Where God Really Is

Even though I left New Mexico and returned to Pacific Grove, the experience there has continued to bubble up in my thinking as I go about my business here.  Most of all, I am acutely aware of the exquisite beauty and special qualities of nature in both places.  Of course, every place on earth originally was pristine and special in its own way.

In my mind's eye, I'm comparing what I saw there with what I see here, the similarities, the differences.  The Spanish missionaries made their presence known in both areas.  The Carmel Mission is just as old here as the old churches and sanctuaries are there for the most part.  People feel especially aware of nature in both places, as opposed to a place like San Jose or Phoenix where much of the area is cemented and shudders with the roar of air and automobile traffic 24/7.  The awareness of natural beauty and its pervasive influence on how we relate to it cannot be denied in either Santa Fe or Monterey.  Some people swear there are unseen forces at work that cause us to remember one place more vividly as compared to another.  I can't say they're wrong; that would be incredibly arrogant.

I can't really articulate the attraction to a place like Santa Fe and the region around it, but I know I am attracted.  It has had an intriguing allure for people for all of human history.  Some lucky accident of altitude, light and temperature creates a surrounding that is exceptionally interesting and pleasing.  It's no different than here.  The arresting sight of the big blue Pacific ocean frothing and splashing at the feet of 2,000 ft mountainous cliffs and undulating green slopes left nearly untouched for hundreds of miles are sights that impress people for their whole lives.

The best aspect of the central California coast and of New Mexico's high desert is that people have taken care to preserve what they have.  The Big Sur Land Trust and groups like The National Audubon Society, The Sierra Club, The US Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy have been alert for years to possibilities of preserving open space and understanding the nature of nature here.  I am hopeful that the people of Santa Fe and Taos as well as other cities and towns in New Mexico take care to safeguard the beautifully unique treasure they call home.

I have been reading with sickened dismay about the hell set loose in the Gulf of Mexico when the oil rig exploded there.  The implications for widespread disaster are certain, and I am a very optimistic person in general.  Why anyone thought drilling for oil was ever anything but a train wreck waiting to happen, I'll never know.  To stop and point fingers and politicize this situation is so petty and stupid, I cannot even say.  It has to sink in that oil and its products are toxic, that the region of the gulf pumps its waters on the gulf stream literally around the globe, that the food web in the ocean as it is lost will affect the Americas profoundly and travel to the shores of Europe and Africa and to the poles.

Economics is the least of our worries in this situation.  We need the planet - it is the air we breathe, the food we eat, the bed we sleep in.  Our children's children and their children will not know natural beauty and respite in nature unless we care for what we have.  We humans and our co-planet-passengers the animals and birds and fish need air and food, wether we then eat them or not.  This is what "dominion over" means:  Responsibility to safeguard and care for, with foresight and wisdom, our only home.  

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.

Santa Fe All Day

4/30/10 - Santa Fe:  At the first sound of meadowlarks, thrushes and house finches, my eyes fly open.  Ugh, 5:30 a.m.  I try to sleep in a little further since I see no light out, but it doesn't work.  I'm awake.  Might as well get the day started.

We're staying in a 100-year-old house with four apartments in it originally built for officers at the nearby fort.  These "casitas" are quaint and funky with plenty of room and a no-fuss rental policy.  Managed by Casa del Toro, they also provide an excellent and interesting homemade breakfast in the main home that serves as office and dining room.  We're only two flat blocks from the plaza, which is the best deal going for anyone who wants to stay in a home-like atmosphere near the center of town.

Time to explore again, so we set off to see the Virgin of Guadalupe Santuario, which is the oldest shrine to Our Lady in the entire country.  It was burned badly in about 1922 and was rebuilt.  A tiny museum just to the left of the altar area depicts the sanctuary in its various iterations through the years.  It's plain and simple and lovely in its way, with creaking old floorboards in the main structure.

A few blocks away is a legendary wooden staircase at the Loretto Chapel.  The staircase goes in two complete 360-degree spirals, is built entirely of beautiful varnished wood without the use of any nails.  Originally, it had no bannister and looked like the stairway to heaven, connecting the main floor to the choir loft.  A mysterious anonymous carpenter built the structure very quickly, according to legend, and then dispappeared. This, after much praying for help to build a staircase by the mother superior of the Order of Loretto.  It's beautiful and mystifies engineers and woodworkers alike as it is capable of holding a full choir of nuns -- There's a photograph in the gift shop to prove it.  We take a few zillion photos and browse the large gift shop.

It's cold outside and a brisk wind is gusting now and again.  A man selling woolen scarves and pashminas is doing a brisk business outside.  $13 and your neck is happy again, wrapped in soft wool.

