On my way up to Canyon
de Chelly, I stopped in Walnut Canyon and took a hike down into the canyon to view old Native American ruins.
View from the inside out, a
phenomenal way to try to understand what it was like to live back then. The canyon below the ruins used to flood with water, but now Flagstaff siphons all the water for their own use.
I stopped in Winslow and stumbled upon an old train that had been restored.
There is something so special about trains, something nostalgic and romantic. I immediately started taking pictures and noticed a couple of men walking towards me. Both were smoking and looked hung over. Must admit, I was a little spooked as the place was kind of isolated.
To break the silence, I greeted them and we started talking. These are the
Yaazi's, Rupert and Eric, who turned out to be very nice Native Americans from Winslow; a little rough around the edges, but nice. Eric kept singing me songs and Rupert kept asking me for money, but I am way smarter than I look and didn't give him any.
No comment.
This is what this town is famous for, lives and dies for and about the only source of income for it. One line from an old Eagles song has been forever
immortalized into their culture. I thought the trains and the Yaazi's were way more fun. After I stood on the corner with all the other tourists, I packed up and moved on.
On my way up to Canyon de Chelly, I stopped in Walnut Canyon and took a hike down into the canyon to view old Native American ruins.
View from the inside out, a phenomenal way to try to understand what it was like to live back then. The canyon below the ruins used to flood with water, but now Flagstaff siphons all the water for their own use.
I stopped in Winslow and stumbled upon an old train that had been restored. 
There is something so special about trains, something nostalgic and romantic. I immediately started taking pictures and noticed a couple of men walking towards me. Both were smoking and looked hung over. Must admit, I was a little spooked as the place was kind of isolated. 
To break the silence, I greeted them and we started talking. These are the Yaazi's, Rupert and Eric, who turned out to be very nice Native Americans from Winslow; a little rough around the edges, but nice. Eric kept singing me songs and Rupert kept asking me for money, but I am way smarter than I look and didn't give him any.
No comment.
This is what this town is famous for, lives and dies for and about the only source of income for it. One line from an old Eagles song has been forever immortalized into their culture. I thought the trains and the Yaazi's were way more fun. After I stood on the corner with all the other tourists, I packed up and moved on.