La Rosa Knows

Now that I’m back in Los Angeles, I’m ready to talk about going to the compound. WE MADE IT OUT ALIVE!

After leaving the safety of Kanab, we headed towards Colorado City. I was anxious to get there, excited to see what the people were like, and really understand what the layout of the town was.

Unfortunately, we took 89 South instead of Alt 89, and wound up on a deserted stretch of isolated highway, with fog so thick we could only see about 50 feet in front of us. We had one bar of gas left when we figured this out… Awesome.

We turned around, and drove on cruise control at 50 mph, trying to conserve the little gas we had so we could make it back to Kanab. It took us 40 minutes, and bless Elizabeth’s Prius, because it puttered into town and we made it to a gas station without having to push the car.

As soon as we got onto Alt 89, it became clear we were on our way. We passed through a town called Ship Rock, which was one of the poorest towns I have ever seen, and is also part of a Navajo reservation (the picture to the left shows a hotel where the windows were broken out and cats just sort of freely prowled an abandoned car). Then we saw a sign for Colorado City. We were 20 miles outside of it, and this was our time to blend in.

Elizabeth pulled into a gas station and we sat in the car, braiding each others hair (ridiculous as that sounds), buttoning our shirts to the very top of the collar, and taking off all of our jewelry. We also hid our electronics under blankets in the back seat so as to seem less obvious… Though in hindsight, we were in a fucking Prius with California plates. 

As I wiped the color off my lips, I looked up and saw a woman, probably in her late 40s, with hair that was unmistakably polygamist. What do I mean by that? A large poof in front and a long braid in the back (a sort of Martha Washington in the front, farm girl in the back, if I may). She was also wearing a long, sky blue dress that went down to her ankles and cuffed at her wrists.

“Elizabeth,” I whispered.

I could hardly breathe at this point, I was so excited. And just as Elizabeth looked up, another woman in identical garb and hair popped up. She was younger, perhaps in her early 30s, but they could have been related, they looked so similar. Then came a man behind them, who was old. Like, dude had a hunchback and deep set wrinkles and white hair and was driving a Buick (for real).

I pulled out my camera phone.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t,” I heard Elizabeth saying, but I couldn’t help myself. I quickly snapped a photo as their backs were turned.

Then, perhaps with a changed heart and some moxi, “Do you wanna go in?” Elizabeth said.

“Yeah,” I replied, halfway out the door.

I guess we expected that this was a polygamist gas station, that because we had seen one family we would see more. But when we went inside, it was essentially filled with the Navajo people whose reservation butted right up to Colorado City. They looked at us, and we grumbled in disappointment. I bought a bag of wasabi peas because I felt guilty for expecting something.

We got back in the car, re-energized and nervous. We had seen our first polygamists, gotten a taste of what lay ahead, and now all we had to do was get there. As Elizabeth drove, I shoveled handfuls of peas into my mouth and imagined what I would say if asked a question.

Why are you here? One wife would ask.

I think we should be friends? You fascinate me? Can I just sort of poke around your house and maybe you could tell me what it’s like to BE YOU?

Okay, I had no idea what the fuck I would say. If they spoke to me, maybe I would barf. I had built them up so much in my mind, and was so very equal parts intimidated and horrified that I had no clue how I’d actually react come the time.

Then we saw the sign for our turnoff; Colorado City this a way!

We could see the outlines of homes, or what looked to be long ranch houses. They were speckling the land in front of us like freckles, and we knew that this was where we were headed. We turned off onto an unmarked dirt road and were immediately in the thick of it. Colorado City is not hidden off the highway, though Alt 89 is a bit off the beaten path. But everything is visible from that road. There are no armed guards, no fences keeping people out, anyone and everyone can drive right on if they cared to.

Once in the compound, we were sort of in a panic as for what to do. I could feel Elizabeth accelerating, maybe scared or worried that we would be noticed if we drove too slowly.

“Slow down, it’s okay,” I said, gaping around at the homes, eager to see someone pop out from one of them. We took a left down a row of houses, and saw our first people. A little girl, maybe 7 years old, wearing a blue dress and crossing the street on a miniature horse, her kid sister chasing behind…

It was fucked. Kind of like watching an old film, because they looked like they were from a different era, a simpler time where bread was freshly baked and little girls spent their Thursday afternoons riding ponies.

