as part of the standard secondary school US History curriculum. Nevertheless, I've always had questions in the back of my mind concerning the state and views of these elusive minorities. I knew they’re certainly still around – but where exactly?

My mission to find Native American people and learn something about their current condition first started off locally. After extensive research online, I came across a small inter-tribal gathering taking place out in the Los Padres National Forest near Santa Barbara, California. Originally starting out as a small, intra-tribal occasion for feasting and ceremonial dances, the concept of the powwow has transformed into an organized convention open to all tribes across North America. It has become a celebratory opportunity for clans to meet, socialize, sell handmade art and the raw materials for crafts, as well as participate in competitions of dancing, singing, and drumming. Such a cultural event was certainly worth making a three-hour journey for, hoping it would grant me a chance to engage in some casual dialogue with a people I’ve known only from outdated books and poorly-misrepresented films.

Members from many different tribes dancing around the circular arena to the beat of thunder drums

A Chippewa Cree elder from Montana

One of the Great Plains natives

My anthropological senses tingled with excitement as a colorful whirlwind of natives in full-feathered regalia orbited around a dirt arena. Like the cracking boom of thunder, massive drums were communally struck by circles of men from the Northern and Southern Cree, their shrill ululating singing evoking the image of ax-wielding war parties racing across the Great Plains. I started conversing with a Navajo woman standing majestically in a colorful shawl, her hair woven into two archetypal black braids with a single erect feather at her apex.

“That’s my son on the far side of the circle. He’s competing for the Fancy Dance. Watch his footwork as the drum gets faster. When it stops, he’ll strike a pose!”

Like any mother, she was proud to showcase the skills of her son, performing a dance that isn't even traditional to the Navajo people but rather to the tribes of the Midwest. It made me consider how a wave of Pan-Indianism over the last century has brought very different and often distant tribes together to form a unified indigenous identity built upon shared cultural practices. At only 1.5% of the US population, it seemed logical that Native Americans from all over the continent would find strength through the unity embodied by the powwow. Even as an outsider myself, I began to feel the power of the circular arena as it drew people from as far as central Canada and Mexico closer to its pulsating center. 

The Navajo woman's son performing the fast-paced and visually-stunning Fancy Dance

The regal Navajo woman could sense my delight, which in turn delighted her.

“I’m pleased you’ve come all this way to see our traditional dancing. You’re most welcomed to join us in a week for another gathering near the San Manuel reservation. These competitions tour around the country all summer. We’re like a bunch of traveling circus freaks!” 

The hosts of the Los Padres powwow were from the Chumash tribe, whose people have lived along the California coast for millennia. I came across one of its members, a ruggedly handsome man sporting a coyote pelt headdress and leather loincloth decorated with owl feathers. Intimidating as he looked, I eventually gained the courage to approach him.

“I've always been curious. What’s your view on having visitors, particularly white people, coming to your cultural events and watching sacred dances that had long been performed  for native eyes only?”

I tried to state my question delicately, particularly in remembering my own status as a visitor. Taking a bite out of my fry bread, I was fixated.

“History has not given our people much reason to trust outsiders. It used to be illegal to gather and dance like this only a hundred years ago. At first I didn't know how I felt, but now I want outsiders to see this. I really do. They need to know that we still exist and that our heritage is strong, rich, and ancient.” 

Thrilled from additional conversations with members of the Lakota and Sioux, I followed up on the Navajo woman's offer and went to the second gathering a week later. It felt delightfully strange suddenly running into so many native "friends".

The Chumash man I briefly interviewed

Other Chumash tribal members in traditional clothes

Woman performing the Shawl Dance

Checking the powwow off my list, I later realized that my chances of coming across whole native communities would likely fair better outside of over-developed, over-populated California. Growing up with a plethora of archaeology books as a child, I'd always read stories about the mystical treasures of the American Southwest, from enigmatic petroglyphs on canyon walls to lost stone cities built into hidden cliffs. The intricate folk arts of the Puebloan peoples had likewise always been admired by my family and I hadn't forgotten that Christmas holiday was soon approaching. On a whim, I decided to set out on my most distant solo weekend road trip to date: Arizona.

Aside from suddenly dropping in and staying with Andrew, a friend and doctoral student of anthropology at ASU who I happened to have met while visiting the Kuna tribe in Panama, I had no set plans regarding my Arizonan adventure other than seeking people and pottery. Little did I know that, in exchange for nearly a thousand miles of driving in only two days, so much would be discovered and learned in such a brief time. I first headed east from Phoenix along winding highways that cut through the red rocky cliffs of the Superstition Mountains. After two hours, I found myself in the Tonto National Forest, which resembled more of an endless cactus garden than the kind of forest I was familiar with. 

