The Russians woke early and put on some opera, which blasted through the thin cinder walls. This place is a hoot.

(Woohoo! I'm typing in the car!)

We never wake early, and so we stayed in bed until the last possible moment and checked out promptly at eleven (or a little after).

In the daylight the western part of the Navajo reservation looks barren. No residential or commercial agglomerations, just intermittent dirt roads curling over the painted desert and occasional views of houses and hogans.

I love how the road to Grand Canyon passes through the reservation and the Little Colorado canyon slowly develops in view to the right, and how it makes you tour the parched high desert forest before depositing you on the very edge of an unimaginable precipice that is so deep it's purple.

But I forgot how much I hate being in heavy tourist areas. All the cars and RVs and buses and slow moving people gawking and snapping pictures and eating and littering and smoking and waiting in line at bathrooms and buying the stupidest stuff imaginable. Yuck.

At the Watch Tower, an old woman weaving blankets was on display. Later we sat down next to her at the Snack Bar. She was eating her lunch, which consisted of three or four of the most expensive items on the menu. She ate slowly and deliberately. Another old woman sat next to her and the two of them spoke in a completely unfamiliar language.

It's weird that all these people tried to impress some semi-permanent relic of their visit in a place so obviously impassive to the effort. Rather than adding some significance to the visit, the defilement only makes nature less accessible to the rest of us. I know it's mostly teenagers, but then you see some jackass smokers throwing their cigarette butts on the ground, and you know that it's not just people too young to know better.

What I love about the Colorado Plateau is the inescapable evidence of human insignificance. All of these formations are in transition, and our existence is so ephemeral that they appear permanent. When I contemplate how invisible my impact is on this temporal continuum, suddenly all the things and people crowded around me in this spot of existence, all the other erasables, become incredibly important. The contemplation fosters humility. From humility, good work is accomplished. (We talked much about this on the drive between Page and Kanab.) I have been experiencing much loss today.

We drove long through the darkness to Page for ice cream and coffee, which fueled the remaining miles to Panguitch. We're at the Purple Sage Inn, a treat to luxury compared to last night. Cheap cheap cheap and newly renovated. We have our own bathroom. A kingsize bed, lots of cable. A coffeemaker. Etc. Someone took the time to make the place comfortable.

But the best part is their macabre slogan: For the rest of your life.

I also thought the ornate outdoor chairs placed beside each door were charming.