Santa Fe Sojourn

Three days I have been here in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Three days in the land of enchantment, according to the state issued license plates. Three mornings filled with crisp air hikes surrounded by high desert majesty. Three evenings painted by thunder, lightening and glorious rain. For a Texan, this is truly a blessing in mid-July. However, today has been a little different.
This afternoon, the planned expedition was to Santa Fe, the capitol since the 1600s of this wonderful place. I was anxious and excited all during the bus ride. I tried to fool myself with reading a book about Kit Carson and his hand in making New Mexico and the region what it is today. Yet, before these unfounded and unnamable apprehensions could seriously take hold of me, we arrived right off of the old town plaza. The bus pulled in across the street from St. Francis Cathedral and we were all admonished about the seven o’clock departure time with stories of people left behind and the expensive cab fare to return to Montezuma.
The big blue desert sky and streets lined with adobe walls made me as giddy as a kid a Christmas. I suppose in an off-hand sort of way, it was. And the present…and entire afternoon free. Free to roam. Free to photograph. Free to mingle. And to some extent, free to spend. I have always believes, since my first visit to the desert that it is something akin to a spiritual home for me. Luckily, my wife feels the same way. Only the exact latitude differs in our experience.
This last part proved to be something of a sticking point throughout my afternoon sojourn. Caught up in the waves of tourism and commercialism that keeps this town viable, an impending sense of frustration lurked in the cob-webbed corners of my mind. An acidic surge of resentment for a cheapened experience was percolating in the pit of my stomach. How dare something this awesome be degraded for a few bucks. The thoughts fumed exponentially with the growing numbers of other tourists I had to contend with. It was reminiscent of my trip to Disney World. Ugh! Thankfully, with a few deep breaths and some divine redirection, the churning subsided.
Collecting my thoughts at the twilight of this little adventure I couldn’t help but to laugh at myself. This is often the case. Upon further reflection it seems as for the better part of the afternoon my imagination readily outpaced my actual strides through the city. This, however, is not at all uncommon. I am positive that this is some sort of terminal condition. But, I digress.
As I walked through the city streets…isn’t that a line for a song?...of Santa Fe, taking in all of its culture and commerce, my mind ran away with the situation. I began to imagine myself as one of those trendy, haute travel show hosts on cable television. Even more far-fetched, I almost had myself convinced. Luckily I stopped before I launched into a full-fledged monologue. I fooled myself, however, in that I had succeeded in going local. Hah! One look at some of the pictures and I had “tourist” stamped boldly across my forehead. One glance at my reflection in one of numerous shop windows or the shadow I cast upon the sidewalk quickly dispelled that foggy myth. There was no way of getting around the stone cold fact. I might as well embrace it.
But when did this moment of clarity, this mountain top enlightenment, this radical paradigm shift actually occur? Not that precise or otherwise moment in time is vital or necessary. For the sake of discussion, let’s place it at dinner. I enjoyed it immensely. Choosing to dine early out of an ad hoc mixture of cheap tourist boredom and a desire to beat the regular dinner rush, I found the restaurant recommended by one of my classmates…Thank you, Pete! During the course of consuming a monster bowl of fresh green chile stew with fresh tortillas and some local beer, my perspective an attitude seemed to shift…slightly. I can assure you the well-crafted beer had little to do with it due to the 5.5% state law in New Mexico. However, it did complement the stew wonderfully. I am sure, however, that it had more to do with the excellent cooking and the friendly waitress who was a Texas refugee herself. Without too much sappy embarrassment, I was able to lick my homesick wound and move on.
Of course, the actual time could have possibly begun even before dinner. Weaving my way through the throngs of fellow tourists in the labyrinth of shops, and painfully noticeable lack of public restrooms, I made my way serendipitously to a hidden gem. It was a neatly tucked away bookstore. I am a bookman. You finish the equation. However, I was pleased to find out in conversation with the proprietor that I was in the midst of the largest Spanish-language bookstore in North America. Noting some suspicion, he quickly explained what used to be the largest in New York City had to close due to high overhead. To answer the next question…Yes, he also stocked a seemingly commiserate amount of English language titles as well. I walked out with what I considered a local treasure for a title. I like to equate it with the lovely silver a turquoise jewelry I purchased from local artisans. It was due, of course, wholly to the knowledgeable proprietor who matched my desires with his stock. This is the side of retail that is rarely seen and always enjoyed.
Similarly, I repeated the experience in another bookstore well off the tourists’ trodden path. A few blocks down from the bustling square, I literally stumbled into a rare and used bookstore that was nothing more than a partially converted house. Partially, because in the kitchen not only could you find art and architecture books but a small stove, sink and refrigerator to boot. It was another veritable treasure trove igniting such greed that I honestly began questioning the purchase of some beautifully hand-crafted turquoise earrings I bought for my wife…I would never admit it, though… My elation was elevated by the larges selection of regional titles. Added to this was a little soothing balm when in this section the proprietor included books about Texas as well. Broke, I was unable to walk away with any purchases, even though I was assured that all major credit cards were happily accepted. But, I am happy to say that I did not leave empty handed. I did procure a business card and shipping is done for a nominal fee. As you read this, I am already compiling a list of necessary titles.
But it wasn’t just books that left a great impression on me in Santa Fe. Sure, all of the wonderful architecture and artistry were there as well. Hell, even seeing the place where Oppenheimer picked up his mail at 109 Palace East vetted well into my consciousness as much as the cathedral and the two older churches of Loreto and San Miguel. But it was absent-mindedly strolling in to a “fine gentleman’s clothing” shop that also proved prescient. While perusing the offerings, which I can add I could not begin to afford, I struck up a conversation with the salesman. Low key and relaxed, I liked him immediately. We spoke of a myriad of subjects from gangster movies to beer and the Van Morrison song playing on the stereo in the store. It was a pleasant interlude. As I made my way out of the store’s courtyard, the salesman had to unlock the gate. I apologized for keeping him late and not purchasing anything. The relaxed attitude, I found, was genuine to the core. He shook my hand and thanked me for sharing a good watering hole for the next time he visited his cousin in Austin. It may have been retail pretense, but I doubt it.
Afterwards, I settled on the drying park bench comfortable and content. It was then that I came to realize something that was profound…at least for a Wednesday evening. In the dueling strains between the teen-aged mariachi band behind me and the Latin jazz quartet facing me from the other side of the square, I came to realize that I had not really gone local. Rather, the locals, in their own unassuming ways allowed me to respectfully be who I am…a Texan. I felt a little ashamed that I stuck out as much as I did. However, reflecting upon this further during the hour long bus trip back to Montezuma, I came to understand that Santa Fe and its inhabitants have not changed much since its earliest inception with the conquistadors and missionaries. It was a major hub on the Santa Fe trail…duh…but more importantly, it was a major trading post. People from Mexico, the United States and many other territories rolled through this place. I was just a member of the latest band to come through.