The Oldest Capital
It’s another travel day, from Amarillo, Texas, back in to New Mexico and north to Santa Fe, the oldest capital city in the USA. I’m catching the bus as far as Albuquerque, then Randy is collecting me from there. I met Randy on a quit smoking forum that we were both on – we stopped on the same day. I’ve spoken to him on the phone and he said if I was comfortable with the idea, I could stay with he and his son. The fact that he recognised I might not be comfortable makes me comfortable.
After an hour-long delay at the bus station, we start off. I manage to hold two seats to myself, but with my usual luck, I get the homeless bipolar guy, Cyrus*, across the aisle. He talks at me for about fifty miles, so I figure I may as well join in for the next fifty. Once I know his entire life history, he thankfully settles down to sleep, as do I.
Randy collects me at the other end in his massive truck that is so high I have to hoist myself up to the passenger seat. It makes me laugh, given that Randy is about my height, too. He’s a really sweet guy. He’s Spanish decent, which is common around this area of New Mexico, and has three teenage kids. Two are at university and the third, I meet when we arrive at the house. The houses in Santa Fe are quite distinctive architecturally due to the Spanish influence. They are all adobe and most are single story. Once built, adobe mud is smeared on the outside to protect the mud bricks, so they look smooth and are built on gentle curved lines, rather than sharp corners. Inside, they are usually painted white, with wood features, and have a lot of open space, but are not oversized. They have a lovely cottage feel to them. Every house in Santa Fe is built in this style.
We freshen up, then head to one of Randy’s friends places for his sons’ graduation party. This seems to be a party just as much for the parents as the kids. I meet a lot of Randy’s friends and there’s a great spread of Mexican-style food for us to much on. After a couple of hours, we make our excuses and head into the centre of Santa Fe to see it by night. There are some lovely churches, lit up, and we wander around the central plaza area before we head back to the house to sleep.
Rock Caves and Pueblos
On our way into town in the morning, we stop by Randy’s parents place so they can meet me and stop worrying that their son may be hosting a serial killer. They are a lovely couple and their house is beautiful, very homely and full of interesting knick knacks. We then move on to brunch at a restaurant called Tortilla Flats. Needless to say, it is Mexican cuisine. I have the special: two eggs, bacon and potato on a folded tortilla, smothered in red chili. It’s special indeed.
Next, we walk the centre again, by day. The place really is lovely. It has a village feel and a community focus. In the centre of the plaza, people sit in the sun and listen to buskers playing music, sipping on sodas from the nearby food stands. Along one wall of the plaza, native Indians sell their wares, mainly jewellery. We wander and go back to the churches, including the Loretto Chapel, known for its amazing staircase – it has no supporting struts and was hand built with no nails or glue. We also swing by the oldest house in America from the early 1600s, but it is closed.
I’ve seen pictures of some rock dwellings and ask where they are, so that becomes our next stop. It is actually in a different town, called Bandelier. When we get there, I find it is a national park, so I use my annual pass to get us in. I now feel I have contributed. The national park is in a wide canyon and we follow a loop trail with a brochure that gives us the history of the region. Hundreds of years ago, a community of up to 700 people settled in the canyon. They built rock caves in the canyon walls, and houses butted against the bottom of the walls. Entry was by ladder to a hole in the roof, which also provided ventilation. They later built a pueblo on the canyon floor. The pueblos are villages where all the houses share walls, so they are a mish-mash of many houses with no doors between, but sharing one wall with a neighbour. Again, entry was through the roof, although modern pueblos have seen the addition of doors.
When we finish, Randy takes me to Taos. I’m couchsurfing again here with a guy called Dave*, but I’ve messed up the timing. I was meant to go to a jazz performance with him, but it started early. Instead, we swing by Dave’s and leave my rucksack in his back yard, then Randy drops me at a café so I can grab dinner and waste time. This could have been a great plan, except the concert finishes at 9pm and the café closes at the same time. The café people don’t ask me to leave, but they mention to other customers that they’re closing, so I pack up and sit outside, wondering how long it’s going to take Dave to arrive. I’m hoping it’s before they turn the café lights out as I don’t fancy sitting in the car park in the dark. I’m in luck. Dave arrives around the time I start feeling conspicuously alone.
Dave is an interesting character. He’s obviously intelligent, but smokes dope regularly, so thinks in tangents and has a very offbeat sense of humour. He is a house builder, but is doing handyman jobs as there is little work around at the moment. He also has a beautiful pit bull terrier called Spot. I’m not a fan of pit bulls given their aggressive reputation, but Spot is gentle and well-behaved. When you talk to him, he cocks his ears and leans his head to one side to show he’s listening. He shares the couch with me, curled up in the crook of my legs.
A Leaky Kayak on the Rio Grande
I mentioned to Dave that I was interested in going rafting in Taos down the Rio Grande River. He’s keen, so instead of me having to pay for a commercial trip, he borrows an inflatable kayak from one of his friends and we go down the river in that. The water level is really low – we have to get out and walk at a couple of points, but the scenery is pretty and it’s nice and peaceful once we get away from the road. There does, however, seem to be a very slow leak, with the boat getting a little bendier the further we go along. We make it to his friend’s farm and decide that’s probably the extent to which the air is going to last, so we pull in. Conveniently, this means his friend can help us collect the car from the starting point.
By now, we’re starving, so after a quick change out of damp clothing, we head to lunch. More Mexican. Dave has things to do in the afternoon, so he drops me close to the centre so I can explore.
I head into the plaza and browse and notice there is a tourist tram that goes on a three-hour sightseeing circuit that may be worth me doing, especially as it takes in the Taos Pueblo and the Church of St Francis of Assisi. The afternoon tram is about to go, so I run in to buy a ticket, but discover they are at least double what I think the trip is worth. I’m a little disappointed as I would have liked to have seen the Taos Pueblo. Most of the things I want to see are miles out of town. I buy postcards and chat to the guy in the shop who tells me there is public transport to those places, although no-one seems to know about it. He directs me to the bus stop.
It costs me a whole 50 cents to get to the Pueblo. Entry is the most expensive part of my day at $15, but it is worth it. This is a world-heritage-listed living pueblo. The structures are all adobe and are built in the same way as those at Bandelier, with adjoining walls. They all have ladder entries, but also have street-level doorways. The tribe lives in the pueblo without running water and electricity as they want to keep the traditional way of life. With the mountains in the background, the village makes a lovely rural scene.
I get back on the bus to go to the opposite end of Taos, to the next village called Ranchos de Taos to see the church. Supposedly, this is the most photographed church in America, although I’m not sure how they arrived at that fact. It is lovely though. It sits in a dirt square, surrounded by small cottages that are mostly souvenir stalls and art galleries. It is at least four times as big as any of the surrounding structures, and again, made of adobe. I wander around the church, inside and out, then catch the last bus back. The buses only run until 6pm. There are two things I would’ve like to see: the bridge over the canyon, and the earth ships – a group of houses made entirely of recycled material – but they are just too hard to get to. Instead. I drop in to the supermarket and buy supplies so I can cook dinner for Dave.
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