Now you would be forgiven for not even knowing where it is, other than, well, I told you it was in New Mexico, and I have friends who have been through it on I-40 (which runs right through the middle of it, following the old Route 66 which forms sort of a Main Street for the town.) and decided it was one more shitty dusty western town to be shot through on the way to where you are really going, and I wouldn't blame them for that assumption, for from the highway it don't look like much. Rt. 66 being America's most famous version of the commercial strip, perhaps the first impression, bright lights and enticement to buy crap you don't need and likely won't ever decompose (even in your stomach), the same crap you can get at any interstate exit in America, the town you see coming from the east is utterly forgettable if you have seen more than 10 miles of American road anywhere, but if you took the time to pull off on a lark, you are in for some treats if you have any idea what to look for. Few places have ever made me feel like a foreigner in my own country. Just off the interstate in Downtown Gallup, and in it's environs, I felt like one.
IT might have started when I stumbled into the Electric Company Shoe Store,roaming around town with a buddy who had driven me down from Utah to catch an Amtrak Trail hauling through town later in the day. I guess I had decided that outside Alaska I would never see a store that sold Puma pelts and Pow Wow Dancing Shoes in any form approaching casual, and if at all, in some self important Aspen Boutique.. here they were hung up like work shirts at an industrial supply shop,and the size selection of dancing shoes was extensive (deerskin from what I could tell. ) Usually if you find something cool like that in a store in America, it is one fluke or curiosity, but the curiosities in the Electric Company Shoe Store seemed to out number the normal shit ten to one.
Moving on to one of the Jewelry supply shops, my mind started to do flips of understanding of native American trade,of what was truly going on here. On the surface it was a supply shop for all the tchotchkies you get used to seeing out west, the same old bracelets and bad new age jewelry that that crazy aunt's of your buddies who moved to Santa Fe to do dog healing wears on her web page, a lot of turquoise and polished oyster shells...but somehow with thousands of strings hanging around me in one of these places, and there are many of them, I started to see a real network of trade, a real transaction throughout the Pre Colombian world, I imagined a native in a canoe in what is now Santa Monica collecting shells to trade for a piece of chert or obsidian from the Rockies, and this was the modern inheritor of this ancient commerce, with only a few dingbats and mystics somehow wise enough to realize it's real value.
Ensconced in the Old Rt 66 hotel I had accidentally spied on my way in, The El Rancho (the web page oversells the charm a little bit, but trust me you won't be disappointed if you have a nostalgic bone in your body http://www.elranchohotel.com/movie_stars.cfm ) I then struck out for what turned out to be the most fertile ground of all, something that stunned me given my 50 state knowledge of America. Long ago had I assumed I had seen all that this crazy land had to offer, having seen the better part of at least 10 reservations in my lifetime, and my take on modern Indian life was a sad one, until I hit the Zuni Pueblo. My original intent was to see the old mission there. I had no car, and my drivers licence was at the bottom of Lake Nicaragua, so renting was not an option, so I followed a hunch and stopped in on a guy I had seen at the train station before I blew off my reserved but unpaid for ticket so I could poke around some more. I asked him if he knew anyone who would want to make 50 bucks driving me down to the Zuni Mission. A couple of calls later, I had my man. He was the Zuni Uncle of a Navajo nephew of his of sorts, worked the night shift cleaning a Wal Mart but would take me and his nephew down if I wanted.. 50 bucks enough. Usually any sentence that involves Wally World, my appreciation for their improved Environmental Policies and secret appreciation for how they maxed out the art of American commerce aside, I usually associate them with the death of culture and not the treasure I was about to find, but I suspended my scepticism and gave a hearty yes. They picked me up at the train station where I had stored my bag in anticipation of the night train to LA, and we were off, about half way down in his f-150 a fascinating conversation developing about the differences between Navajos and Zunis arising: see, your people, nephew, the Navajos, they didn't have their own thing, they were nomads, so they just roamed around and did what worked, and that led to them now being all evangelical and loosing the old ways, but us Zuni's we kept our place and our culture. I sat there doubtful, thinking all I was going to see of any value was an old Catholic Church surrounded by poverty and a few gas station/convenience stores, and don't get me wrong, they were there, but as I pulled onto the res, there was a beauty, a purity and a wildness I hadn't expected.They all lived in town, hadn't spread out to eat up every square mile of land, but more interesting, the mission was a foot note, locked up and unmaintained . I have now seen it as a trend that in addition to maintaining their land,the second key to tribal survival was to kick out the Christians,which they had done. What I didn't realize, is that the place was built like an ancient pueblo, architecture I hadn't imagined to live anywhere outside of a Taos Ski Chalet, and best of all was the rain dance. You see, the uncle had thought I had known about it..that must have been why I wanted to come down, and hell,he was thinking of coming anyways since he didn't have to work until like 8.. there is one also in October, but that is the tourist one.. this was the springtime one, and it didn't disappoint.. I was easily the only tourist there, and about 300 people from the pueblo gathered all around a courtyard to watch, as the various clans, the town equivalent of a street gang, came in to play their part in this ancient dance, the root of the Cochina Doll Phenomenon, There must have been 10 different crews in the dance, and it turns out each one had it's own kind of fraternity like initiation rituals that occurred over the year, kind of a street gang you would be proud to have your kids in, like Hockey Teams in the burbs. And the outfits, I felt like I was seeing the dreams of George Lucas, writ large in my Continents History, and also now I knew where those Puma Pelts where going.. I was stunned at the intricacy, and more so, the level of class.. this wasn't for me, the outsider just to make a buck, and it wasn't some pale recreation dreamed up by some NGO with a director from California who was trying to jump start them again.. it appeared like the richness of this set of traditions couldn't have gone through the wash mill of academia and come out so rich.. this was the real deal..
http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&tbo=d&tbm=isch&q=kachina+dancers&revid=1791399249&sa=X&ei=nqT1UNuaJojs8gTXzoCoDA&ved=0CDwQ1QIoAw&biw=1024&bih=673
Go on down to Gallup and see for your self.. i have only mentioned half of what I really saw.. but don't fuck it up.. take a peek, but don't leave a mark, not that they would let you...
