alannalamar@gmail.comOakland stirred something in me, the N’COBRA conference, the cold air, the echoes of resistance, but I wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. COVID had kept me still for too long, and the West was calling. My solo trip turned into a sister circle when one of my best friends from FAMU freshman year decided to meet me there. Erykah Badu would be in town for her, Unfollow Me Tour, and everything aligned.
Denver was a sharp contrast to Oakland. Culturally. Energetically. But before I get into the magic and mess that was Denver, let’s honor the land.
Denver sits on land originally home to the Arapaho people.
As acknowledged in the 1851 Treaty of Fort Laramie, the Arapaho and other nations lived and moved through this region long before gold and greed arrived. In 1864, the Sand Creek Massacre brutally changed the course of history for the Arapaho and Cheyenne. Other Indigenous nations tied to Colorado include the Apache, Comanche, Shoshone, and Ute, specifically the Southern Ute and Mountain Ute Tribes. Denver would became one of nine federal relocation cities in the ’50s and ’60s, ushering Native people from reservations into urban spaces with promises as broken as the treaties before them. Today, around 7,000 people who identify as American Indian or Alaska Native live in Denver, just over 1% of the population. The history of the land still hums beneath the concrete, and the Native communities continue to resist erasure.
Flights, Fees & First Impressions
Our flights landed an hour or so apart. We met at the airport, hugged, picked up our overpriced car rental from NÜ Car Rentals (would not recommend), and hit the road. I truly believed I booked a deal. But somehow, after fees, insurance, “optional” add-ons, and gas….I’d paid more for that car than my flight and Airbnb combined.
We headed out for brunch, to the liquor store for all the fixings needed for a proper Old Fashioned, and a final stop at the Cookies dispensary before heading to our Airbnb.
Cannabis Culture in Colorado
Listen. I can’t confirm nor deny any personal habits, or if I did or didn’t participate in the ritual… But let’s just say I appreciate the cultural significance of the plant. That said, my first time stepping into a dispensary felt like walking into a high end Apple store meets wellness boutique…for weed.
The consumerism of it all was overwhelming. Dozens of strain names and too many charts with THC concentration percentages and other maths. Endless options, all prettily packaged like you’re buying luxury skincare. You stare at a wall debating between a three pack or a six pack of pre rolls for your two day trip. Only to end up with a few joints wrapped in a bunch of unsustainable packaging (hard plastics, sealed bags, tamper proof seals), that ends up in the trash along with the cannabis you didn’t finish before heading to the airport.
Capitalism stays undefeated.
Airbnb Vibes and 420-Friendly Stays
Denver was the first place I saw 420 friendly Airbnb listings. I booked a stylish guesthouse that allowed indoor smoking and even came with a private garage and balcony. It was perfect for our quick stay. But me being me, I still took my smoke to the balcony like someone’s respectful niece. I can’t confirm whether indoor smoking is still allowed at this listing, but you can check out it out on Airbnb below.
Link to Airbnb: Private Guest House in Berkeley Highlands
The Main Event: Baduism Unleashed
We arrived in Denver with no tickets. None. That’s the Sagittarius in me. I’m the type to make spreadsheets for a trip and still let spirit guide the final itinerary. But a few hours before showtime, we grabbed 4th row seats, like fate herself was holding them just for us.
I wore a long, earth toned kaftan my mother stitched by hand while at Howard University in the early ’70s. I am my mother’s daughter. Rooted, radiant, wrapped in legacy.
Erykah Badu floated onto the stage like a high priestess with a spaceship budget. The portal opened with fire and light. Badu appearing like a vision, dripping in thunder, electricity, and ancestral vibration. She sipped tea like a sage. Cracked cosmic jokes, and drifted through stories of the ’90s like a living archive.
This was my second time seeing Ms. Badu. The first? At III Points Festival in Miami, anxiety, crowds, and Travis Scott included. But Denver’s vibe was smoother. More mature. I like a proper seat. Close to the exit. The crowd was mostly white, this was Colorado, after all, but it didn’t matter. The vibration? Pure. The energy? Whole.
Erykah was all things. Funny and strange, wise and weightless. Every lyric felt like a sermon, and somewhere between Didn’t Cha Know and Tyrone, I felt something inside me align. Not in a dramatic way. More like a joint easing back into its socket. A cosmic realignment under Denver’s thin air. That night, I exhaled for the first time in months.
