*Continuing our look at the Tiger Father & Family's holidays
If there’s one thing I love it’s a western
movie. Of course you have to be careful saying that when you live in China. It
could mean you prefer films like Die Hard
XV and Alvin and the Chipmunks over
Raise The Red Lantern and Kung Fu Kindergarten. I mean the horses
and gunslingers type.
And if there are two things I love, then
the second thing would be native American culture. Tribes like the Sioux,
Cherokee and Apache sounded very evocative when I was a lad. I always wanted to
make smoke signals and settle down with a good squaw. Sitting Bull and Geronimo
were war time leaders just like Patton and Rommel, only they had better names.
These two love interests might seem incompatible,
for in most westerns the “Injuns”, after giving a bit of lip early on, usually suffer
the mother of all hidings. But they do come together nicely at
Monument Valley, an important native American site where many a western was
shot. I’m also fond of a good monument, and I like a valley as much as the next
man. So during our recent holiday we went to this ancient, awesome, geological
wonderland.
They put it in a really inconvenient place.
Straddling the border of Utah and Arizona, Monument Valley isn’t on the way to
anything. But it had long been on my list and we were all about roughing it.
Plus our RV had air-con.
You can’t just go driving through the valley
willy nilly. You have to go on a tour. Since the area is in the Navajo nation, our
brochure said we could get a tour with a genuine native person. We paid for a private
tour, partly to learn more, but mostly to avoid an 8.00am departure.
I was excited to meet our Navajo guide.
Would he perform a dance? Inspire the kids with a folk tale? Would he crouch
down, strain some sand through his fingers and describe his people’s connection
to this mystical place? Would he be wearing something hand-woven, or at least a
feather head-dress? And what would he be called? Rearing Horse? Courageous Cat?
Eats With A Fist?
“Trevor this is Larry,” our intermediary
said. Larry was a stocky man of about 50. He was wearing … well he was wearing
Levis and a red button-up shirt. It had long sleeves, if that adds interest.
I wasn’t sure how to approach. Could we
even communicate? Larry silently extended his hand. I met his gaze and extended
mine. He grabbed it, squeezed it in a way I can only describe as painful, and jerked
me closer to him. This was different to the handshakes of my people. Alas I
hadn’t expected it and stumbled into him, which was awkward.
And then he spoke.
“Kah,” he said.
I’d thought “Hello” was “How”. Still, I
wanted to try. It wouldn’t do to say anything white and stiff like “Yes,
quite!” or that old chestnut “Good day to you!”
“Kah,” I replied.
He looked surprised. At my worldliness?
“Kah,” he said again.
“Kah,” I said. Now I really wasn’t sure
where this was going. But then Larry raised his index finger and, I guess you
could say solemnly, pointed at my top
pocket. Poking out was a thick ticket which showed I had paid.
“Ooooooh - card,” I said, handing it over. Larry turned and walked away.
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And here's how the sisters looked to us, complete with matching clouds. |
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How Monument Valley is depicted in one branch of popular culture. |
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And in another. |
Our vehicle was a converted pick-up truck
with seats in the back. Larry got into the cabin and off we went. Finally there they were - majestic pillars
of stone, aka buttes, rising some 100
metres (300 feet) from the flat earth. I was keen to learn more. In the cabin,
Larry picked up his microphone to speak.
“Supermarket,” he said.
Sure enough, we’d just driven past one of
those.
“Airstrip”.
Those sights absorbed, we entered the
national park. First there was a native dwelling, or hogan. Larry took us in. We milled about, making interested humming
noises. I felt Larry was waiting for us to settle so he could begin his talk. I
marshaled the kids to attention, whereupon Larry … just stood there. Turns out
he wasn’t waiting for anything. So I thought I’d break the ice.
“Mud bri ..”
“No.”
“Not mud bricks?”
“No.”
“Right. No. Not mud bricks …”
I glanced at my wife Stef. I might need to
engage a bit more.
“Well … what then?” I asked.
“Mud and grass.”
Oh. I’d missed the grass. But then there
were wooden beams.
“What kind of wood?” I asked.
“Strong.”
“Oh stro …"
“And light. Strong and light.”
“Cedar?”
“No.”
“Pine?”
“No.”
I walked past Stef. “I think it’s a guessing game,” I whispered. Problem was I felt like I was in trouble with every incorrect
answer.
