There is a bluegrass singer I follow, and during one of her
concerts she said she fell in love with the West because, being born and raised
in North Carolina, she never knew you can ever see as far as you can see across
the Western Desert. And that is true: if you want to take in the idea of
infinite spaces, go on a drive between Salt Lake and Vegas, or between Denver
and Taos, NM. In the immensity of the land, there is nothing else to feel, see,
or think about but your own self – lost, alone, never-ending, eternal.
I am kinda loving my job. For many reasons, but one of them
is that it allows me to visit The West once in a while. During the most recent
work trip, my husband met me at the end of my week and we took a long weekend
to explore Colorado and New Mexico. No, not the entirety of those states – we
had to be selective, because time was short. But isn’t time short always?!
I could talk again for a shamefully long time about how much
I love Denver (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-ten-reasons-to-move-to-denver.html).
But I did that before, so I will skip that part of the trip altogether in favor
of never-seen-(to-me) places.
Since I was in college back in Romania, while watching Dr. Quinn – Medicine Woman (you are
allowed to chuckle), I dreamed about going to Colorado Springs and hiking (or
driving) up Pikes Peak. There was something of legends in that show: the
Natives, the Rockies, the Western tales of fearless women and lawless men –
there was an attraction, a lure about it all that drew me in like a drug.
Although I have been to Colorado many times, and lived next door to it for
seven years, I never made it to Colorado Springs … till now.
It was a cold, late spring day when we arrived, and Pikes
Peak and Cheyenne Mountain were clad in a thick, low fog. There was no hint of
any peaks. Just the promise of a mighty mountain, but no sight of it, really.
We ventured up to Pikes Peak Highway despite the warnings
from our hotel receptionist and the rangers at the gate advising us against it because
“you know: we’re having some weather up there”. Now, Pikes Peak rises above the
sea level more than 14,000 ft. Because it was starting to snow and because we
were told that “up there” it had been probably snowing all day, we did not make
it to the top: there was not much to see from up there, anyway, with the thick
fog embracing the mountain, but the roads were slick too, not to mention steep
and winding. When the temperature dipped to 27F, we decided to turn around. We
were barely at 10,000 ft.
Colorado Springs seen through fog from Pikes Peak (cca 8000 ft elevation)
Fog and all, a mighty mountain never disappoints: we stopped
for pictures, and there was a deep silence that you could have heard a beast’s
heartbeat thump. There was no wind, no echo, no other cars: just a serenity, solitude,
and quiet that is hard to capture into words. You could almost hear the gentle
swish of each snow flake on the pavement. As we climbed higher towards the
10,000 ft mark, the valley became less and less visible in the fog, until we
could see nothing but clouds, like we were on a plane.
We turned around and decided to go to the Garden of the Gods Park – a natural park
which has red rock formations on display amongst the bright green prairie
vegetation – the contrast is beautiful! It’s a drive-in park, so, with the rain
upon us, we looped around and stopped briefly for pictures of the red rocks.
Those are what I miss the most out East: the shades of the red rocks in the
Western Desert are eerie and their beauty, again, hard to describe. I wish I had
the talent to paint them, because those would be more telling than what I tell
you about them.
Garden of the Gods formations - Balancing Rock on the right
We ate at Colorado
Mountain Brewery, a restaurant in a former railroad roundhouse built in
1880’s. Sometimes food places are famous
for the food. I believe this one should stand out for the venue and its
history. The restoration of the place is beautifully done – as old as the walls
look, the brick looks almost brand new, and so do the large windows out of
which locomotives once peeked …
The next day, we headed down to Taos, NM. I have been craving
to finally see New Mexico, and Taos in particular, since I started reading
Natalie Goldberg’s books, almost 20 years ago. There is a magic about New
Mexico, a je-ne-sais-quios that transpires from all the books, images, memories
of anyone who’s ever been there. And hence the attraction to see it for myself.
I said we were there in late spring, but it snowed almost
the entire way from Colorado Springs to Taos. The roads were clear, but the
desert on either side were loaded with snow. Visibility was very limited and
the thick fog of the previous day returned. It was cold. Maybe high 30s – low
40s. Cold. And wet. Which made it even colder.
Our landscape en route from Colorado Springs to Taos. Mid May.
Taos is a place lost in time. Sometime ago history forgot to
advance here. It must have been before the time when they figured side roads
and parking lots must also be asphalted. It must have been the time before they
told people not to talk to strangers, because everyone in this town is your
long-lost friend.