We kept going though, and checked out the homes which were large, multi-level, and dilapidated. Through our research we had heard that many of the houses in Colorado City are unfinished, and that was true. Sometimes we would see windows boarded up because there was no glass. There was a house that had brick going halfway up and then abruptly stopped, the rest was just particle board. Apparently when families run out of money, which is often, they just leave things unfinished and continue to live in them. But it gave the place the feel of being abandoned, a ghost town with huge homes and little life. Granted, it was snowing and perhaps under the snow there were manicured lawns and bright colors. But from our vantage point it looked dull and dank.

We came to the Cooperative Mercantile, the local grocery that I had read about, and I told Elizabeth to pull into the parking lot. I was ready to go in, but Elizabeth was nervous. She had to drive, and I’m sure the threat of being chased out of town by hummers had gotten to her.

“Alright, I’m going in, don’t worry,” I said. Then I took off my sunglasses and marched towards the store.

Around me were women and children, pushing carts filled with food, who barely glanced at me. I’m not sure if that was a purposeful effort on their part, or if they really didn’t notice me. But I clearly was not one of them, and I felt my chest tighten as I entered the store and heard a male voice behind me.

“Hey,” he said.

I turned and saw a man in a UPS uniform. He was carrying a package and eyeing me.

“Weren’t you in Kanab yesterday?” he said.

My brain blacked out for a moment, and when I came to I remembered that he had been in our hotel lobby when we arrived in Kanab, delivering a package to the manager there.

“Oh, yes I was! Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good,” he shifted weight onto his other foot and came a bit closer to me. “So, what are you doing all the way out here?”

To be clear, Colorado City is out of the way for anyone. There’s absolutely no reason to go down Alt 89 unless it’s purely to see this city. It’s inconvenient and ill placed and in the middle of effing nowhere.

“Well, um, my friend and I, we—” I could feel women passing me, we were standing in the center of the store right by the entrance and I felt like I was in a polygamous wind tunnel. I coughed. “—are on a roadtrip from Los Angeles. We were visiting family up in Provo.”

I smiled and he nodded warily.

“Los Angeles, huh? Well, you’re a long way from there aren’t ya?”

I suddenly got the intense and overwhelming feeling that this was not a friendly conversation. Yes, he was delivering a package, but I also got the sense that he was part of this community. If not immediately Colorado City, then he was part of the FLDS movement. It was the tone and the way he leaned into me that made me understand that he was investigating my reasons for visiting. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but I got the sense that he was protecting these people and looking out for their wellbeing, and assumed I might be trying to harm that in some way.

“Yes, but you know I had never been to Utah, and it’s so beautiful and the people are so friendly, and we just wanted to stop in for some snacks.” I was rambling like an idiot.

He again nodded, and I smiled and fidgeted with my ponytail. I held my hand up to my face, the one with the wedding ring, as if this would be some sort of peace offering.

“Well, I hope you girls have a safe trip back.”

“Thank you,” I said.

As I turned away from him, two little girls passed in front of me, pushing a shopping cart. They craned their necks to look up and into my eyes, and for the first time I realized that I was being gawked at, with my jeans and long sweater and cowboy boots. I was the obvious oddball in a store of what they would consider normalcy.

The aisle closest to me was filled with candy, and I started piling gum balls and sugar daddies (mildly appropriate, no?) into my hands. I walked towards the cashier, and stood in line to buy my things. I wanted to get out of there, but also be able to just stand still in this place and observe what was around me. I watched a group of girls in the line, who couldn’t have been older than 15, and saw how they interacted with each other. They absentmindedly twirled their fingers around the ends of their braids, wore sunglasses and chewed gum loudly, they seemed to be a normal group of teenagers just getting their sugar fix. But I had no idea if they were sisters, sister-wives, or just friends, and they cast sideways glances at me with a look of what was either disgust or boredom.

Finally it was my turn up to bat.

“Hi there,” I said, trying to stay calm.

“Is that all?” The cashier asked. She was close to 5'10, sturdily built, and had a unibrow that fanned out above her eyes.

“Yes, that’s it for me!” My voice was too excited, and I made a note to tone it down.

“Do you know how much this is?” She picked up a piece of Bazooka bubble gum that I had snatched from a bucket filled with sugary treats.

“Um, uh, I can go check?” I offered, turning towards the candy aisle.

“26 cents, I think that’s what it is,” she said and continued to scan my items.