Six-year-old Lani asked me about the door
‘hole’. I said she could ask Larry. She didn’t want to. I didn’t blame her. I
asked if it was usually covered.
“Blanket,” Larry said.
Ah. Now
we were getting somewhere.
“A blanket!” I said. “What kind of
blanket?”
“Store bought.”
Riiiight …
At last our guide perked up. At last he had
another syllable to add.
“Sometimes kangaroo skin,” he said. This
didn’t really help.
“Why kangaroo skin?” Stef asked.
“It was imported. From Australia.”
I looked at Stef and exhaled. I’d once got
blood from a stone without this much effort. Only this stone was costing us.
Whereas in our exchange about the card it appeared Larry had a problem
enunciating his words, it was now clear he just didn’t like using them at all.
It’s a bit of a handicap if you’re a tour guide.
“So how many people live on the Navajo
nation?” I poked again.
Larry stared at me. I thought he was going
to punch me in the face, but he was just thinking.
“Many,” he answered, not very mysteriously.
“How many?”
“Many many.”
Usually I want my tour guides to shut up
after a while. This was becoming bizarre. I wondered if the Navajo were a notoriously
taciturn people, like those verbal minimalists from the ancient Greek region of
Laconia (whose capital was Sparta). Maybe we would learn more in the park’s
Navajo museum.
Not really. A tiny part of one room gave
hints as to how they once lived, using a couple of old robes and pottery.
Almost two rooms were devoted to how Navajo radio operators had helped Allied
forces in World War II, speaking messages in their native tongue that the Germans
couldn’t understand.
It seemed perverse. You wouldn’t say the
Navajo have done all that well out of European settlement. It was jarring to
learn alcohol can not be sold on the entire Navajo nation, which is a bit
smaller than South Korea. Plus, that WWII unit was ultimately treated
shamefully by their white commanders. But this episode was presented as the
high point in Navajo history. Perhaps they like their real culture so much they’re
keeping it to themselves.
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No, this is the real hogan. The previous shot was of their steam room out the back, used to treat illness. |
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This part is called John Ford's Point, because the director liked shots from this angle. Fortunately this guy had come by on his horse. |
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He let us sit on the horse and get our photo taken, provided we first paid him $5.00. Coincidentally a lot of other people took him up on his offer. |
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That's me. Did I mention the Navajo horse was really really tiny? |
We came to an awesome formation called Window Rock. I
was hoping against hope our authentic Navajo guide might know some geological
history.
“How long have these formations been here?”
I asked.
“Since the dawn of time,” Larry said.
“How many years?”
“Four hundred and fifty.”
Wait. The dawn of time happened 450 years
ago? Was it covered by the media?
“Sorry,” I pleaded, “who says time began
450 years ago?”
“Everyone.”
I for one had never said that. Finally
Larry said it referred to when Navajo people arrived in the area. If you look
at the internet, even this sounds like a guess.
There was one more thing to see – the Eye
of the Sun. It’s a huge open cave with a hole in the roof through which to see
the blue sky. As was his non-interventionist custom, Larry waited by the car
while we walked in. There we saw another Navajo guide, sitting and talking to a
white family.
“And then Lonely Cloud ran into the hills,”
he said. “It was his time to become a man.”
Stef and I were stunned. Look at the tour
these people were getting! They were
getting a folk tale. We were chagrined enough, but then …
“Lonely Cloud took out his flute and
played.” The guide took a recorder out of a hand
woven bag. Phweet phweet phwee-eet.
Bloody hell.
Taciturn my foot. If our guide was Larry
Laconic, these guys got Harry Haveachat. With music!
We returned to where Larry was not playing
a flute. One last try.
“Hey Larry – what caused these rock
formations?”
“Natural forces.”
He got back into the vehicle.
“So it wasn’t some bloke with a high
pressure hose then?” I wanted to say.
I’d had about enough. And clearly, so had
Larry – maybe a hundred tours ago.
Oh well. The scenery was spectacular. And
there’s always the internet.
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Did I mention it's really big? |
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The Eye of the Sun, with people below. The whole valley was carved by water in an ancient sea, which left behind the Colorado Plateau, aka natural forces. |
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An ancient cave painting of some sort of antelope type thing. Thankfully a picture paints a thousand words, taking our haul for the day to roughly 1,020. |
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