When we arrived, we were, indeed, transported, but it wasn’t to a different world. I stood on the landing pad of the helicopter in which we’d descended, holding my toddler’s hand in the searing midday heat. Then, as the sound of the chopper receded, it was replaced by the deliberate drumbeat of hip-hop music pouring out of loudspeakers: the lingua franca of youth cultures the world over. As we approached a nearby cafe, we found its source. A group of striking teenagers, descendants of some of North America’s most ancient people, dressed in basketball shorts, oversize T-shirts and slide sandals with socks. They were Havasupai or Supai, as locals who live on the reservation refer to one another.

Seeing and hearing something so familiar made the long journey we’d taken to get there, if for a beat, surreal. After months of planning and hours of road-tripping, my husband, Sacha, my 18-year-old daughter, Djali, Marceau and I felt at home, despite being in a remote area of the park visited by only 20,000 people annually (compared with the five million who tour other parts). We were thousands of miles from home, yet that drumbeat may as well have been the unfurling of a grand welcome mat.

The Havasupai people — they call themselves Havsuw ‘Baaj, or “the Blue Creek people,” although they are known by the Hualapai derivative of their name, Havasu, or “blue-green water,” and pai, “people” — while hospitable were also insular by nature. But the teenagers blaring hip-hop, other locals and tourists hiking to and from the campgrounds were chilling on the deck of the only place to eat on the reservation, a food desert whose menu consisted of the same fried and greasy fare, with the exception of Indian tacos, found in many rural and low-income communities.

As I approached the cafe with Djali and Marceau, we noticed that several locals eating at a nearby table stared at us. We weren’t sure if we stood out because our skin tones ranged from pecan to mocha, or if, unlike the majority of visitors to the parks, our big, curly locks commanded attention. Our guide, Jason Danoff, who runs Trail Lovers Excursions, had warned us that it was highly unlikely that they would speak.