It was just as cheesy as we expected, but there was no way to pass up the chance to visit Tombstone, AZ, knowing that it was less than 30 miles away from our campground. There’s not much to say about the place: it’s like a very sad, very run down Knott’s Berry Farm, but even sadder because it’s a real place with real history masquerading as a fourth tier tourist trap. Most of the souvenir stores are half empty, and the wares would be more at home in the blowout sale at the Dollar Store up the road. The folks standing around in cowboy costumes in the street are actually barkers looking to sell you a ticket, not the reenactors you were hoping for – the reenactments take place behind closed doors so that passersby can’t even get a peek without paying the cover charge. And there were more guns strapped to the open carry tourists than cowboys.
But it was still Tombstone. Hot. Dusty. Sad. Desperate. Just now in a 21st century way.