I wanted to ask her questions, I wanted to find some parcel of small talk to keep the conversation afloat, but I was feeling something akin to empathy for this girl and their community. They were born into this, they didn’t ask for me to haul ass into their town and pry into their way of life. And while I know that things like incest, inbreeding, lack of schooling, rape, and a host of other things take place there, I didn’t want to turn this girl into my pet project. So, I shut my mouth while she bagged my items and told me to have a nice day.

I left the store, and headed back to the car. In a parking lot filled with panel vans, SUV’s, and pickup trucks, our Prius stood out like some ridiculous eyesore. Elizabeth was at the wheel, looking straight ahead, and I felt badly that she probably thought I was being suffocated in some back room while she idled in the parking lot.

“Did you think I was dead?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I kind of wondered about it, but I didn’t want to freak out and run in there.”

As I pulled on my seatbelt we discussed what had happened and peeled out of the parking lot. We drove down the dirt roads of the town. Passing more homes with panel vans parked outside, and what were obvious additions tacked onto the sides of the homes.

There was a schoolhouse in the center of town, a long, brick structure with absolutely no one in sight. Again, these kids are home schooled, but the government sets up a schoolhouse for them in the hopes that they’ll attend, I guess. Either way, the money for the school gets funneled back into the town, though where to I’m not sure.

We also passed a communal playground that was empty, which I’m sure was a result of the snow. But it looked sad and depressing, nonetheless.

But perhaps one of the more interesting things we saw was the cemetery. It was on a high hill, and had a large white fence surrounding it. The ground was covered in snow, and we could see pushed up mounds of dirt where fresh burials had taken place, but we also passed gravestones…

Like the one pictured which simply said “Sweet and Sound.” There was no name, no date of birth and death, just those words.

Infant deaths in this community are high as a result of some of the genetic diseases that run rampant when cousins are marrying each other and worse. We imagined the Sweet & Sound stone was likely for a child, and that was a really heartbreaking thing to see.

We drove down the dirt roads and passed by more homes for a good 10 minutes. But when you’re driving a Prius, you start to notice that people passing you are staring, and we got the feeling that leaving might be a good idea.

So, we decided to leave and I took this as an opportunity to snap some photos. There was very little activity in the streets, but we did see play sets in almost every yard, and boarded up windows, and fences that surrounded the homes. This picture to the left is a long shot of some of the homes, included one that could also be a store (?) or a church (?), who knows really.

It was a bizarre experience, but I have to say that I want to go back again. They actually offer tours of Colorado City, and they are led by ex-members of the communities. You pile into a bus and the guide answers questions and gives a history of the religion and the practices. I feel like that may be the only way for me to really get an interview with a polygamist (or in this case, a former poly) and have it remain respectful. Because after being in that community I just still felt that tinge of compassion for what they must go through, and my presence there only seemed to highlight what they don’t have.

Yet despite feeling sorry for this town and experiencing some of the more heartbreaking moments, I was also kind of thrilled. My body was tense and alert, and this pride over being in the midst of this cultish religion and way of life flooded over me. Not a pride that I had been able to go in, but it was more that we had seen something and experienced something that not everyone else has.

On our way out we both also felt relieved, as we passed by a series of mailboxes that were obviously a product of Colorado City and their lack of marked roads.

Anyone out there feel up to a road trip tour of the polygamist communes of America?!?

So… let me explain a bit about what was supposed to happen today.

We had it in our heads that we would wake up, grab a quick bite, and then head to Salem, Utah where the Relief/Dream Mine is. Then, after we’d tuckered ourselves out of Salem, we would drive 5 hours south to Colorado City where, before entering into the polygamist compounds, we would braid each others hair, throw on skirts, and take off all our makeup so we could blend into the community and find us some poly’s to chat up. OMG dreams coming true!!!

Admittedly, this did not all go according to plan.

After breakfast we headed to Salem to seek out the DREAM MINE. To give you a visual, Salem is this farming community that’s 12 miles south of Provo, where we had been staying, and Elizabeth’s research told her that we would be able to see this giant white structure on the mountainside, easily visible from the highway, and that structure was the Mine.

Okay, so why were we going to a mine? Well, because it is a totally bizarre/fascinating piece of Utah that is also a bit of an embarrassment for them. Jon Krakauer wrote about it in Under the Banner of Heaven, and crackpots like us seek it out because it’s utterly bizarre.

