The village itself resembles a Third World shantytown. Dust and horse dung abound. The unemployment rate for the 175-person labor force is 51 percent. Many Indians are barely civil to tourists even though their economy is based on tourism. The next day, we trudged 2 sandy miles to Havasu Falls, sparkling ribbons of water that roar and spritz as they tumble into a turquoise pool.
Some folks dive through the falls.
Others relax in alcoves where the water froths like a Jacuzzi. That night, as the ruddy cliffs of day became eerie silhouettes and bats sailed by in search of dinner, we sat outside the lodge and chatted with the other guests. In this secluded spot, I felt a rare inner peace, until one woman mentioned that she'd found a scorpion in her bed the other day. The next morning was our horseback horror story. Unlike the well-supervised mule rides at the South and North rims, the operation run by the Havasupai tribe has no quality control.