Take a Left at Nageezi

It’s been Kris’ 2-year dream to visit Chaco Canyon, an archaeological site and National Park in northwest New Mexico. One might even argue it was the impetus for our trip to Santa Fe this summer. Finally, we brought that dream to fruition in one very long, very hot, very rewarding day.

We had been warned that Chaco was so remote that we would “die” there (I don’t think that warning was hyperbolic), so we set out on the 4-hour drive with two coolers and plenty of water and sunblock. Much of the drive was standard, but when we got closer to the park, the landscape became flat and desolate, and we inched slowly along a dirt road for about 20 miles. (I finally got that deep kidney massage I had been wanting.) Once we got there, however, we found the sites themselves very accessible—a comfortable visitor’s center, a friendly ranger who played the video for us ahead of schedule, and a 9-mile loop of paved road that gets you from site to site.

The ruins themselves are fine examples of 1000 year-old masonry, including many kivas, built by the ancestors of the Pueblo people. Why they picked such a remote location with so many environmental extremes (yesterday’s temp: in the 90s; winter low: 38 below!) is an unanswered question, as are many of the other specifics of their society and culture. We became experts by the end of the day, partly thanks to adorable ranger Matt, partly thanks to the fact that the body of knowledge is so limited, the self-guided brochures became a little redundant by the end.





We also saw many rabbits, lizards, and even an elk (elkette, if you will), and we stayed for the sunset and the night sky program, during which we learned about the (possibly coincidental) alignments of many of the ruins to the solstices and equinoxes. We even saw Jupiter and all four moons through a telescope (but the famed darkness of Chaco was disrupted by a very bright full moon and some persistent clouds).

Unfortunately, our arrival home at 2:30 am put everyone’s schedule off today, but it was well worth it.

Satan's Cat

Some time last week, we were sitting in the living room when Chrissy yelped, “Look, a kitty!” Indeed, there was a cat in our backyard, well camouflaged against our fence at dusk. But even from the window, he looked a little odd. Mange never stopped Chrissy from petting a cat (c.f. Guadalajara, 2004), so she went out to try to get a closer look, against our better advice. We could tell, even from far away, that something was not quite right, and when he disappeared into a hole in the earth (or our fence), we were convinced that we had been visited by an emissary of the dark lord himself. (Corinne and I had been cracking a lot of jokes about going up in flames.)

Today, Satan’s Cat visited us again. I am downright certain—that cat has bobcat ears. He might not be 100% bobcat, but he’s got what looks like a coarse coat, striped (ringed, actually) like no tabby I’ve ever seen, and not quite a stumpy bobcat tail, but not quite housecat tail either. I don’t think I’ll be quick enough with the camera, but I do plan on watching my back.

O'Keeffe Country

After visiting her home in Abiquiu and seeing the red rocks of Ghost Ranch, I can understand why Georgia O'Keeffe might have felt compelled to paint the same hill over and over and over again. (Once again, the colors are not quite true to life...)

Bathing Beauties

This morning (well, early afternoon), we set out for Jemez Springs, which we thought would be an hour away and not unlike Hot Springs, Arkansas. We headed north toward Bandelier, first through the usual scrubby desert just outside of Santa Fe, then through mountains dotted with pinones. Soon, we realized we were on the very scenic route: the elevation started to change, the road got narrower and windier, the hills were covered with ponderosa pines and Douglas firs, and there were signs for elk crossing. If someone had told me we were in the Pacific Northwest, I would not have been surprised, especially since the weather was unusually grey for Santa Fe. Suddenly, we came upon a giant grassy clearing—a 15-mile wide volcanic caldera that is millions of years old. We had come out of the forest onto a vast valley of grass.



Getting back into the car, we began seeing signs for Jemez Springs, still 30, 15 miles away. Eventually, we began to see signs for picnic areas and scenic overlooks, so we stopped at the ranger station, still in search of springs. Apparently, we had already passed them, but the sky was ominous and thunder rolled in closer, echoing against the mountains. Just a mile south was the Jemez State Monument, the ruins of a mission built to “keep out the savage natives.” We wanted to see it, but the threat of getting struck by lightning kept us out—the museum folks warded us off. So we headed a little further down the hill into the town of Jemez Springs, figuring we’d wait out the storm over lunch.

Now, when I say town, I use the word loosely—it’s really just a few buildings on either side of Rte. 4, one of which is the “historic Victorian-era bath house” (looks more like a bungalow at the dacha). The other two are restaurants: a deli and a biker bar. One guess as to where we went. (Hint: “I’m in a suit of burgundy, deer head’s lookin’ at me…”). The rain was coming down and we ducked into a booth, order burgers and beers, and chatted with the waitress who warmed up after carding us and realizing we were, like her, from the east coast. (Well, she was from Ohio, like our friend Blythe who plans on working Sturgis this year. She--the waitress, not Blythe--came out for a man she met on the internet 6 years ago. Just married.)