To summarize, the people of Salem started digging out the side of one of their mountains all on account of this dude, Bishop Koyle. Now, he allegedly was somewhat respected in the community, and would later predict the stock market crash of 1929 to the day which, let’s be honest, is pretty damn good. So, I guess when he went to the townsfolk and told them that the angel Moroni had appeared to him in a dream— the same angel that gave Joseph Smith the golden plates— and showed him a gold mine that also contained ancient documents pertaining to the church, people actually believed him.

Not only did they believe, but they invested and bought stock in a mine that had yet to show any fruit. Salem started to dig in 1894, and by the mid 1940’s got pretty damn far into that mountain and lone and behold found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The LDS church apparently warned people not to invest in the mine because they doubted Koyle’s claims, and ended up ex-communicated him, after which he died a year later of apparent humiliation, which is actually fairly sad, no?

People in Salem now view this whole “Let’s dig us a mine!” business as a bit of a debacle, and so we were under the impression that so much as asking about it might lead to some unsavory consequences. We drove to Salem and saw nothing along the highway, but the mountains were covered in snow, and so we decided to just continue and follow the directions on the site. Turns out, those directions are a complete trap! They lead you in a total circle. We drove around the town, looking for evidence of the mine and nothing was there. After 10 minutes in the car, working up some courage, we then decided to head into a convenience store, lean on the countertop and gently ask the attendant where we might direct ourselves to find our mine.

“You’re looking for what now?” The girl asked in disbelief.

“The Relief Mine, I think we may be turned around…”

“Some people came in a while ago, asking about that,” an older woman who could have been her mother responded.

Needless to say, they had no idea what the hell we were talking about, and it all felt very anti-climactic.

We got back in the car, dejected, and headed out of Salem and towards Colorado City in the hopes of salvaging our day.

We drove through the back towns of Utah, along highway 89, which apparently is called the “Utah Heritage Highway” because so many Mormon pioneer towns reside along those roads. Honestly, the small towns were so amazing and strange and worth it.

We drove through one town called Manti that had the most adorable thatched roof homes, and small convenience stores. We saw a sign that read, “Applications for Little Ms. Manti Pageant!"and an advertisement for the "Mormon Miracle Pageant!” So many pageants!

But then we spotted a storefront called “Second Wife Store,” and we sort of paused. I Googled “Manti, Utah” on my phone, and up came a Wikipedia page that explained we were currently in the midst of a polygamous sect known as The True and Living Church of Jesus Christ of Saints of the Last Days. That is a damn long name and OMFG we are in it!!!

I was so excited and pumped, here we were, and there they were, and soon my bucket list item #50 would be realized! Hooray!

Except that was only hour two or so, and we had so many more hours to go.

We drove and saw homes that were large enough to be small apartment complexes and knew that there were polygamist families inside. It was snowing and 7 degrees in some of the places we passed through, and the only moving creatures were sheep and cows and horses. We grew weary of those animals, and sick of the not being in Colorado City already, and so we stopped at a Holiday Inn in the lovely city of Kanab, Utah.

This is most certainly the least of the Mormon places we’ve visited. It’s nickname is “Little Hollywood” because old Westerns were filmed there, and now it’s a hiking community filled with hippies and the red blooded Americans who serve up hummus plates because they have to put up with them.

I hate to admit it, but it has been such a relief to get food that isn’t fried. And walk into a coffee shop with organic beans. It feels a little like being back in LA. There is a creamery across the street from the hotel where I got the best cup of ice cream I’ve ever had, and it was huckleberry flavored (!!), and for whatever reason it tastes a bit like a creamy raspberry and this pleases my hippie heart to no end. Tonight we have a shower that we can depend on, a deadbolt on the door, and I couldn’t feel happier about it.

In a lot of ways it feels like perhaps we’re cheating a bit by stumbling upon the one somewhat liberal town in the state, but I think it may actually be what we need to get up tomorrow and have the energy and excitement to finally head to Colorado City.

Also, a nearby pawn shop was open in town and we each bought cheap “wedding rings” in anticipation for tomorrow. Mine is this lovely silver band that I bought for the knockout price of $8 (see pic to the left). We’re hoping that by wearing rings, long skirts, and braids in our hair we will be less conspicuous. What they will think about us driving into town in a Prius is beyond me, but I am so stoked to finally get an opportunity to be around a group of people whose lives so fascinate and intrigue me.

