North Dakota: History Rides Again

As intensely as I might have tried to peer through the mists of time, I would never have dreamed that one day I’d be having an up close and personal encounter with the original headdress of Sitting Bull.

But here I was a few days ago, in Medora, North Dakota, inside the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame, eyeballing the handsome historical artefact in its tall display case. A display case it was about to part company with.

Medora is a cowboy town in the infamous Badlands. It was once a thriving ranching settlement, founded in 1883 by French aristocrat the Marquis de Mores, and today it’s an entertaining jumble of restored shopfronts, tourist attractions, and bars and restaurants done out in Wild West decor.

With much of the place owned by a foundation, Medora is part tourist attraction and part real town, with a vibrant, compact centre.

The Cowboy Hall of Fame is about more than ranching and rodeo; it also celebrates the Native American culture of the region. As a sparsely settled place, North Dakota has a higher Native American proportion of its population than most other US states, and it was this connection which drew our attention today.

Coincidentally, the day our group of travel writers hit town was the day that the headdress of the victor of the Battle of Little Bighorn was to be returned to his descendants, via a college of the Sioux people within the Standing Rock Reservation to the south.

Since we were there, we were invited to attend a short ceremony conducted by Phil Baird, board president of the Hall of Fame and a Native American himself, to send the headdress on its way. The display case was opened and, as we stood looking on, Baird undertook a ‘smudging ceremony’, wafting the smoke from a smouldering feather along the length of the headdress.

As part of the ceremony, Baird spoke both English and Native American words, addressed the four points of the compass, and asked us to add our own silent thoughts to the occasion. Then, the event completed, the headdress was taken from the case, lain carefully on an indigenous star quilt, and transferred to a van for an escort from an officer of the local sheriff’s department.

It was a moving ceremony, undertaken with great conviction and emotion by Baird. As there were only ten people present, including we four Australian journalists, we felt greatly honoured at being included at such a significant event at the last moment. Especially, I suppose, as we were cultural outsiders; although, as I mentioned in last week's post about Montana, there are often similarities between Australia and the USA. The smudging ceremony, for example, reminded me of Aboriginal smoking ceremonies that I've witnessed.

The Cowboy Hall of Fame has, of course, now lost an important exhibit, along with a gun that once belonged to ‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody, who had a working relationship with Sitting Bull in the post-Little Bighorn days (both items had been held in trust on behalf of the rightful owners). But it seemed fitting that the headdress should be back with the chief’s people, and hopefully visitors will eventually be able to view it in its new home.

But the institution still has plenty of excellent exhibits tracing the cultures of Native Americans, ranching and rodeos - the horse being the common factor of all three. And Medora itself is a lot of fun, with cowboy bars serving huge steaks; shops and hotels that look like they’ve dropped in from the 1800s; and the neighbouring Theodore Roosevelt National Park, packed with distinctive Badlands scenery and roaming wildlife from prairie dogs to bison.

The Wild West is long gone, of course; but its echoes linger in North Dakota.

Disclosure time... on this trip I travelled courtesy of North Dakota Tourism, zuji.com.au and V Australia.

Same Same But Montana

I’m in the USA for the first time, travelling with a media group through the lesser-known states of Montana and North Dakota... lesser-known to Australian tourists, in any case.

What’s fascinating about finally visiting the States after all these years is my uncanny feeling of familiarity with everything around me; I suppose all those American movies and TV shows have preconditioned me to US environs.

But in Montana there’s another kind of familiarity. In this low-population state with cattle farming, wide open spaces and small country towns, there’s a lot of congruence with country Australia.

A few minutes ago we passed through Chester, a small town in a flat dry landscape with big wheat silos by a railyard; it could pass for any wheatbelt town east of Perth in rural Western Australia, where I grew up.

But there are also, of course, differences. After a few days in the Big Sky state, here are some Australian impressions of Montana’s similarities and differences with Oz...

Open Roads. We’re currently heading along the Highline, Montanans’ nickname for Highway 2 as it passes through the northern part of their state, parallelling the Canadian border. It’s a straight, long, two-lane highway framed on one side by power poles, that could be a highway in any Australian state.

Different: On our first day, driving from Missoula to Whitefish along Highway 93, we passed through the reservation of the Flathead Native American people. Aside from catching a glimpse of a couple of bison in a wildlife reserve, the roadside signs tantalisingly bore two languages - English and the original local tongue.

Hearty Meals. Last night we ate at the Dixie Inn in the farming town of Shelby. Its dining room reminded me of every Australian country pub dining room I’ve ever eaten in - slightly gloomy lighting, plain old furniture, rustic architecture and enormous portions. The steak was huge and particularly good, obviously the product of a cattle state.

