We spent the morning at Canyon de Chelly—guided rim views, quiet awe, Biscuit politely not chasing anything he should not chase. By noon my brain was full and my stomach was filing a grievance the way it did at the Uffizi at twenty-four, when beauty made me forget to eat until pasta saved civilization.
We found a diner in Chinle with Navajo tacos and coffee that could restart a heart. Nobody rushed us. The waitress called me hon without irony. I wrote the name of the place on a napkin and taped it next to our campground map like a treasure mark.
Europe taught me culture and hunger belong together. America taught me the same lesson with fry bread and a view still humming in my chest.
After every park day, plan food that is real, local, and sit-down. Your future self is always the one who forgot lunch.