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Such a good name, apparently not Italian, as lazily imagined without really thinking about it, but Native, after a chief who granted rights for a railroad to come through.

Late night Salt Lake City arrival led us to a white Tundra four door that I am calling The Beast and Nat the White Falcon, and then to our hotel, a vision of the 1980s glam, that reminded Nat of an amped up version of my mom's prior independent living facility. But the beds were soft and and the bathroom a palace of its own with so many doors and separate rooms that I got lost in the middle of the night and walked into a wall.

Lobby of the Grand American in Salt Lake

TikTok led us to breakfast at Tulie, a half hour walk along a major thoroughfare with no traffic. We sat outside in the grass in this residential neighborhood enjoying the Salt Lake Sunday morning culture of those not choosing church. Tevas or some kind of river shoes are required. Delicious bread, home made chèvre and some orange cardamom cookies for car snacks.

On the way back, we walked to the beautiful Temple Square near our hotel, only to find out that it was in fact, City Hall. Downtown reminds me of the Seaport with no open stores, sea or port. So, we mounted The Beast and did some driving around to find the actual Temple, which is closed, but saw men with white short sleeved dress shirts and ties and women with flowered print flowy dresses. A surprising amount of Pacific Islanders prompted Nat to dig into the google to discover that 7% of Pacific Islanders are Mormon.

Heading north out to Salt Lake City, the land was almost immediately beautiful, but there were too many scars made by man. Eventually, there was just plain beauty, different kinds of peaks further to the east, mostly in the purplish blue range, and flat farmland closer by, in turns vibrant green, the tow headed yellow of dried grass, small wild yellow sunflowers and sometimes a combination. There were cattle and fruit trees, and always behind, mountains on both sides.

Ogden sits in the flat but there are mountains protecting behind, demeaning the bigger buildings trying to be taken seriously. When seeing others in cowboy hats, we acknowledged the stress we felt of wanting to have one right away to better fit in, matched with the fear of jumping in too soon and making an uninformed decision that could lead to post-purchase dissonance.

In a rainy Albertson's parking lot in Pocatello, we pulled in next to a woman returning from her shopping, about my age with the French braided hair and blue obviously handmade dress that could only be from the sect I had learned about watching the documentary Keep Sweet: Pray and Obey. I fear my mouth may have gaped a bit as I thought that sect was no longer. due to arrests and publicity. She and her passenger gave us nice smiles and waves and were off.

Sadly, most of the vintage stores in Pocatello are closed on Mondays

So much great signage in this part of the world. Hotel is closed but its imprint remains

Not sure what this was for, downtown Pocatello

Such a cool downtown

We dined on 18 inch plasters of various kinds of Mexican glop and saw a man with a gun in his belt. The urge to flee was there until I realized there was nowhere to run to that had no guns. For dessert, we were given a nacho chip each with whipped cream, a drizzle of chocolate sauce and honey, and sprinkle of cinnamon. Not half bad.

Our long-held dream of going to see Barbie in Pocatello was dashed because, well, we forgot. But we did see a Barbie stove, which was kind of exciting.

Vintage Barbe Stove in Pocatello


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