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Day Nine:
Headed back out on highway 64 to the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, which is supposed to be the second-highest suspension bridge in the USA and overlooks the river 650 feet below. It's a strange landscape with flat desert lands in every direction, mountains on the horizon, and this incredible chasm abruptly piercing the fields. Drove back up Ski Valley Road, and up the mountain to see the view, which was nice.
Returned to the pueblo just a few minutes past 10, and was told by another pueblo cop that the pueblo wouldn't open until noon. I took it that the setting up process wasn't going very well. I also now had the choice between waiting around Taos for two hours, or skipping town now and missing the pueblo and the festival. I decided the pueblo visit was important enough that I'd miss seeing something else, so I drove into town to kill two more hours.
Didn't care much for Taos, maybe because it reminds me of New Hope, PA. Taos is a small, picturesque town, populated by a few cool and funky people, and a shitload of irritating tourists. Traffic is awful. Half the stores are galleries selling bad art at ludicrous prices. You couldn't park anywhere for more than thirty minutes without paying a fee. There were signs everywhere detailing with great precision what one was and was not permitted to do, presumably thanks to the actions of tourists which necessitated the posting of said signs. Taos has two things on New Hope: a ski resort in the winter, and the pueblo.
"Oh but aren't you a hypocrite for being irritated by tourists when you're a tourist yourself?" you may ask. Fucking no. Tourists complain loudly when their illusory expectations aren't met. Tourists want to be told they're getting a bargain, which isn't the same as actually getting a bargain, only most of them aren't bright enough to understand the difference. Tourists need to be convinced that they're getting value. Tourists use their visit as a commodity which allows them to establish their value and self-worth. Tourists purchase gift shop items with the express purpose of obtaining physical proof of this commodity and a means to validating their experience. Tourists never photograph something if they or their friends aren't also standing in the frame. Tourists pack up their families and fly 1500 miles to eat in the same shitty restaurant chains they love at home. Tourists boggle my mind.
Tried to stop in a bakery for food and coffee. The line out the door was composed of complaining tourists. I went into the cowboy supply store next door where a woman explained to her husband that he didn't want the hat he was trying on and that what he really wanted was the same hat Marjorie's husband bought when he was in Taos. I went into a boutique where a group of shrill women bubbled enthusiastically about bargains because inflated prices were slashed by a whopping 15% off. I gave up, got a frozen blended fruit drink, and wandered around the only place in the downtown area that held absolutely no attraction for anybody, which is Kit Carson Park.
About a quarter past noon I returned to pay admission to the Pueblo, where it was a festival day so I wasn't allowed to take pictures. I reluctantly left the cameras in the car and hiked the short walk into the pueblo. It was kind of other-worldly, walking past adobe structures on dirt ground amongst Native American kids playing, and oodles of stray dogs. It turns out festival activities don't start until evening, and since I'd already stayed in Taos too long, I resolved to explore the pueblo for a while and move on to Santa Fe.
I visited all the little shops in the adobe structures, ate navajo fry bread and a soft taco, and looked at the booths and the huge sculpture built of aspen leaves that were just turning a firey orange. My cell phone blipped with a new message, and because I wasn't sure about Pueblo customs, checked the message from the inside of a portable toilet. I sat by the creek that ran through the middle of the pueblo, eating a soft taco and taking it in, and talked to the woman next to me who was originally from New York. I guess I should have suspected on account of the pants suit and sunglasses, and the fact that she was working a cell phone and cigarette at the same time. I responded to her suggestion that I drive back to Taos in the evening with "No, I'm not going to be doing that" and she laughed and said I was definitely from New York.
Santa Fe is a small fun city with a bad reputation for being a major tourist destination. It was, but it didn't bother me as much as Taos because there was enough room for people to spread out comfortably and more of a mix of people. I stopped at famous Jackalope's which has an impressive array of southwestern style housewares and home decorating items; next time I need to decorate a home southwestern style I'm coming here. Wandered the downtown area near the plaza, in search of parking and an ATM. Found both in short time, partly thanks to the nice guy in the hot sauce store. His boutique sold a lot more items than hot sauce, but it had one wall dedicated to at least a hundred different brands, including some on the top shelf that boasted an intensity 300 times that of a jalapeno pepper and whose purchase required the signing of a waiver holding harmless and indemnifying both the manufacturer and the store.
I stumbled upon the best restaurant, with the possible of AZ88 back in Phoenix, here in downtown Santa Fe. This was Coyote Cafe, and you access it by walking through another, more upscale restaurant which shares the same owners. The rooftop dining area was so packed I took a stool at the bar rather than wait for a table. The menu was wildly creative, and the appetizer was the best part of the meal. It was a jerk chicken and pineapple chipotle tamale, and it was fucking amazing. Moved on to roasted duck quesadilla which would have been perfection if it wasn't a little heavy on the queso, and ordered dessert, which is rare for me. It was cappucino flan and it was also amazing.
The only locally-owned cafe was blaring heavy metal, so I passed it up in favor of Starbucks, where I read and drank coffee in a big comfy chair for a couple of hours. An old lonely hippie guy kept trying to engage my interest in either football or his theories about how dated concepts like traditional marriage were holding back the advancement of western culture. I couldn't establish whether he was looking for a sympathetic ear or an argument, and I didn't feel like going either place, so I let him have his say and went back to reading.
At 9:30 I arrived at the Paramount and Bar B, which from what I gathered was the only club in town. It was a nice smallish club with a well-designed swanky lounge in the back, and it was celebrating its third anniversary with a ten dollar cover and a DJ from New York City. You couldn't miss the fact that the DJ was from New York City because they announced this fact every fifteen minutes. I guess that's the mark of quality - make sure your oranges are from Valencia and your DJs are from New York City. Had a couple of drinks, met some interesting people, including a guy from Albuquerque who could trace his family back four hundred years to the original conquistadors. A lot of the revelers were visiting from other parts of New Mexico and the southwest; I guess it's the place to be.
Headed back to the hotel around midnight. One full day left to go.
Taos, NM to
Santa Fe, NM
tourist rant.
Taos Pueblo.
party in Santa Fe.
Saturday, 9.29.01
The pueblo was supposed to open at 8, so I was up for a really good breakfast by 7:30. Met this interesting landscape photographer who was working on a book, hung out for a bit, and arrived at the pueblo around 9. The pueblo police guy blocking the road explained they were setting up for the San Geronimo Day festival, and consequently would not open the pueblo until 10.
Took the low road to Santa Fe, highway 68, a more direct route than the road yesterday. By 4 I'd completed the short drive and drove to the far edge of Santa Fe and checked into the Comfort Inn, which was pretty much your average Comfort Inn. No surprises here. Dropped off my stuff and headed into town.
