End of a Trip, Beginning of a Journey

5/1/10:  Last day to see Santa Fe, we are in a mellow mood with no particular plan in mind.  Breakfast again at the casita's home base at Casa del Toro.  To explain, the Casa is manager of about 11 rental units in the immediate area, small homes that have been converted from private to commercial use one by one.  The office itself is also a small home that's been converted; its livingroom space is now used to serve buffet breakfast every morning for about an hour to guests staying in all the other small homes, although this is an option for guests, and they pay an extra $9 per day for the meal.

Today, we have blue cornmeal pancakes, berry sauce, natural maple syrup, vegetarian breakfast sausage, fresh fruit salad, coffee, a variety of breads, and fresh juice.  Very tasty and casual.  They print our boarding passes for our flights the next day and we all join in some stimulating conversation with the cook, her friend and two other couples as we munch.  

The air is crisp but clear, and we begin walking the approximately one mile distance to the train depot area where the farmer's market is held every Saturday morning.  Santa Fe has done a great deal of work upgrading its railyard from a grafitti-scrawled abandoned eyesore to a mixed use commercial area where cafes and a newly redesigned depot building attract shoppers and families.  The train is still in use and is nicknamed RailRunner with a roadrunner mascot as emblem.

I am fascinated with all farmers' markets, so the opportunity to visit the thriving and vigorous market in Santa Fe is one of the highlights of my visit to the city.  The market place is thronged with shoppers and sightseers, bundled against the cool breeze.  Musicians fill the air with bohemian tunes and their opened instrument cases are beginning to fill with cash from appreciative listeners.  I am interested to see what is being offered from the local farmers and cottage industry as it will be nearly totally different from what I find in the market at home.

There are cheese makers with large wheels of parmesian-like white organic aged cheese, bent willow furniture pieces, local mushrooms, decorative items made from chile peppers, hearty breads stacked in rustic baskets, herbs to grow, packaged blue corn meal, chutneys and mustards spiced with locally grown seasonings, spring greens and pecans from southern New Mexico.  I sample honey, cheese, bread; inhale the fragrance of delicate lavendar sachets and tender soaps.  Business looks brisk.  People are coming and going on foot carrying bulging sacks of produce and other goods.  The scent of grilled sausages wafts past; if I had not just eaten breakfast, I would have had one.

The market atmosphere is engaging and fun, so we linger for a bit enjoying the atmosphere.  After a walk back to our casita to drop off some purchases, we decide to head to the Pecos Pueblo, a half-hour's distance outside of Santa Fe.  The site is a National Historic Monument complete with informative visitors center.  The ranger there tells us about a short movie, which we watch, and points the way to the pueblo ruins nearby.

The Pecos Valley is a picturesque small plain surrounded by distant snow-capped peaks, with mixed pine and juniper forests on nearby hills, two streams running through and a moderate plateau in about the center, which became a thriving pueblo for a few thousand native people.  Layers of history are evident, as is true for so much of New Mexico.  Ancient people who lived on the mildly sloping lee side of the mesa are known to have been here dating back at least a thousand years.  Subsequent to that, more modern pueblo dwellers built a thriving community on the higher end of the mesa and lived in a thriving village.

Then, of course, the Spanish arrived and basically trashed the place, killing those who did not submit to their beliefs and rule, enslaving others, subjugating and bullying people into submission.  As well, they brought disease and pestilence to the point of reducing numbers very drastically in a very short period of time.  They built a church on what was holy ground to the pueblans.  Eventually a revolt took place in which 19 priests and many Spanish soldiers were killed.  The church was burned and destroyed. The native people took back their pueblo, but it was a short-lived change.

The enraged Spanish sent reinforcements and took back the area by force, and it was lost to the native people for good then.  Eventually, a sort of peace was established and those who remained managed to blend in some way their two disparate belief systems and customs.  Now, two hundred years later, the remains of the rebuilt church stand in stark tribute to the layered and turbulent history of the cultures who came and went.  It's dramatic and beautiful if not saddening as an example of how difficult it is for differences to be resolved among peoples of the world, past and present.

We drive back to Santa Fe after a light lunch of mushroom and onion turnover purchased at the marketplace earlier.  Since it is to be our final evening in New Mexico, at least for a while, we anticipate an evening on the town later.  Siesta time at the casita is refreshing for an hour, then it's time to dress for dinner.  We are heading to a restaurant recommended by our host at Casa del Toro.

The air is warmer slightly, if only because the breeze has died down, so we walk along Burro Alley and a few of the handsomely western-looking streets of town on the way to Galisteo Bistro.  The head chef greets us at the door, shows us to our table where we are attended to by a phalanx of eager young waitstaff.  Not one of our empty plates during dinner sits on the table for longer than five minutes and every detail is attended to with brisk energy.  We sample two tapas, one of which is a cheese and spinach flan that transports us to a cloud.  I have jambalaya after a tender greens salad, both of which are savory and full of flavor.  Our shared dessert was basically a pouf of strawberries and bits of chocolate enshrined in whipped cream and lightly drizzled syrup of some sort.

In a coma, we wander out into the street, unable to stop sighing about the dining experience just past.  Very nice.  As we leave, the dining room is reaching that nice satisfying low roar that indicates many satisfied diners in full conversation.  A good wine list helps, to be sure.

We shop the plaza and eventually find our way to a fine little art gallery on a side street.  More gifts, more souvenirs and finally a small fine art print framed and ready to grace our wall back in the Groove, an icon for our experience in the arid and golden New Mexico.  I will go back many times, for it is far to layered and rich to have even scratched the surface in the most superficial way on one trip like this.  What has lured thousands of others has etched itself into our hearts forever:  A journey of a few thousand miles; an exploration of what the visible world and a step into the more fascinating world of the spiritual which is invisible to all but our hearts.