Different: Though the dishes on the menu were mostly familiar, the various ordering complexities were not. Mains came with a dizzying choice of carbs: baked potato, rice pilaf, mashed garlic, French fries and hash browns. And a pass at the salad bar, and a bowl of thick soup (clam chowder or chicken). Conveniently, those intimidated by the huge portions could split a single main over two plates, and both still get soup and salad, for a mere $10 for the second person.

Roadkill. Just like in Australia, the highways of Montana are dotted with dead animals.

Different: A couple of days ago we passed a dead skunk on the side of the highway. It must have released its scent before it expired, for our van was briefly filled with a pungent and unpleasant odour, even though the windows were up and the AC on.

National Parks. As does Australia, Montana has vast and magnificent national parks with imposing features. Yesterday we spent the day at Glacier National Park, named for its (currently fast-melting) glaciers. It’s also full of stunning mountain scenery.

Different: We toured the park in the iconic Red Bus, an open-topped red car which has taken visitors on tours through Glacier in place of the usual bland coaches for 75 years. Tons more style. The park’s features are often connected to intriguing Native American legends and, as a bonus, Glacier is also part of the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park, a US-Canadian joint initiative with an international border running right through the middle.

Hotel Breakfasts. I went down to the breakfast room of Shelby’s Comfort Inn this morning, and the spread was pretty familiar. Cereal, juice, and bread items to toast.

Different: But... was that a waffle machine? Yep, a big pair of heavy circular plates with handles which opened to reveal a teflon grid, with plastic cups of waffle mix nearby. All you had to do was fill the grid with the mixture, close it and rotate the plates so a timer would start counting down while the waffle cooked. Could I achieve the rotation? Not to save my life. Happily I was rescued by American breakfasters, one of whom said “Don’t you have waffle machines in Australia?”, then told me he’d travelled from Sydney to Cairns a few years ago.

Which is a step up in nationality recognition compared to most of his countrymen, who usually start with “What accent is that?!”, then follow it with a friendly chat. That’s another distinctive thing about Montana - it’s very easy to talk to the locals, especially when you have an Australian accent.

Disclosure time... on this trip I travelled courtesy of Montana Office of Tourism, zuji.com.au and V Australia.

China: People of the Middle Kingdom

I've spent the past week in China with colleagues from the Australian Society of Travel Writers. After we held our Annual General Meeting in Shanghai, we flew out west to Chongqing to join a cruise down the Yangtze River to Yichang. We're now in Wuhan, waiting to fly home.

It's been an amazing week full of large, spectacular sights, from the massive modern architecture of Shanghai to the majestic gorges of the Yangtze. But travel stories - like all stories - are about people, and I've been struck by the friendliness and relaxed practicality of the Chinese we've met on the way.

A few snapshots:

• The stallholder on Shanghai's Old Street, who cheerfully haggled with me over the price of a number of items I wished to buy. Her running commentary on her fairly absurd stock (waving Mao watches included) was high spirited and not too pushy. We left the best of friends after settling on a price by alternately typing our bids on a calculator.
• The musician playing a string instrument at a teahouse above the markets. He and his partner played a number of traditional tunes in classic robes - then launched into an instrumental version of Click Go the Shears. I looked up sharply from my jasmine tea, and we shared a knowing glance.
• Steven Xu, the bar manager on the Victoria Queen cruise boat, who talked to me about his experiences serving foreigners floating up and down the Yangtze. As his parents and grandparents are small-time farmers with a small income, he says they're proud of his work on the river. He keeps in touch with pen pals from among his former passengers, and hopes to travel to Australia one day, to visit one.
• The boatmen who operate the sampans along a narrow side gorge we visited one day. Ceaselessly cheerful, they helped visitors in and out of the boats and piloted them through rainy weather through an impressive stretch of rocky cliffs. In straw hats and lifejackets, they looked like they were really enjoying their jobs. I asked Steven what they'd be doing if there were no tourism, and he said they'd probably have departed for industrial work in some distant city. Much more rewarding to be out on the water.
• Our guide to the Three Gorges Dam, Kevin, who had a cheerful patter worked out about being "a good dam guide or a damn good guide". I told him our prime minister, Kevin Rudd, also spoke Mandarin, so there was more than one Mandarin-speaking Kevin. To which he said "But mine is better - you can't beat a native speaker".
  
• The guys on the coal scow that nestled next to our boat on the journey through the multiple locks that bypass the Three Gorges Dam. I stepped out on my cabin's balcony and saw them below, standing on the front of the scow, helping direct the pilot's placement. They looked up, I waved, and they returned the wave while simultaneously shouting "Hello!".

It can't always be easy living in such an overpopulated country, but the Chinese do it with good humour and an unexpected grace.

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Shanghai Municipal Tourism and Helen Wong’s Tours.