Wish me luck!!!

Okay, so let me just tell you that I woke up this morning in good spirits. We had slept in an actual bed last night, I took a hot shower this morning, I look cute in winter gear, things were looking up.

But! As mentioned in last night’s post, we had some concerns regarding the coffee situation and what we’d be able to find come dawn. After getting dressed and making sure we were wearing Mormon-friendly attire, we set off towards breakfast.

As we drove down University Ave, past BYU, and sidewalks piled high with snow, we spotted Kneaders Bakery & Cafe— a spot that promised endless french toast slices and, drumroll please, freshly brewed java!!

We made a sharp U-turn and pulled into the parking lot, two junkies eager to find our morning fix.

To give you an idea we each ordered coffee and a breakfast sandwich. All seemed well with the world as we anxiously awaited the caffeine to hit our shriveled veins. Once we finished we got back in the car and set off for Salt Lake City.

Surely the caffeine would kick in and then we’d really be moving. Any minute now. Big yawn. Yup, just in a second it’ll….

OMFG. The Mormon chain/poor man’s Panera gave us effing DECAF coffee!!

Now, let me be clear here because there was a Decaf and Regular option. We CHOSE regular and pumped the coffee into our cups on our own. But despite this, we still got decaf, and not the kind of decaf that will give you a light buzz, this was decaf decaf. Flavored muddy water kind of roast not suitable for street urchins to drink out of the trash.

I was livid.

We tried to pull off at an exit on the way to Salt Lake that promised Starbucks— a national chain that we knew and could trust to pump us full of caffeine. We circled the town and no such thing existed, there was a “Beans & Things” local spot, but both of us had been burned so badly that we were not about to try another local establishment.

We waited until we got to Salt Lake; into Temple Square and the shopping district and the area around the University. Nothing. I pulled out my smart phone (thank sweet sassy christ for you, Blackberry), and Googled “Salt Lake City Downtown Coffee.”

To our utter delight there actually IS a Starbucks in Salt Lake. I have a coffee in my hand, and Elizabeth a latte. We couldn’t be happier. My headache is gone, my eyes are fully open, and I feel like we can now take on the Brigham Young memorial and burial site (yup, we’re going).

But I now know this: Mormons do not play around, and they are subtle in their punishing of outside gentiles which makes them sneakier than most. NEVER get coffee from a Mormon chain and expect good things to come of it. Never again.

It has taken me this long to sit down and write a post about the rest of the day’s happenings in Salt Lake, because Elizabeth and I had to go eat dinner at an Outback Steakhouse just to decompress.

Now that some BBQ chicken and a chocolate sundae are behind me, I’m ready to get into it.

So, after the Starbucks we decided to grab lunch and were instructed to head toward the oldest restaurant in Salt Lake, a little place called Lamb’s. On the way we pulled out our map, because despite the city being set up in a perfect grid we nonetheless became horribly lost, and something happened that we had both been waiting for.

“Excuse me, but can I help you ladies find something?”

We both turned to see a straw haired man with a toothy grin pulling out his earbuds. He was wearing a tracksuit and had clearly put a pause on his jog to help us out. There was nothing flirtatious about his approach, nothing that said he wanted anything from us, this was pure Mormon hospitality at its finest.

After he pointed us in the right path, Elizabeth told me that there are reasons you don’t see Mormons wearing crosses. It’s not because they don’t believe in Jesus, they do, but it’s more a standard that they don’t want a crucifix to define who they are. Instead, a Mormon should be definable by their everyday behavior so that any gentile person (such as ourselves) can spot them without the helpful hints of jewelry. This man was a prime example of what their religion is going for in terms of definition by behavior, and it was very charming and I wish people in LA were friendly like this (but not necessarily Mormon).

Okay, so we get to Lamb’s and it’s just so old and adorable and filled with antiques; maroon leather booths and carved ceilings, a big old Christmas tree in the center of the place, and a long bar with cakes and pies behind frosted glass. We eat, it was yummy, whatever- let’s get to the good stuff.