Afterward, we hopped into a neon bicycle buggy blaring Three 6 Mafia, and found the only food still open. We talked, laughed, and caught up like grown women do when the music’s faded but the moment is still playing in the background.
“I don’t think anything is unrealistic if you believe you can do it.”
Erykah Badu
Red Rocks & Reflective Mornings
The next morning, we drove to Red Rocks Park and Amphitheater before my friend’s flight. It’s stunning. Formations that look like nature’s monuments. Massive crimson slabs climbing into the sky like ancient giants. It was easy to imagine the original stewards of this land, gazing up at constellations we no longer recognize.
The amphitheater itself? Breathtaking, but terrifying. I kept thinking: all those steps, no railings, no cover, people drinking in thin air… Several weeks later, I saw news of a hailstorm mid-concert. Chaos. My anxiety…validated.
After soaking in the landscape, I dropped my friend off at the airport and set off solo for the rest of my Denver detour.
About Red Rocks: https://www.redrocksonline.com
A geological phenomenon, Red Rocks is a natural open-air amphitheatre known for its unparalleled acoustics, fitness stairs, and panoramic views. A cultural icon of Colorado.
Indian Hot Springs: A Necessary Baptism
After I dropped her off, I hit the road solo. I needed something elemental. About an hour drive later, I found myself in Idaho Springs, parked outside the historic Indian Hot Springs. The building was dated and unassuming. But inside? Geothermal caves and healing steam. No-frills. Just function.
I spent my time submerged in geothermal waters inside a woman’s-only cave. Sweat, steam, stillness. I cycled between soaking for 15 minutes at a time, and laying down in the cool ac room like a lizard on a rock, before going back in for more.
No phones. No photos. Just breath and silence. A reset.
There was a strange quiet there. The warm mineral water rose around my tired limbs, melting tension, softening grief. But just beneath the comfort was a lingering unease: the name, the history, the hollow commercialization of what once was holy. I thought about the people who had once soaked in these waters not for spa days, but for survival, ceremony, and connection.
So much of Denver felt like that. Beautiful, but built on bones.
I ended the evening with a slow mountain drive back into the city, the kind that feels like God humming beneath the tires.
About Indian Hot Springs: https://www.indianhotsprings.com
Located in Idaho Springs, about 40 minutes west of Denver, this historic mineral water spa features geothermal caves, indoor and outdoor soaking pools, and spa treatments.
Whittier Café & Pandemic-Era Realities
On my last day, I sought out Black owned businesses. Many of the Black-owned spots I had saved from blogs, cafés, bookstores, boutiques, had closed since COVID. The silent economic aftershock of a pandemic that didn’t just test our bodies, but dismantled the livelihoods of entire communities. Whittier Café was a reminder: we’re still here, still brewing strength.
Whittier Café is Denver’s only African espresso bar and a hub for social justice, Pan-African politics, and radical Black joy. A space where activism meets caffeine. They serve ethically sourced beans from across the diaspora, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Burundi. I had the best cherry danish of my life while sipping African coffee and reading posters of resistance.
About Whittier Café: https://whittiercafe.com
Denver’s only African espresso bar and social justice café. Ethically sourced beans, live music, and community activism in one powerful space.
The History Colorado Center: Ancestors, Activism, and The Dry
History Colorado Center was the perfect final stop. I’m a museum person, if there’s a story to be told, I want to sit with it.
Each exhibit hit deeper than expected:
Return of the Corn Mothers
An homage to the Indigenous and Latina matriarchs who nurtured land, family, and community across the Southwest. Portraits and stories of women who’ve sustained their communities through tradition, food, medicine, and faith. The exhibit held space for quiet power, for the sacredness of women’s labor, and for the stories too often passed over in textbooks.
The Dry: Black Women’s Legacy in a Farming Community
This one hit home. It tells the story of Black women in Colorado’s farming region known as “The Dry,” a settlement formed by formerly enslaved people seeking self-sufficiency and land of their own. Seeing their stories, tools, photographs, women who tilled earth and built life from dust, it mirrored my own long-term dream: building an off-grid family compound, farming, reconnecting with the land. Legacy doesn’t always have to be loud. Sometimes it’s a seed.