*Travelogue interlude*
Los Ojos, in Jemez Springs, NM, serves up a decent burger and some darn good fries. They have pool tables, a stage, Fat Tire Amber Ale on tap, and the obligatory antlers on the walls, so it must really rock on a Saturday night. Leather vest and tattoos are optional, but I would advise against “the special” (I should’ve known better…). Instead of a cheeseburger with green chiles, you get an open-faced burger smothered in a nondescript glutinous sauce reminiscent of bad Chinese food. I’m lucky to have lived to tell the tale.

After a particularly loud clap of thunder, we realized it was getting late and we had to get moving or else the whole day would be a bust. We tried the monument again, but they still wouldn’t let us through, so we did the most sensible thing one could do during a lightning storm: head for a body of water. The springs we went to are a ten-minute hike off a barely-marked parking lot. It was no longer raining, but the air was cool and wet as we tromped through dark red clay in the middle of evergreen forest. Still within earshot of the road and eyeshot of the parking lot was the spring—a pair of cascading pools steaming slightly in the damp air and filled with milky warm water. The top pool has a tiny grotto that houses the spring source, and we soaked for a good long while, enjoying the mountain air and the view.



Apologizing for the cliché... this is one of the most beautiful, unbelievable spots I have ever seen in my life.



Reluctantly, we packed up and drove home, this time taking a more southerly route. Almost immediately past Jemez Springs, the landscape begins to change. On our right were sheer bluffs, on our left cliffs striated with a deep, deep terracotta red. I have never seen a “red rock west” of quite that color before. The further we moved along, the richer the colors, until finally we drove through the shantytowns of Jemez Pueblo, and back to our familiar desert landscape.



I am so lucky that this is my life.

July 13 Redux

Lest I sound like I'm not having a good time, let me revise yesterday's post: Kris, Chrissy, and I had a fantastic time running around the folk art festival, buying tin mermaids and miniature nativity scenes (Jesus in an horno!), followed up by a trip to Albuquerque for an Isotopes game. It was a banner day. Today, we're heading for... another hot spring.

Here are some photos in and around Santa Fe:

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I can’t believe how quickly two weeks have flown by (not to mention the 200 bucks I pulled out of the ATM). Although we still have plenty of time left to enjoy ourselves, I am already starting to get those end-of-summer pangs. I don’t know if I’ve ever had them this early in the summer before. Partly that’s because, while I’m having a great time, I don’t think Santa Fe has cured me of my restlessness. A list, to illustrate:

Thursday.
Went on a morning run, saw the Museum of Spanish Colonial Art and Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, leftovers from Corinne’s chicken throwdown for dinner, salsa at Willee’s Blues Bar. Still can’t do 3 miles without stopping—high altitude, weak cardio, there goes training for the half-marathon; put on cute jeans and paid a $5 cover to NOT dance and get snubbed by the adorable 23 year old trumpeter we met last Saturday at El Farol.

Friday.
Cooking class at the culinary school. Interesting stuff about the (culinary) history of this region—food is a great way to teach history, as it turns out. Got rained out of the gallery walks but had a hilarious game night instead. However, do I really need to nap as much as a toddler does?

Saturday.
Went on a morning “run,” drove to Taos for the Powwow, had dinner at Los Mayas and a drink at the Hotel St. Francis Bar. The Powwow had some amazing dancing and regalia, adorable children, frybread (of course), and a ton of white people with big cameras—apparently very different from the powwow these girls went to two years ago.



Still can’t make it up the hill on Old Santa Fe Trail. Yesterday, I just gave up and walked home. Last night I ate so much pollo en mole that I went to bed feeling like a python that swallowed a peccary. Yves is going to kick my arse when I get back to Equinox. I sleep 8 hours a night in a comfortable bed and I still have huge bags under my eyes every day.

Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking. I’ll just stop there…

What becomes of a dream deferred?

For weeks now, even since we were in the car dodging state troopers in Virginia, I have been hearing of Amazing Larry. It was hard to piece everything together, not having been on BLSF campus two years ago, so I assumed Amazing Larry was some crazy older dude in a Hawaiian shirt (a sort of Santa Fe Bingo Gazingo).

Today I found out that Amazing Larry is not just a dude. Amazing Larry is actually the name of a band, an earnest/ironic sometime acoustic, sometime trio of hipsters who cover Bon Jovi and Journey and do the occasional original tune about Molly Ringwald.

We saw them at Evangelo’s, a dive on the corner of the plaza made famous by the proprietor’s father—the subject of a WWII photo that became a stamp. It’s an iconic image you’d recognize if you saw it, and according to yelp.com, Nick, who tends bar in a Panama hat, persistent cigarette hanging from his lips, tells the story to anyone who even thinks about asking.

So after getting turned around by a series of one-way streets (Corinne: Oh, just turn down one of these; we’ll find it.) and taking 20 minutes to parallel park on a curve, we finally paid our $5 cover—only to find the bar filled with enough people to count on one hand and a lone bald man doing Beatles covers. We headed to the dingy basement, where at least Outkast’s greatest hits were playing (videos too). Eventually, Corinne beckoned us upstairs and I was introduced to the legend that is Amazing Larry. Most entertaining (even more entertaining than their AC/DC finale) were the lead singer’s parents sitting in a corner, swaddled in sweatshirts and slowly sipping red wine.

Right now there’s talk of having them over to the house. “Larry” (Andy) gave us his card, so we’ll see…