We browse more small shops and buy some souvenirs and gifts.  Santa Fe is a very easy walking town, and it looks a rustic yet sturdy combination of cowboy western and adobe pueblo.  Riestras - huge bundles of dried red chili peppers hang from worn exposed beams of pine jutting from the building's brown plaster fronts.  The city is celebrating 400 years of history this very year.  It shines and twinkles when the sun comes out, but most of the time we are peppered with small "corn" snow that bounces off our jackets.  I feel like I'm in a big southwestern snow globe, very glad I have brought clothes I can layer to stay warm.  For once I packed really well and feel comfortable until the wind chills my face to a standstill.

As we're walking up and down the streets, The Monroe Gallery - one of many hundreds of galleries in the city - boasts a huge collection of very significant journalistic black and white photographs, many taken during the 60s for Life Magazine by Steve Shapiro.  It seems Mr. Shapiro was at virutally every single important moment back then.  We take some time to savor the images and appreciate the amount of history represented in them.

The Monroe has whetted our appetite for another gallery, one of the stars in the firmament of arts presentations available in the city:  The Georgia O'Keefe Gallery.  It is relatively small but displays a representation of the works of the artist throughout her life span of 99 years.  Three short films showing her life, philosophy and approach to her work are excellent and inspiring; you are invited to form your own opinions about her artistic statements and abstractions of her beloved New Mexico highlands.

Since the day is so cold, the gallery has attracted a healthy number of museum goers, and we are grateful as well to be in out of the wintry air, but we decide to leave after a good look at the collection so we can have lunch.

Right next door is the luscious and very sophisticated-looking O'Keefe Cafe where we have a roasted eggplant sandwich with a cup of creamy lentil soup.  We sigh and look around for St. Peter because we know we are in heaven.  It's top-quality food, robust and flavorful, layered southwestern zinginess combined with French classic recipes.

After a stop back at our funky casita right around the corner, off we walk to see the State Capitol building across town, a building shaped like the Navajo Sun symbol, much different in appearance than other capitol buildings I've seen in other states.  A short avenue leading to the building is lined with flowering mock pears and other spring blooms, very pretty in contrast to the official-looking cement and plaster buildings nearby.  Inside the atrium of the main building is an exhibit paying tribute to African-American people of note who have lived in New Mexico.  We learn about Esteban the Black who was one of the pre-eminent explorers, trackers and interpreters in the whole country, especially the southwest.  I'll bet you've never heard of him in your "accurate" history books, have you?  Neither had I.

Beyond the center of the state's government is a famous part of Santa Fe called Canyon Road, a long narrow winding road lined with galleries of all kinds, sculpture gardens and a few cafes sprinkled among the galleries.  Probably someone has counted all the places to buy art along the road, but I never saw the end of them.  It's fascinating to imagine all the creativity gathered into such a concentration - where do you start?  We walked about a mile along the road with one stop at Les Artistes, a tiny cafe boasting espresso, cappucino and tea.  Refreshed by a short stop there served by a friendly and amusing Frenchman, we find our way to the Santa Fe River and walk back to town along its rushing stream.

Back in the Plaza, we see that The Food Channel is in the middle of producing a new reality show for TV starring Tyler Florence in which it appears that five teams of contestants who happen to own speciality food trucks (aka "roach coaches) are competing for title of, well, they wouldn't tell us, but it's coming up this summer or fall probably.  Camera booms, sound guys, Tyler himself and a few dozen contestants cheering and yelling on cue were all busy making TV real.  Or reality into TV.  Something like that.

After all that walking, we need to take a real break and go to the Plaza Cafe, a well-established eatery that is both charmingly old fashioned, dating back to 1905, and so tasty that we forget all about everything except what is set before us.  Which is posole with pork, green chile and sopapillas on the side.  Good lord, it is so good.  One insanely good meal after another; you're right.  I begin to sing an aria, but stop myself just in time.  I am so hooked on green chile sauce now it's ridiculous.  I think it's the cold and the snow that put me in a mood to savor hearty food with tons of flavor.  I wonder how I've lived all this time without it.

Not to waste any opportunity to see a world-class museum for free, we take advantage of Free Friday and walk two blocks over to see the New Mexico History Museum, a new jewel in the crown of Santa Fe's array of museums and galleries.  It's state of the art and depicts the history of the state, a span of a few millenia including the ancient ancestors to modern-day Indians.

My feet are really barking at me now, so we stumble back to the casita.  Just as we arrive, one final show blazes across the western sky, a stupendous sunset with roiling and dramatic clouds and rays of light shooting across the universe.  A fluting wood thrush serenades me as I snap photos, just like he had at dawn this morning.  What a day; I am enchanted by New Mexico in all its changing glory, but I am really, really tired.  No complaints at all, not one.

High Road to Santa Fe

April 29 - Taos to Santa Fe:

Not that we'd really had enough of Taos, but it was time to get on down the road to Santa Fe.  The sky was gray and dark, threatening snow or rain, but we meant to be driving for a good part of the day, so we weren't too concerned.  As we left town, we drove to the famous church called San Francisco de Asis, which was closed.  The curving mudded walls of the church have been painted and photographed by every artist and photographer who comes through the region, so I joined ranks with them and took photos.  The wind was pretty cold and blustery, but dark clouds seemed appropriate as a backdrop.  I could smell pinto beans cooking nearby as well as the wonderful aroma of juniper smoke.

