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In a single-story shopping center outside Tulsa, Oklahoma, in the south-central United States, the aroma of cooking bison meat wafts from the kitchen every time the door opens.
Inside Nātv—a quietly radical restaurant opening in 2022—the slate-gray walls are decorated with bundles of herbs native to the Great Plains, juniper berries, and tupinambos (Jerusalem artichokes). Before me, chef Jacque Siegfried, of Shawnee descent, reflects on the culinary void she is trying to fill.
"It's still very difficult to find Native American restaurants around here," she says, while wearing her dyed navy blue and purple hair tied up in a high bun.
We are just a couple of kilometers from Route 66, the most emblematic of American highways, which turns 100 years old this year. But instead of looking for retro-style restaurants or neon signs, I've decided to travel the route west—from Oklahoma to New Mexico—to see it through a different perspective: that of the indigenous communities that have long coexisted with it.
More than half of Route 66 passes through or runs alongside self-governed Native American territories, often referred to as "Indian lands." However, Indigenous-owned businesses remain surprisingly rare.
That lack was what led Siegfried to open Nātv. Combining his training in classical French cuisine with his Shawnee heritage, he crafts refined dishes that "foreground indigenous cuisine and local ingredients," he explains, as the hum of traffic drifts in from the nearby highway.
On the table he places a bowl of steaming stew, accompanied by fluffy fried bread. The dish incorporates ingredients from the "Three Sisters" farming method, an indigenous technique in which corn, beans and squash grow together in a system that nourishes both the soil and the people who depend on it.
"This type of cultivation is a fundamental part of our culinary history," he comments.
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"We lost a large part of our food traditions, and recovering them requires considerable effort," he points out.
A different route
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Historically, the potential for indigenous tourism along Route 66 has gone unnoticed. However, this is starting to change. Thanks to a James Beard nomination, Siegfried is bringing his ancestral cuisine to the forefront, even integrating it into road trip itineraries.
When traveling the 3,940 kilometers that separate the skyscrapers of Chicago from the Santa Monica Pier, near Los Angeles, it is easy to find references to indigenous culture: souvenir shops in the shape of tepees, imposing concrete totems or carved wooden figures representing tribal chiefs greeting passing vehicles.
However, while these distinctive mid-20th century elements evoke indigenous iconography, they rarely give voice to the 25 tribal nations found along the route. Given this situation, a movement has emerged that seeks to correct such stereotypes and offer travelers more authentic cultural experiences.
At the forefront of this initiative is the American Indian Tourism Association (AIT). Your free digital guide, American Indians & Route 66 (Native Americans and Route 66), highlights the richness and diversity of indigenous cultures present along the historic highway and its surroundings.
Points of interest include the "Hopi Arts Trail" in Arizona, which hosts craft workshops dedicated to traditional pottery and basket weaving, as well as the Oklahoma First Nations Powwow, an annual event that includes singing, gourd dancing, and drumming competitions.
According to Sherry L. Rupert, executive director of the AIT, growing interest in indigenous-managed tourism has led to more travelers wanting to visit native territories in a more respectful manner, often raising questions about appropriate behavior.
"We often received questions about the correct terms and appropriate behaviors," he explains.
"Therefore, we established 15 protocols to serve as a guide." Among them, the strict prohibition on recording or filming ceremonies in the towns of New Mexico and Arizona stands out.
"If a tourist didn't know this, they would be surprised if their phone was taken away," adds Rupert.
Beyond road stereotypes
Following Rupert's advice, I continue driving west, heading to the Museum of the First Americans in Oklahoma City. Along the way, I pass towering 20-foot-tall statues—known as “Muffler Men”—and motels painted in rainbow colors.
The museum finally opened its doors in 2021, after a construction process that lasted 15 years. Built on a former oil field, this striking structure—featuring a sloping roof designed to evoke a bird in flight—chronicles the history and culture of Oklahoma's 39 federally recognized tribal nations.
Waiting for me at the entrance is Summer Mitchell, a museum collaborator, who is wearing a denim jacket with a badge that says: "Columbus discovered nothing."
Mitchell guides me through elegant, high-tech rooms, where immersive exhibits explore the intersection between Route 66 and the “Trail of Tears,” during which thousands of indigenous people were forcibly displaced between 1830 and 1850. At some points, its route coincides with the later-built highway, along which tourists travel in caravans today.
We stop at a display case filled with caricatures: Pocahontas Halloween costumes, convenience store trinkets depicting cartoon-style Indian chiefs, and even a toy monkey with a feather headdress that mechanically beats a drum.
"A lot of this misrepresentation mocks us. In the past, we couldn't always speak out in our defense, but now we can," he says, pointing with his hand toward the opposite wall.
There, contemporary works such as the cover of the comic Super Indian, by Arigon Starr, and a photograph by Ryan RedCorn, screenwriter of the television comedy series Reservation Dogs, recover the narrative.
"It's about challenging deeply held beliefs, so that our visitors leave feeling enriched and with greater respect for the tribes," Mitchell concludes, before I return to my path.
Recover the narrative
Further west, rugged red hills give way to completely flat grassy plains as I cross Texas to my final stop: Albuquerque, New Mexico.
The Indigenous Peoples Cultural Center, founded in 1976 and with a crescent-shaped structure, pays tribute to the culture of the 19 tribes that call this region their home.
I refuel at the Indian Pueblo Kitchen, the museum's restaurant, with a steaming bowl of green chile stew, a typical New Mexican stew made with chiles grown by Pueblo communities for generations and traditionally served on holidays.
With renewed strength, I go inside to explore the galleries, where the exhibitions trace a rich journey through the culture of the Pueblo tribes: their spiritual practices, dryland agriculture, adobe architecture, and the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 against the Spanish colonizers.
Anthony Tekala, the center's cultural events coordinator, explains how Route 66 transformed indigenous economies.
"In the past, pottery was made to store water or seeds, but after the arrival of the railroad and, later, Route 66, Pueblo artists were encouraged to create smaller, easier-to-transport pieces," he says.
Miniature figurines and teacup-sized containers became not just souvenirs but cultural ambassadors: wearable art that spread across the country.
"If someone took a piece home and told a friend, it was a form of word-of-mouth advertising," he adds.
Outside, drums echo in the courtyard as a group of young people move in unison, following the rhythm of the Buffalo Dance.
"The buffalo was given so that the town could prosper," explains Tekala.
"Dance is about respect and recognition that we are part of a broader ecosystem," he concludes.
As the sun sets behind the Sandia Mountains, I return to the open road with Rupert's words echoing in my mind: "Route 66 isn't just fancy road signs and nostalgia. It's where we indigenous people are telling our own stories today."
*This article was published by BBC Travel. Click here if you want to read its original version in English.
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