After lunch, Elizabeth and I hustle ourselves over to the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. It’s near Temple Square, so we assume it will have some interesting historical elements, and we’re excited to hit our first Mormon destination. When we got to the lobby there were massive chandeliers suspended above our heads, thick marble pillars, and floating head statues of Mormon dignitaries (see above pic). The place was cold in terms of friendliness, at best. A gift shop attendant snarled at me as I purchased a Joseph Smith bookmark, we walked towards the building’s bistro only to have waiters turn their backs to us, in a panic we darted outside and past a gaggle of men taking down Christmas ornaments who seemed excited to have the holidays behind them. It was not a good start.

Nonethless, once outside we found ourselves staring at the front of the Salt Lake Temple, a massive Gothic tribute to pointy spires and round windows. A wedding with at least fifty people gathered on the temple steps was taking place outside, and I hurriedly snapped a photo before we ducked inside the gates. We decided to head to the south visitor’s center where they have historic artifacts, assuming it might be fun to go on a guided tour and get a feel for the place. We had spent a good 10 minutes working up our back story before going in, “Okay, so I have cousins in Provo and we are both visting, and we aren’t Mormon but we’re curious.”

The lobby was empty, just us and animatronic simulations of the Angel Maroni and Mormon pioneers crossing in covered wagons. We found a children’s corner where you could press a button that stated plainly, “What happens when you die?” and get a videotaped response of a Mormon child explaining that the soul leaves the body and joins the heavenly father. But what I found most interesting was this elaborate doll-house like replica of the Salt Lake Temple (pic to the left). It had doll furniture (?), and exact recreations of the rooms within the temple which, traditionally, gentile eyes are not intended to see. It was elaborate and detailed but also child-like and gaudy.

After our fill of the visitors center, we wandered over to the Museum of Church History & Art, a place where artifacts and histroical gems from the Mormon religion are housed. A well-meaning older gentleman greeted us with a map, “We have some wonderful exhibits this month, including an art section from some Latin American folks…”

As we wandered through the museum we got to see an original page from the Joseph Smith dictations when he found the golden plates… seriously. We also saw covered wagons, quilts stitched with human hair (yes), paintings that replicated historical moments in Mormon history, and the death face mask of Joseph Smith (so, dude was killed and they put clay over his face and we got to see the ensuing product, a sort of Mormon mummy mask).

It was all really interesting and so very unique. The Mormon religion is still relatively new, so their artifacts are recent and in great condition.

But it was cold outside, and once we were through touring the museum we had to find another warm place to store our bodies. We discovered the north visitors center, which was substantially larger and brimming with Mormon missionaries. A Hawaiian gal named Annie led us to their movie theater to watch a film called “The Testaments,” which she assured us was truly great. As we went to take a seat she paused to ask, “Are you part of the church?” to which we both responded with a solid no and got to use our make believe story of family in Provo and an inclination towards learning more about the faith.

“Well,” she lit up, “the Mormon religion has changed my life for the better, I mean, I’m not trying to convert you but it has made such a difference.” She handed us both cards and asked us to fill them out with our name, phone, and address so she could send us a free copy of the Book of Mormon!

“Oh… okay,” I said and quickly created a pseudonym.

We sat down and the theater went dark. For the next 56 minutes, we watched as ancient Aztecs located “somewhere in the Americas” and Jesus Christ, whom the film never refers to by name but instead references as “The Christ” and “The Savior,” somehow intertwine to create two parallel story lines that end with Jesus appearing in a beam of light on the steps of an Aztec temple (movie still to the left).

It was fucked, and we felt scared that Annie would come back for us, so we ran like hell towards the nearest exit. On our way out we had to traverse back through the Joseph Smith building and made the horrifying error in judgement of asking a kindly elderly woman where we could find the parking garage. She followed us down a hall, into an elevator, and past the doors into the garage to a point where I reached for my pepper spray and considered macing her eyes just enough so we could jump into the Prius and get the hell out of there.

Thankfully she left us alone once we said we were from California. We drove and drove and drove back to Provo, trying to figure out exactly why we had felt so terrified the whole day, why our necks were tight, and why we felt sick to our stomaches.

Here are my thoughts:

Salt Lake felt exactly the way I thought all of Utah would. It was completely and utterly Mormon, and being a non-believer there felt like having a red mark on my back. It was as if we were under scrutiny the entire time, and we felt certain that all of these people were against us.

Trying to lie our way through the experience didn’t help, either. But Salt Lake is not the type of place you want to go when it comes to being an outsider. The museums and temples and visitor centers all felt molded to perfectly fit an already converted soul. But having little knowledge of the faith, and looking wild eyed at all of the new information was completely overwhelming. It was like driving for the first time, being on edge every second and trying to take in the experience.