The High Road out of Taos circles east and south, following the route the Spanish people traded along and on which they established several churches 300-400 years ago.  As we drove, we climbed up into Ponderosa pine forests but were unable to see very much more than 20 miles away, surely a beautiful vista on clearer days.

First stop was at the Sugar Nymphs Bistro cafe in Penasco, a stop recommended by a friend.  One of the owners used to work at the famous Greens Restaurant in San Francisco, and the bistro gets raves.  They welcomed us as their first customers of the day with French press coffee and some almond honey cake.  We chatted a little while and were told to top at the Hand Arts Gallery two towns over.  Off we went.

We took a quick look at another old church in Trampas, closed like all the others.  We are here early in the season; in the summertime these places make themselves available for tourists as well as their own parishoners.  This particular church features interesting relics and icons inside that we'd hoped to see.  It's hundreds of years old and looks it, appearing a little tilted and very worn.

We found the Hand Arts Gallery with a bit of poking around in the high elevation artists colony called Las Truches.  From the outside, like all the rest of this helter-skelter collection of rough buildings, it looked like a house.  Inside is entirely devoted to displaying contemporary art pieces, all fine work from the look of it.  We enjoyed some conversation with the gallery owner and then were on our way again.  On finer days with warmer temperatures and the visibility New Mexico is known for, the vista from the hilltop where the artists are all inspired to work is stunning.  In the Fall, they are one of the stops on the High Road Arts Tour, which is said to be very popular for art collectors.

The clouds seemed to be clearing as we approached Chimayo, an ancient village in a more sheltered valley with a pretty stream running through.  La Santuario de Chimayo is a place that attracts as many as 40,000 people to its small rustic church on Good Friday every year.

Like Lourdes, miraculous healing has taken place many times, so the faithful come in their thousands to gather a small bit of holy dirt and pray for others or themselves if they are sick.  We spent a few hours touring the sanctuary, many makeshift shrines with holy candles, nearby small shops and streets.  After 400 years, the unique and special allure of the place is still strong.

On a bit of a whim, mostly due to the fact that we were ahead of schedule time-wise, we drove west about 30 miles to Bandolier National Monument to see some ancient cliff dwellings that were discovered there in the 1920s by an anthropologist studying the region.  Again, I was interested to discover that there had been an ancient volcanic blast that covered the region in thick ash for centuries.  The result is that hundreds of feet of the stuff solidified to porous, fragile rock.  On steep cliff faces in a subsequently formed canyon, the rock has zillions of caves now that have been formed by wind and water erosion.  Native people a few thousand years ago took advantage of the easy-to-carve rocks and built apartment-style homes with caves at their backs and left petroglyphs.

The park is actually about 33,000 acres, of which we probably saw only 300 or so in the main, flat area by the visitors center.  There is a gentle interpretive trail that was fun to walk along and look into kivas, caves and along the rushing creek that flows in the middle of the canyon's small valley floor.  It felt good to stretch our legs and there were very few visitors around, so we pretty much had it to ourselves.  The sun even peeked out and backlit the narrow-leaf cottonwoods lining the creek and blazed on the cliff face for a short while.

Taking one last look at the remnants of a very old, vanished culture, we got going again in the car and headed to Santa Fe in late afternoon traffic.

I don't know if I even have to say it:  Santa Fe is a beautiful and interesting city, unique among many such cities in the country.  It's celebrating its 400-year anniversary this year and never looked better.  Adobe-colored buildings in the pueblo style with vivid hues of blue and red trim line every street.  Cold, penetrating air chilled us quickly once we arrived at our "casita" just inside the so-called plaza circle of town.  Lo and behold, snow began to sprinkle lightly down.  I felt like I was in a Southwest Christmas snow globe.  Magical but chilly.

After settling into our little funky house with dark green and purple walls and the creakiest floors possible and layering several jackets, we walked briskly over to the plaza where I immediately began running around in circles trying to take in all the color and texture, which is actually impossible.  With every second, the sunlight changes intensity and direction, popping some new feature into high relief and stopping you in your tracks with its visual beauty.

We found The Shed one block away from the central plaza, got very lucky and were able to land a seat for dinner with only a 15-minute wait.  Dinner was roasted onion enchilada, posole and beans.  I guess I just can't get enough of it; I'm a green chile fan now, through and through.  Perfect food on a very cold evening.  There was a glowing and inviting small kiva-style fireplace in the front lobby space, burning juniper wood, distinctively fragrant, forever associated with Santa Fe.

Santa Fe, city of Holy Faith, was making itself felt even before we'd ever reached it.  The whole state should be called Santa Fe.  From the barely known Anasazi to modern-day faithful, many kinds of people find affirmation of the sacred in this region.  As we looked back on the day, layers of time, history and faith were woven all through it, ready to impart wisdom to us when we were ready to listen.