Colorado Changemakers
This interactive exhibit spotlights diverse Colorado leaders who challenged the status quo. A quiz told me my superpower is “Curiosity. Your open mind gains valuable knowledge from every experience you encounter.” Facts. I left inspired. Affirmed in my activism work, in my desire to document, disrupt, and deliver stories that matter.
The Sand Creek Massacre: The Betrayal That Changed Cheyenne and Arapaho People Forever
Heavy and necessary. This exhibit pulls no punches. It opens with the beauty of tribal life, languages, belief systems, elders and babies, and walks you through Denver’s founding as an illegal city, the discarded treaties, and the brutal massacre led by Colonel Chivington in 1864. There are voice-recorded testimonies from descendants, artifacts, and documentation of reparations promised and never paid. It’s painful. But it’s the truth. And truth, like land, demands to be honored.
REVOLT by Virgil Ortiz
Virgil Ortiz isn’t just an artist, he’s a time traveler. This exhibit fuses the story of the 1680 Pueblo Revolt with science fiction, fashion, and futuristic rebellion. Clay masks become warriors. The past becomes the future. For me, this was more than an exhibit, it was an invocation. It asked: what if we didn’t just remember resistance, but wore it, danced it, molded it into the now?
That museum held multitudes. I left full.
About the Museum: https://www.historycolorado.org/history-colorado-center
A dynamic museum offering immersive exhibits on Indigenous resistance, civil rights, and Colorado’s diverse communities.
One Last Drive: Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge
Just before heading to the airport, I took a drive through the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge. Prairie dogs, bison, deer, it felt like nature giving me a sendoff. You don’t even have to leave your car to witness Colorado’s wild heart.
About the Refuge: https://www.fws.gov/refuge/rocky-mountain-arsenal
Once a chemical weapons manufacturing site, this 15,000-acre refuge is now home to bison, deer, and bald eagles—one of the nation’s premier urban wildlife sanctuaries.
The Ghetto That Is Denver International Airport
Let’s just say I’ve never seen anything like it. Denver International Airport was the Ghetto! People sleeping on lawn chars, under vending machines, in corners, like some Hunger Games travel edition.
My flight with United Airlines. Delayed. Delayed again. Then again. Then finally canceled close to midnight. Some folks had been trapped there for over 24 hours with no clear rebooking. I was fortunate.
I split a $65 cab with another woman and booked a room at the Hyatt Centric. Not cheap, but worth the sanity. I went to bed hungry (everything was closed), but I slept well.
The next morning? Madness. Lines wrapped around baggage claim. Dogs sniffing us as TSA paired strangers off like some dystopian dating show. But I made it.
In line, I struck up a convo with an older white man. He was sweet. His wife stood beside him the whole time and never once acknowledged me (bless her heart). Cold as Colorado frost. He talked. She glared.
Turns out she was born and raised in Oakland. The irony. The full circle. The side eye.
That’s America. That’s now. The past isn’t past.
Collective Liberation & Full Circle Moments
From Black Panthers and elders in Oakland to Indigenous voices in Denver, I kept seeing the thread. Liberation is collective. Reparations are necessary. History is now, and it’s personal. We don’t just inherit pain. We inherit proximity to it.
My mother integrated her schools in South Carolina. Crosses were burned in her yard. The people who did that? Still here. Still voting. Still writing laws.
This trip reminded me that liberation is collective. That land holds memory. That joy and pain are not opposites but companions. That healing isn’t linear. That art, music, even cannabis, all of it, is connected to a deeper healing. That sometimes, freedom sounds like a woman in a tall hat telling you to unfollow what no longer serves you.
Denver didn’t offer resolutions. What it gave me was a place to feel the contradictions. To soak in something hot, walk through something ancient, dance to something cosmic, and grieve something stolen.
Denver, I’ll be back.
Travel Tips and Final Notes
Note on United Airlines
They canceled my flight, but I kept all receipts. Filed a claim. Got partial reimbursement, 30,000 miles, and a $400 credit after I pushed back. Let this be your reminder. Closed mouths don’t get fed.
🎧 Playlist: Mile High Vibes – Erykah, Elevation & Earth Energy
When your feet leave the ground and your spirit floats between clouds and ceremony—this is your soundtrack. Inspired by Denver’s smoke-filled skies, Badu’s siren voice, and the slow unravel of a solo journey. Light one, zone out, or let the beats guide your drive through mountain roads.
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