Visiting Andrew and sharing tribal encounter stories

20 foot high saguaro cacti shooting towards the sky in front of the sandstone butte

View of the Tonto Basin and Roosevelt Lake

Tonto National Monument, a 13th century Salado cliff dwelling hidden in a natural alcove

It was up above, snugly hidden into the natural alcove of a sandstone facade where I gazed upon the 13th century ruins of a Salado cliff dwelling. I squealed with excitement, nearly walking straight into a massive saguaro cactus as I scrambled up the mountainside. It was no Mesa Verde, but being my very first cliff dwelling, I was certainly in awe of the small adobe and stone structure that has remained perched above the valley for centuries. Waiting for me at the top was Ranger Miller, who greeted me with a charisma and energy comparable to that of my best friend, Captain Matt. Standing among the stone walls of an ancient Native American site with such a vivacious and passionate character, it's no surprise that we talked for nearly forty minutes about the history and archaeology of indigenous peoples in the region. Ranger Miller waved his arms in large, epic sweeps across the open landscape.

"The Salado were not a single culture, but rather a diverse melting pot of natives from different ethnic and linguistic backgrounds that lived and worked together. This place was already an 'America' long before our notion of 'America', and a great mixed civilization occupied the entire Tonto Basin."

He stretched his hand out over the vast Tonto Basin below us, pointing in distant directions to where other large dwellings and villages had been discovered. The idea of an ancient indigenous melting pot gave me a cheesy grin, as I reflected back to the powwow in California and how I was fortunate to experience a contemporary tribal smorgasbord. Before departing, Ranger Miller jovially suggested that I visit the ruins of Besh-ba-gowah in the little town of Globe en route back to Phoenix.

Inside the ancient pueblo, which comprised of multistory stone and adobe structures

View from within the alcove. Notice the grinding stone.

Detail of the original adobe and wood construction

Ancient Salado pot, gourd spoon, and stone axe

Spent the morning discussing Ancestral Puebloan archaeology

Arriving in Globe, I anticipated to see a small desert town of little significance with a couple streets and quiet rural atmosphere. What I surely didn't expect to see was a bustling town center filled with native people, ceremonial dancing, and artisan booths. I had coincidentally stumbled into the Apache Jii Festival, celebrating the performances, arts, and food of the Apache nation. And reminiscent to the environment of the Salado era, other neighboring tribes including the Navajo, Hopi, Zuni, and Pueblo peoples also joined in on the festivities to create a living indigenous melting pot right before my very eyes.

Performing the Hoop Dance, which involves literally jumping through hoops and making abstract shapes with them

The Apache Crown Dance, invoking and imitating the spirits of the mountains

After watching the Apache crown dancers, whose playful movements aim to emulate the frolicking of mischievous mountain spirits, I walked along the streets to look at amazing works of tribal art and speak directly to the artisans keeping such traditions alive. A young Hopi man in his early twenties caught my attention as he sat at his small little table, carving away at little logs with nothing but a pocketknife and a small chisel. He was meticulously making authentic Kachina dolls in the old style, using the sacred cottonwood root as the main medium for the abstract spirit effigies. He captivated me with his story.

“I watched my uncle carving these gods when I was little and realized that I also wanted to learn. I’ve tried getting other friends to join me, but they don't always care. Sometimes I feel like it’s all on just my shoulders to keep our dying ways alive. It’s hard work, but it gives me honor and purpose.”

We discussed the beauty and challenges of maintaining traditions in a rapidly globalizing world. I admired him even more for his commitment at such a young age towards preserving his culture, rather than slipping into despair and alcoholism that frequently infects disadvantaged native boys. He explained to me the magic of Kachina dolls and the pantheon of natural spirits they represent.

“We all still follow the old religion. The Spanish tried to give us their God, but we already got our own – and there’s a lot, man! We don’t need Christianity and churches because our gods are everywhere with us, in the earth and sky, in the plants and animals. All things have its own sacred spirit that deserves respect.”

We talked for nearly half an hour. It amazed me to see how a young, humble woodcarver was capable of possessing a spiritual profundity and appreciation for life more advanced than many of my privileged friends back at home. I knew at that moment that if I was going to come home with an authentic Hopi "spirit", it wouldn't be from a souvenir shop or a fancy Indian art gallery back in Phoenix. It was going to be straight from the hands of this native kid, right on the street, at a native cultural festival in historic Apache territory.

The young Kachina carver demonstrating his art

As I made my rounds, I came across a Hopi-Zuni couple selling exquisite handwoven baskets. The woman had the roundest, most jovial face I've seen since my time in Mongolia. She playfully insisted that I needed a nice genuine yucca fiber basket to carry my newly-acquired Kachina. I instantly felt compelled to chat.

“What’s it like living on a reservation? Aren’t they considered autonomous areas by the government and does living there have benefits?”

Chucking uncontrollably and looking over to her smiling husband, she was clearly amused by my questions, likely not the typical inquiries made by potential customers.

“Even though we can make our own laws, life on the reservations can be a challenge sometimes, especially if your tribe is small and your village is poor. But nothing can be more rich than the sense of community and shared traditions you gain by staying with your people. That, and we also don’t have to pay state tax. That’s definitely a perk when you buy a new car and have it shipped!”

We talked for 15 minutes about Native American everyday living, after which I walked away with a wonderful little basket. It felt satisfying to directly support an indigenous artist who provided not only a beautiful and authentic piece, but a wonderful conversation and story that will forever accompany it.

