TCMH v.40: In Search Of Zaqistan
Here's a Travelogue About a (Not Quite) Visit to a Utah's Sole Micronation
A Primer via Wikipedia: “Zaqistan, officially the Republic of Zaqistan, is a micronation in Box Elder County, Utah, created in 2005 by self-declared president Zaq Landsberg. Landsberg pays property taxes on the land, which has no residents or buildings on it, although he has installed monuments and a border patrol gate.”
And a Primer via Atlas Obscura: “Since its founding, the Republic of Zaqistan has garnered national attention simply for existing; no permanent residents call the land home, though Landsberg and a cadre of Zaqistanis who’ve petitioned for citizenship from Zaqistan’s Department of State make pilgrimages there once or twice a year. Features of the almost-country include zero permanent shelters or roads connecting the interior, one unmanned immigration booth, a newly-erected monument to the 10th year of Zaqistani Independence, one bed of plastic wildflowers, and a tiny natural rock formation deemed Mt. Insurmountable.”
A Caveat, I: For the Utah Pride Parade, a friend (and member of the Zaquistani cadre) invited us to walk with The Z’s delegation. We agreed, and helped make the party a whopping 10-strong. Some folks along the parade route got the idea of Zaqistan, as it’s an occasional wacky news item in these parts; others were confused. It was a delightful experience, and we were granted ceremonial pins. Not long thereafter, we were offered the option to apply for Zaquistani passports, which we wait for today. After the parade, we realized that said friend wrote up a great piece about Zaqistan for Vice.
A Caveat, II: On Friday night, a consistently incompetent cinema/bar was set to show the film Plan 10 From Outer Space, one of Utah’s finest cinematic efforts. The house was mostly full. And yet… there was no projectionist, per se, and a faulty DVD player meant no showing. I awoke on Saturday with a hangover that personified my coping with the disappointment; initially, I rebelled against our planned trip to the desert before coming to my senses.
The Drive to Zaqistan, I: You can’t really have a passport to a micronation without making a pilgrimage to The Motherland, and so we headed north, past Ogden, all the way to tiny Snowville, where we lunched at Mollie’s Cafe. We were the city folk in the room, and enjoyed half-glancing at the young cowboys in their umbrella-sized hats. Leaving Snowville, we began our westward trek, driving through a land that demonstrated how many different colors of brown, yellow and green you spot along one rural highway.
We met a summer storm, which seemed miles away, sheets of water pouring form a single, dark mass of clouds. Suddenly, we were in it. The few minutes of rain provided a stellar visual as the car was enveloped in steady rain for a mile or two. Arid heat and sunny skies returned soon enough.
Semis and camper vans passed occasionally, but Highway 30’s not a very busy road. We finally turned off the main road and began our last push to Zaqistan on a gravel “historical byway,” passing through a pair of ghost towns. These sites (Watercress and Terrace) were born of railroads, and have long since returned to the desert. Some piles of bricks and a few rail bridges are all that remain. Today, though, you’ll see more pronghorns (dead and alive) than humans in this corner of Box Elder County.
We had a treasure map of sorts, with directions such as turning left at “a white sandbag.” (Which was there, yes, but 95% disintegrated.) With gasoline a concern, we paused our journey. And that was a good decision.
The Sidetrip: The closest gas station was in Montello, NV, about 42 minutes, one state border and one time zone to the west. We drove there and pulled up to four horizontal pumps at Montello Grocery and Gas. Was told by the clerk (and likely multi-generational owner) that I had to pump first, pay later. I struggled with the 1970s technology of the pump, but managed to infuse the Subie with $48 US. Since the bathroom was outta order, we decided to infuse ourselves with a beer at the closest business, the Cowboy Bar & Cafe.
Our bartender started pouring drinks in the 1960s, if not the decade before. Our neighbor was a diving instructor, a veteran of Burning Man, a former resident of our Salt Lake neighborhood, a talker, a doppelganger of my friend Cru, a generally nice guy. Our nearest piece of taxidermy was a deer head wearing a Trump cap, one of the half-dozen bits/bobs of 45 fandom. A TV flickered, a gamer dropped money into the wall of slots, a tiny service dog stood on a table. This, folks, was our most-authentic roadside experience of 2022, which is saying something.
The Drive to Zaqistan, II: Montello’s half-hour of quirks in the rearview, we headed back in the general direction of Zaqistan. We turned off the open highway, passed Watercress and Terrace (and its tiny, vandalized cemetery), and headed towards Terrace Mountain. On the other side, the artistic paradise of Zaqistan beckoned. I may’ve said a quiet prayer to the ghost of Bob Cassilly as we turned off of what was now the “main road” and onto a series of bumpy, jolting, rutted and pockmarked paths built for a car built differently than ours.
The Subaru Impreza, after all, is an okay car, but it’s a low-rider and definitely not an off-road adventure vehicle. But here we were, finding that disintegrated sand bag, turning off onto the second-to-last side road. Bump. Bump, bump. Bump, bump, bump. At some point, the sounds became a bit too intense, the ruts and cuts too severe. We were somewhere between a mile or two (or more) from the iconic Zaqistan welcome gate, but were faced with a decently-sized drop onto a four-wheeler path, and the micronation was still outta sight. After a half-hour of walking, the search was over.
This will be one of those newsletters, my dear tens of readers, in which a failure is described as a success. We drove through that wild little rainstorm. We chatted with a friendly weirdo (said with love) in Montello. We pushed the car to the max, yet didn’t suffer the immediate consequence of a helicopter rescue. We lived and are able to inform you about Zaqistan, which was ever-just-around-the-next-bend.
Maybe someday.
Oh, yeah, on the last little stretch of the journey, our CD player was Columbia, MO’s East Ash. In that moment, in that place, it sounded really great.
Postscripts I & II: Traded in the Subie for another Subie. A higher-off-the-ground one. Also found out that there’s a thing called Microcon being held in Las Vegas this weekend, featuring a whole slew of American and international micronations. What’re the chances? With an impending move and all of the resultant pressures staring us in the face… um, sure, yeah, we’re going to Microcon!
-30-