Mike and I aren't frequent travelers, but for the last week we have been wandering around Indian country in northwestern New Mexico. We both find the landscape and the culture of the area compelling and this trip was rich with both. We started with a visit to Acoma Pueblo west of Albuquerque, which is built on a mesa top high above the desert floor and described so well by Willa Cather in her book Death Comes for the Archbishop (the original source of my interest in the area). There is no electricity or running water in the pueblo and only a few people still actually live there, but it is kept in pretty good condition by the Acoma people. It is geared now to tourists, but that doesn't spoil the experience of being in a dramatic and ancient place. It is thought that most of the pueblo dwellers of New Mexico have descended from the Chacoan people (also called Anasazi) who spread widely through the area, built amazing structures in clefts of cliffs and on valley floors, and then dispersed long before Columbus. Due to agreements made during the Civil War, most of the Pueblo tribes were allowed to retain their ancestral lands when other Indians were herded onto smaller reservations, so these people have lived here continuously for thousands of years. The sweeping vistas, the enduring quiet and organic integration of the buildings with their setting made this place deeply moving.
After leaving Acoma we drove further west to an airbnb where we planned to spend a couple of nights. Airbnbs are a little nerve wracking in that you never quite know what you are getting into, and as we followed our directions further and further out into the empty west, we became worried about food. We backtracked to the nearest grocery store (according to Google maps) and stocked up on simple provisions. Lucky decision! The house we rented was just down the road from El Morro National Monument (more about this later) on a dirt turn-off marked with the ubiquitous cattle guards. There were no towns within forty miles and those were just hamlets without much scope for shopping. The house was a classic adobe built beside standing rocks, looking out towards a distant mesa. It was a very well appointed home in a spectacular setting and we settled in happily, feasting on the goodies we had so presciently brought (much continuing self-congratulation). That night it snowed. The silence was complete.
When the snow melted around noon the next day we got back into the car and drove on west to the Zuni Pueblo. Contrast! The Zunis live on a huge tract of ancestral land filled with the obligatory mesas and rock outcroppings, but they are far from the freeways and have a much lower profile than the Acoma. Their pueblo just sits by the side of the road and looks quite unprepossessing. it has the dispiriting poverty of Indian reservations here in the Northwest, although I never saw the piles of trash that are sometimes seen around Indian homes locally. The pueblo has electricity and water so it is more completely occupied than Acoma. The adobe dwellings that are visible are one or two stories high, but archaeological excavations have revealed over thirteen subterranean layers. It is very old. Zuni was made memorable for us by a huge stroke of lucky timing. The day we wandered through happened to coincide with their spring corn dance, which we were allowed to attend. There are no photos because they asked us not to record what we saw in any way. We climbed up to second story ledges looking down into a small dirt plaza accessible only by a tiny narrow passageway, waiting in the background as local residents slowly gathered and claimed their places. The rooftops were packed (there were only four white people present, including us) when we heard the hooting and other-worldly cries that heralded the approach of the dancers. Over forty fully costumed men (even the Corn Maidens were male) filed into the arena, filling it with incredible color. They represented holy beings called kachinas who come to bestow blessings upon the people. Each one wore an outfit that was uniform in essential elements: painted cylindrical full-head helmets with smaller cylinders for mouths and ears, topped with brilliant feathers and circular decorative elements, neck ruffs made with evergreens, decorated breastplates, beaded armbands laced with evergreen sprigs, leather leggings and breechcloths, fox or badger skins with heads, tails and feet hanging behind from the waist and knee-high moccasins with bell bands at the knee and ankle. All kachinas held an ear of corn. From this same costume base, each dancer embellished individually, so the variations made for continual visual interest. Every costume was complete and well-executed. No one was dancing in sneakers or modern clothes. It made quite an eyefull. Masked musicians with rattles and drums struck up a beat (bomp bomp pause pause, bomp bomp pause) and the dancing began. Stamping in time with bells jingling, they circled the plaza, turned, and circled back using various hand gestures in unison. They went for five to eight minutes, paused, reorganized and started again with another dance. After about four dances they marched out and the Mud Clan was left to pick up the evergreen twigs that were shed, and to entertain the spectators with broad slapstick. The Mud Clan were bare-chested with mud smeared skin above blankets wrapped around their waists and knee-high moccasins. Their heads were remarkable. They wore full head brown masks apparently made of mud. They had "buns" for ears and topknots, with protruding circles for mouths and eyes. Very simple, with no decoration, but the variation in mouth and eye size gave each one a distinct expression. They looked like aliens from the potato planet. After about fifteen minutes the kachinas returned and another round of dancing commenced. This happened four times, with the Mud Clan performing their antics in between. I am ignorant of the meaning of most of what I saw, but the total effect was mesmerizing and the full masking made it easy to believe that these were beings from another dimension. I am grateful that I was allowed to witness something that the tribe was clearly doing for its own purposes, not some show made up for tourists. It was a great experience.
I'm getting tired of typing....more travel stories to come.