“Please come visit us on the Hopi reservation! We live on top of the mesas [elevated sandstone plateaus] and still have our colorful Kachina dances during village festival days. We don’t permit photography out of respect for our community's personal privacy, but you're still absolutely welcomed. We’ll even bake bread for you, too!”

Buying native Southwest art and gifts directly from the artists in the small town festival

My final stop was a stall selling intricately painted Towa pottery. Beside the collection of handmade vases, all painstakingly made using the archaic coil method and decorated with complex geometric patterns, large lumps of clay oven baked bread were quickly being sold. I gently interrupted two middle-aged sisters chatting in a beautifully incomprehensible language beside an old grandmother who spoke no English at all.

“I’ve come all the way from Los Angeles in search of native people. I feel like none of you guys are left!”

The stall erupted with laughter at my sincerely honest exclamation, which they apparently found to be rather adorable. 

“Yeah, it’s been a rough couple hundred years, but we’re all still here. We’re not going anywhere, either. And unlike the movies, we’re pretty darn friendly. We won’t bite!”

The sisters looked at each other, letting out a giant guffaw that also infected the neighboring Navajo stall with laughter. We talked more about their particular culture, an obscure one based over in neighboring New Mexico that I had never even heard of before meeting them. 

“Out in Jemez Pueblo, we speak a language that no other people speak anywhere else. We still live in our adobe homes stacked one on top of another. Some people even live the old way, without running water or electricity. It's okay, I guess. When you live by the sun, you tend to go to bed kinda early, haha.”

The stereotypical portrayal of Native Americans as being a stoic, fierce, and somewhat cold race was completely debunked by the smiles, laughter, and witticisms of the people I spoke with that entire day. As a result of their limited presence in mainstream American society, it's easy to envision them as being mythical and secretive. But for the most part, I came to the realization that Native American people are quite open and really not that different from the rest of us, facing the same ease and challenges that accompany everyday life for all citizens. Out in the middle of rural Arizona and hundreds of miles from home, it was such a pleasantly surreal Saturday afternoon spent at an outdoor native marketplace among strangers who could effortlessly be transformed into friends. All it took was a little respect mixed with a lot of interest. I also walked away with a beautiful ceramic pot.

The rugged cliffs and buttes of the Superstition Mountains

Gold Canyon during a brief rain and lightning storm

Before journeying back to the mundane world of strip malls and cultural indifference, I heeded the words of a Navajo petroglyph artist who recommended a special place to see large concentrations of ancient rock art. Making a full circle back towards the Superstition Mountains, I pulled off the highway and headed towards a large butte overlooking the vast, flat landscape around Gold Canyon. After getting lost, I found the trailhead and set off over a rocky path up towards a gully filled with boulders. Caught in a brief desert downpour, it felt refreshing to soak in the cool heavy rain and inhale the moist earthy aroma of wet sandstone. A bolt of lightning flashed across the expanse of the desert sky, followed by a low rumble echoing off the cliff face. I thought about what the Kachina carver told me and felt that the spirits of the mountain were home, probably welcoming me to their sacred space. 

It was a sacred space, indeed. High in the gorge, natural rock pools had filled with water from the downpour and dry vegetation had sprung to life again through beautiful shades of green interspersed with vibrant hues from wild flowers. I snaked my way through the boulders, turned around a narrow bend, and came face-to-face with a massive stone edifice covered in innumerable 900-year-old Hohokam petroglyphs. Carefully scaling the precarious cliff side, I found more and more pictographs around every corner and in every crevasse. I felt as if I had wound up in a prehistoric art gallery filled with etched images of wild sheep, coyotes, lizards, anthropomorphic beings, star signs, and abstract geometric patterns. Having the entire hidden canyon to myself, I was completely overcome by the mystique and sanctity of a place that clearly possessed spiritual significance to the ancient ancestors of those whom I met earlier that day. I cleansed my face and hands in one of the natural pools, imagining the purity of the place washing away my stress and negativity. It was the perfect conclusion to a meandering journey in search of native America.

Standing beneath the great stone petroglyph slab showing herds of grazing animals

Abstract designs of unknown meaning

Lizard men

Man on top of a coyote or dog

A long-horned wild sheep

Star signs and organic shapes of unknown meaning

Looking down into Gold Canyon

Ancient Hohokam rock shelter in the valley

The sacred pool beneath the wall of petroglyphs, an oasis giving life to an otherwise deathly dry terrain

  

Spending time with some of America's last vestiges of a real indigenous communities was eye-opening, informative, and also quite entertaining. It returned a sense of exoticism to a country that I have consistently been overlooking while on my annual search for unique historical locations and cultural experiences. I learned that Native Americans still persist, that they are just as unique and worthy of admiration as the other tribal peoples I've come across during my travels. As long as personal spaces are respected and cultural boundaries are observed, native people throughout the world can be exceedingly welcoming and proud to share their customs with those who have strong interest in their preservation. Treating people as people, rather than creatures simply to be gawked at, stereotyped, or exploited, can yield some surprisingly meaningful moments of genuine human connection.