Also, and perhaps this is awful of me to say, but I think the Mormon religion is a tough thing to accept. I have Mormon cousins, and I love them, but golden plates? No coffee? Really? It all seems like too much…

Don’t get me wrong, I completely respect people who devote themselves to something, who try to live better lives and gain a greater understanding of themselves through that. But I guess I have yet to see how the Mormon faith enables that kind of spiritual awakening, or whatever it is that improves the quality of life. It seems restrictive and demanding and secretive; elements that make me nervous when it comes to an entire population devoting of themselves.

Tomorrow we are headed to Colorado City, where three different polygamist sects reside. Perhaps this will push me over the edge to understanding and an increased compassion?

Our main objective was to make it to Provo, and so we have.

Provo is the third largest city in Utah, and it’s also what I’ve been waiting for in terms of being all-Mormon. It’s home to Brigham Young University (BYU) and the largest missionary training center for LDS members, and is also the most conservative city in the U.S…

It’s filled with white, middle-class Mormons, and we just happen to be staying with the perfect example of such a family.

Elizabeth has a friend who was raised Mormon, and said we should stay with his mother during our visit. We arrived in what can only be described as your typical suburban cul-de-sac, and were greeted by probably one of the nicest women I have ever met. She opened her home to us and we are staying in a guest room in the basement (see photo to the left). After our $25 a night excursion, this feels like the Four Seasons.

Okay, so the family is sweet as pie- but what about all the Mormon religious stuff? Well, if I’m being honest, I took note that the Listerine in the bathroom is alcohol free. Also, as we drove through town I made sure to spot any Mormon touches that the local businesses had.

I saw a breakfast shop that featured “freshly squeezed juices” but no coffee, and we ate dinner at a Japanese restaurant that only served herbal teas. There are banners on every lamp post that read “We Are BYU,” and some of the local stores have the letter “Y” in bold letters across their window panes (we learned that students at BYU say they go to “The Y” so, hence the stores school pride.)

But we did pass coffee shops, and two bars, and a clothing store called “Gen X Clothing” that offered sparkly sequin tube tops and mini skirts that I didn’t expect.

We woke up this morning, peeked out of our $25 a night motel window, and saw that it had snowed while we were sleeping.

Sigh. This is a problem because Elizabeth is from Los Angeles and I am from Clearwater, FL, places where we don’t encounter snow ever. But, lucky for us it was just powdery snow on the car and we didn’t have to dig anything out or scrape ice off of the windshields (not that we would even begin to know how to do such a thing).

We packed up our bags and hopped in the car to grab breakfast at DeDe’s. I had the special—a homemade biscuit stuffed with scrambled eggs and ham and smothered in country gravy— though admittedly I kind of fancy pants’d out and asked for egg whites, revealing that I am not a local.

We also picked up some travel guides at DeDe’s, including a pamphlet of a tour they offer of “The Creek”— a former polygamist colony! The tour is led by ex-Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints (aka POLYGAMISTS), and promises to answer questions about the lifestyle and culture of polygamist groups. Eeee!

I am so excited at this prospect, though Elizabeth is suggesting we go to Colorado City first, which has some of the largest and oldest polygamist colonies, to get a real authentic feel for it. Either way I am totally ready to be immersed in some polygamist culture.

Where we are in Utah is a smallish town called Cedar City. There is a main street lined with locally owned bookstores, an optometrist, a Zion bank, a coffee shop that I am in right now, and other tiny businesses. There are strings of Christmas lights between light poles, and the trees that line the street are stripped bare of leaves and green. It’s sort of like any average small town, and I guess it’s not quite what I was expecting.

What would that be exactly? Well, I naively assumed that everyone in Utah would essentially be Mormon. I eagerly awaited going to a coffee shop and only finding decaf beverages (b/c Mormons don’t indulge in caffeine, meaning no chocolate, no coffee, nada!). But everywhere just seems to be pretty normal. The people are friendly, the restaurants offer beer and wine, and I am currently drinking what is possibily one of the strongest coffees of my life.

Hopefully when we get a bit deeper into Utah we’ll see marks of the Mormon faith…

This is a pic of the Main Street. The weather today is pretty cool and it has been lightly snowing since we’ve been up. You can see the beautiful mountains in the background too!