The Narrow Paths of Tsankawi
And the Routes to Modern Life
I’ll admit that negotiating the narrow paths of cliff dwellers drove me crazy yesterday at the Tsankawi Ruins, an outholding of Bandelier National Monument.
These warrens through rocks—interspersed with ladders—are constrained, trip-inducing, and precarious. But they taught me a lot about walking, the talk of walkability, and why negotiating these paths is a necessary reminder of a past that colonialism—and technology—have left behind.
Soft rock yields trench-like indentations that were the paths to work—the dry farming below— a familiar settlement pattern worldwide.
We are taller now, and our feet no longer quite fit—an interesting consequence of the nutrition and health advances contributing to our larger stature. With such places still so culturally relevant to nearby pueblos, it’s an interesting spin on the adage that would have us walk in the shoes of our ancestors.
“These were delightful views,” I mused ironically, with access outside every door full of adventure, especially when wet or below freezing.
But it’s a long way through New Mexico history—and a long drive—from the former dwellings and the adjacent Pueblo ruins (now inaccessible due to looting) to the Best Buy in Santa Fe or the Albuquerque Apple Store.
Yet Los Alamos is next door, and the network of roadways and lab sites—and all they represent—are much closer. Restrictions associated with the Manhattan Project cut off traditional access routes to the people of San Ildefonso Pueblo, whose ancestors, land, and beliefs are “still here” at Tsankawi.
I’ve always had gestalt reactions to fundamental landscapes, such as Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania, where the first human footsteps gave me the solace of thinking that walkable places had begun there. Similarly, yesterday, I thought of Matera, Italy, with the evolving cave-based history of a once-sustainable settlement I wrote about in The Atlantic 13 years ago.
Yet I’m not used to so many deja vu moments just 30 minutes from where I live.
It’s the end of the year, and extended essays do not feel right; instead, I would prefer to reflect on how certain places raise issues of colonization, sustainability, and the very nature of transportation that are so familiar yet may never fully resolve.
What feels right is continuing to write about and illustrate changes in the landscape so prevalent that all one needs to do is open one’s eyes.
Nothing is more profound than the responses that emerge from treading lightly on a well-worn path, a practice incumbent while exploring New Mexico.
