Moab, Utah: Rafting and the Red Desert

Captain's Log
Earth Date 28-30 July 2014

      After driving and spending a sleepless, angry night in a Wal*Mart parking lot, we finally landed in Moab, Utah: land of Arches National Park. Damien explained that we had decided to forgo staying in our campsite due to flash flood warnings in the area. Instead we stayed in a hotel, which after almost a month of traveling, was quite a relief as opposed to huffing it in a campsite in a desert.
     Unable to check in to our hotel until 3pm we decided to find something interesting to do to keep us awake and engaged until we could check in and get some shut eye. Because I was excited about rafting and seeing some areas of the area that people don't always get to see, I became fixated on white-water rafting and convinced the guys to come along with me and investigate the possibilities. Eventually we found a place that had some room on rafts for the following day, so we set reservations   for the level 2-3 rapid tour, assured by the tour guides that we would get wet and have a good time. Looking back I wish we had decided on a more intense rapid tour, level 5-6 at least! Here are a few pictures of the views from the scenic drive through Arches National Park:

neat effect of panorama as a white car zooms by. 

 

  Well, we still had a blast anyway since the people on our raft were two families from France and on the other raft there was a family of German people. So we all got  to enjoy the refreshing sound of other languages as well as a wet and wild water throwing war between the French (our raft) and the Germans (one of the other rafts). The competition was fierce and the French women on our raft laughingly cited the rivalry between the French and the Germans. Shortly after our third victorious battle, the French made fun of themselves by waving a white t-shirt in surrender. All were soaked with the muddy water from the Colorado River.
   After the rafting adventure, Zach and I went for dinner at a sushi restaurant that ended up having some of the best sushi that I have ever had, despite the fact that we were in s desert and fresh fish should be difficult to come by. It was called Sabaku Sushi, which means "desert" in native tongue of the first peoples of this area. After sushi, Zach and I headed to a local bar just off main street where all the tourists were wining and dining. I do not remember the name of this place, but This bar was the bar that I discussed the interesting liquor monitoring laws that pervade Utah. Both the bar tender and the local, middle-aged woman sitting next to me named Sharon, supported my conspiracy theories about Utah being run by the Mormons. Sharon explained that they (the Mormons) get into the government and have an easier time passing bills and raising taxes on things like cigarettes and alcohol, because of their over-representation in the state as well as in the state government. Then the bar-tender,  John, explained how the magnetic, alcohol-flow stoppers worked and advised us not to even "waste our time" on certain drinks. These revelations made sense to my brother and I who had tacitly wondered why we could have more drinks than normal in Salt Lake City, and not really even accomplish a buzz. AHA! It all comes together.
   Anyway I really enjoyed my conversation with Local Sharon, who grew up there in Moab and spent some time living in California and was sitting on a bar stool at one of her favorite local bars, one of her usual drinks: a rum and coke. She had a high forehead and deep set almost squinty, grey eyes with crinkles at the sides, like she had spent a lot of time smiling. It was from her that in addition to learning about Utah liquor laws, I also learned that drinking through a straw would give me wrinkles and that you're not drinking alone as long as you know the bar tender. She talked about how she liked the tourists because they kept the place alive and vibrant and brought in so many interesting people. This woman was so friendly and easy to talk to. It was like chatting with a relaxed, buzzed version of Grandma, if Grandma ever had more than one glass of wine and actually relaxed a little. This little lady carried herself like she had seen a lot in her day and sat there at that bar all alone, confidently and without regret or apologies. Alone without being lonely. In short I admired this woman, at least the impression she made on me as we sat there chatting away in the bar about life. After a while she excused herself and said, "see you later," even though that was probably never going to happen and that was that; she walked across the street to her house.
   
Panda, out.