For me, travel is like a recipe. You take a bite, it consumes your senses. You make a memory out of a few ingredients along with the people who join you on this trip. Soon it’s in your “favorites” file. Some places have a profound effect on us, like that incredibly tasty dish you can’t get out of your mind. That dish we return to again and again and rarely disappoints. Like ingredients in a recipe, my travels create memories worth repeating. But, the experience is never quit the same because the world is dynamic and things change. Freeways move and beltways go around a town instead of through them. That small town with a cool trading post is now difficult to find among the dense population and crowded tourist traps.
Santa Fe is one of those colorful destinations where the ancient drumbeat of the culture calls me to step back in time, slow my pace and breathe in the scent of stringent sap from the Pinon pines.
Two weeks ago, I returned to New Mexico to capture this feeling where chili ristras abound and the sand palette of the mesa’s adobe is the required color block. Dedicated to improving my blog writing skills, I took a road trip to Boulder, Colorado to work with a personal writing coach. It just made sense to include a stopover in my Santa Fe. Where did this attraction to Santa Fe begin? I need to go back in time.
One spring, long ago, my mom and I rendezvoused in St. Louis. I had finished spring semester at Southern Illinois University and she flew out to help me drive back to California. Our trip across the country bonded us in so many ways. A mother-daughter trip is special. She showed me places she had visited with her friends at my age and together we discovered a few new venues. That trip, our favorite new find was Acoma, Sky City, a 13th century pueblo 60 miles west of Albuquerque that sits high above the barren desert, on a tall mesa. In 1977, it was so remote and barely known to tourists that you literally had to drive off the beaten track to get there. The only access to the pueblo was up a gravely and rocky dirt road that tested the limits of my little yellow Capri. We seemed to be the lone visitors. A young native Acoma boy appeared with a blue bandana tied around his forehead and a welcoming smile. “Would you like a tour and history lesson on the beginnings of the Acoma Pueblo?” he asked. In its ancient times, Acoma was an impenetrable fortress that protected its people from neighboring Indians as well as the Spanish.
Sparse and dry with the sun warming the dirt beneath our feet, the stillness felt eerie and haunted. Was I imagining, or did I hear the cries of Indian chants? The heat unearthed the dusty smell of clay which was also the dominant mono tone color of the pueblo. Entryways with screen doors alternated with kiva ladders for higher access to second and third floor homes. “Where is everybody?” I wondered.
The only other sign of life was two women, both with gray hair pulled back in neat braids, sitting on the ground on well-worn blankets, in front of what must have been their home. We watched in awe as their brown, weathered and steady hands painted intricate geometric designs on small pots in the Acoma colors of black, white and burnt orange. I purchased a small pot, just finished, for a few dollars. Little did I know that Acoma pottery was about to explode in the “collectible” scene of today.
Santa Fe was equally enchanting. This trip took Mom and me to the roof of the La Fonda Hotel, tangy margaritas, a classical guitarist serenading us, and the aroma of spicy chilis. Vibrant color- turquoise, corals and sunflower yellows decorated everything from clothing and door frames to hanging geranium flower pots and chili red ristras. Visits to Native American museums, the nearby Taos Pueblo, spicy, innovative food I had never experienced so captivated me, my mom and I often returned to create even more memories.
It has been 27 years since our last visit to Santa Fe together. The following is my mom’s recollection of her favorite time in Santa Fe.
“It was our family Christmas in Santa Fe. Dad and I met Mary and her brother in Albuquerque. The Four Runner we had driven from home was packed to the ceiling with food and gifts and the four of us. New Mexico didn’t disappoint us. Snow for Christmas! Lots of snow! The NM highway patrol escorted a long line of Santa Fe bound travelers along the barely cleared highway. It was one of those snowy years that had impacted the entire southwest. We Californians were not daunted. I said “Now it feels like Christmas.” Santa Fe was magical. More than two feet of snow and below zero temperatures. Crisp and crunchy dry snow. Christmas luminarios lit flat roofs and walkways. Our condo Christmas tree fashioned out of a pine branch and decorated entirely with southwest decor- coyotes, mini painted pots, Kokopelli. Christmas dinner of blue corn enchiladas and posole. Indeed it was one of the best Santa Fe memories. Each trip makes for another memory. I still have a quote to bring us into the present. ” The only thing constant is change.”
A lot has changed but the ambiance has stayed the same as well. Acoma Pueblo certainly has advanced its stature. We stopped there on this recent road trip for a very different experience. Now there is a visitor’s center at the base of the mesa. For $24 buses shuttle you to the top for a peek of the past. It’s structured. We passed on the tour, wanting to remember the lonely Sky City as it was.
The photo above is from our recent visit to Acoma.
For both Santa Fe and Acoma, the ingredients, culture, crisp, clear air, magnificent sunsets, were all still there, but the recipe had changed. I have learned to accept the changes, like adapting a recipe, because I still feel a deep connection to the earth that I felt the very first time my eyes met the brick-red dirt of the desert kissing the glacial blue sky of New Mexico.
Embrace it, but remember.
Next week – more on Santa Fe plus a recipe for Apricot Bread from a local.
Ciao for now!