She's the one with less hair and more crazy
Anyway, Durango is a tiny little college town of a little under 17k during the summer, with not a hell of a lot going on in August, which to be honest, I was fine with. The big attraction to this town is the parts that aren't town; that is to say, outdoors activity is what makes Durango worthwhile. And to be honest, it is *very* nice out there.
Pictured: things you can see from within a half mile of my sister's house
To paraphrase a friend of mine, it's like an REI commercial. Sadly, I had truly fucked my feet during the weeks before hand (my right is still not quite back to full strength, even now). Through nearly a month of constant walking, often under the weight of all my crap (I live out of a rucksack now, and while I packed relatively light, having enough stuff to live indefinitely puts the stress onto "relatively"), not to mention that I didn't always have the facilities to bath/change my socks/take my shoes off for any length over the course of several days, my feet accumulated a goodly amount of damage without any real chance to recover. I had blisters on top of blisters, not to mention a non-insignificant area on both feet that was just straight-up missing skin by the time I hit Durango;
I didn't have the heart to actually expose you to that, so here's some puppies to help wash off that mental image. Or forever associate puppies with disgusting medical issues. Either way.
The upshot of this is that I missed out on most of the outdoorsy stuff, so Durango primarily became a town where the Taco Bell closes by eleven
Seriously guys? Fourthmeal doesn't mean "a quick bite after dinner"
I did manage to get out a couple times, however. On Saturday Miriam, apparently suffering from brief memory loss, actually offered to introduce me to her friends at a Vista (AmeriCorp sub-groub) party out in the woods, which was pretty fun. Me, a handful of other twenty-somethings (and Miriam) sitting around a fire in the backyard of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, proving that Pabst is the universal language of the poor. Also, we met these guys;
His name is Beans
I'm not sure what this one goes by. Mostly "eeeeeeeeeeee" I think
There wasn't really much else going on in town, except the annual county fair which my sister had sworn a blood oath against, something about "goddam Texans can't drive taking all our lanes stupid SUV's something something something bicycles", so we avoided it.
Even if it was oh so shiny
As a result, not much else of interest happened until Wednesday; mostly I just spent my time laying around, visiting the river and convalescing a bit.
Not that the company wasn't excellent
Our other big day out was Tuesday, when Miriam ditched work to show me around a bit. First we hit up the Ute tribe museum in Ignacio, the town where she works, which had just opened in May. (The museum, not the town)
Photography of any of the exhibits is strictly forbidden, so here's some structural elements that they're less touchy about. It's cool though. You would have liked it.
The museum is pretty nifty, with several exhibits on loan from the Smithsonian. Since Ignacio is right in the middle of reservation land (the town itself used to house the head of Indian Affairs for this half of the tribe), there's a pretty strong community link to the museum; while the sister and I were watching a video about the heritage of the language, two of the Ute tribe members who were in the video actually walked into the room and sat down with us.
After getting my learning on, we drove out to the Vallecito Reservoir, the drinking water for all the local humans, which is also (not to press the point) super pretty;
Apparently, in the winter it freezes over juuuuussstt enough to trick people into going out there, then kills them. Charmingly rustic
After a quick siesta back at the casa de hermana, we took one last expedition, this time accompanied by the lovely Casey, the sister of my sister's beau, as our native guide, up...some hill thingy. I really should start writing these things down. It was cool.
Top to bottom is a left-right panorama of Durango from the top of Mt. Whereverthehellwewere.
The next day Casey was kind enough to give me a ride to Albuquerque (yes, back to Albuquerque. I never claimed to be a fast learner) to mooch off my sister from another mister Margaret and her nifty husband Brian.
Drink: a slowly diminishing six-pack of Colorado microbrew. Not Oregon beer, but pretty close. Also, some Pabst that one night.
Bed: Loveseat. Yeah, I know.
City. Durango. For the whole week. Strange.
Final thoughts: CO (and Miriam).
This was easily the most time my sister and I have spent together since she moved out of my parents' house thirteen years ago, and I actually really enjoyed myself. Not only did she let me crash in her living room for a week, she also went out of her way to find me things to do, skipping out on work more than occasion (although, in all fairness, that may not have been an entirely self-less gesture). It was really nice to get a feel for her life for once, and I'm definitely coming back soon. In closing, I leave you with a little more photographic evidence of what I've had to contend with for my entire life;
26 years
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