Taos downtown - peaceful, quiet, old
Maybe the first thing that strikes you in Taos is that it
seems to be poor: the streets are some of the worst I have seen in America and
not all of them are paved. The homes are either patched up or leaning –
although newer, more “together” ones do appear on random elevated roads, in the
middle of brush or on lush green golf courses. If insecurity is a sign of
poverty, most windows and doors have thick bars around them. And yet the whole
town is flooded with artists’ studios and art stores, some of them very
high-end art stores. A land of contrasts like the rest of this country, but
with more poor than rich details …
Street corner in Taos, NM
There is something foreign and exotic about the New Mexico
red architecture – something peeled out of history books and definitely not purely
“American”. I said, when I went to Oahu
in Hawaii, that that place has no business calling itself “America”. I feel the
same way about New Mexico: think of a seamless cocktail of Spanish and Native
Indian with American West merely as a garnish and you have figured out Taos. The
Spanish influence is everywhere – you pass through towns named Alamos, Salida,
Poncha Springs, and Mosca … The American West is nearby: you cross a street
called Wagon Road … And all this unravels in the canvas of pure Native American
country: you are in the town of Taos, after all. All in all, Taos is its own
mixture of things, roots, and history … What makes Taos today is the confluence
of all those trends and yet so much more …
Example of Taos architecture
Baptist church in Taos, NM
Every corner of every street is a work of art – the
architecture, the doors, the flags they hang outside the homes, the cobblestone
streets, and the interior courts all create this universe of history, old
timey-ness, and mystery in which the whole town is enwrapped. It’s not a very
big town, with a population of barely 5000 people, but it’s vibrant: art is
what flows through its veins, just like what every pole that lines the streets
reminds you: “Taos is art.”
Very varied New Mexican art
We ate one night at Medley
– a wine bar and restaurant off the beaten path (a local hostess told us about
it; it was so remote Siri didn’t know about it, nor did Yelp). And we were
admiring the paintings in that place (like I said some places are about the
food, some about the surrounds; this was definitely about both), and our
waitress told us the paintings were the works of their own bartender. They were
beautiful and huge portraits of pets, mostly. I asked her if that is a
prerequisite to live in Taos: to have some kind of an usual talent in some art,
and she answered snarkingly: “Oh, absolutely! I am still trying to figure out my
niche, but I better hurry up and find it before they evict me.”
One of the many amazing, one-of-a-kind doors in Taos
Our reception at our resort, El Monte Sagrado (oh, that name!),
was unbelievable! We were welcomed at the entrance by an escort, then walked in
“the way back” in one of the casitas that together with many others made up the
property, to the “front desk”. It was more of a “way back” desk, a cozy office,
with dimmed lights, and three desks on huge tree trunks with natural rock tops.
As we checked in, we were invited to sit on armchairs and we were offered
coffee, tea, or water. To say that everyone was nice is the most unjust understatement:
everyone was doting on us: eye contact, hand-shakes, and questions about our well-being, comfort of travel up to now, and every other question you can
imagine. We were asked if we would like a private tour of the property so we
can assess all that it has to offer. We politely declined, but we did say we
would do that on our own.
One of the three "front desks" at our resort
The grounds were hand-cut from a premium, exclusive travel
brochure, only better, because this was the real deal: the hotel is a
collection of two-story main buildings connected by New Mexican-style casitas,
with interior courts. The whole place had a giant interior court of its own,
lush green and peppered with blooming trees and aspen. There was a stream and several
coy fountains throughout the resort grounds which looked like a carefully
manicured Japanese garden. The feeling of peace and silence overwhelmed you …
Again, I felt like we were lured into this secret retreat that you hear about
in Taos, where people go in for a few days of self-imposed silence, or yoga
practice, or a writing boot camp …
El Monte Sagrado resort, in Taos, NM
The rooms were nicely decorated with Western accents and local art, cozy reminders of where you are ...
The grounds at El Monte Sagrado resort
Taos reminded me why great works of art sprout in the most
incredibly penurious and empty environments: in the absence of everything, the
soul is liberated and free to create its own reality. This is why, I think,
many artists in all media, gravitate to Taos: there is no noise, no
distraction, no big city temptations, no richness, no luxury to tire the eye
and pollute the mind: there is only sky, mountain and stream and your ears,
eyes, and nose are free to make up their own reality with what they sense.
After several days of walking the roads, visiting local
museums (The Millicent Rogers Museum
is a gem truly hidden in the desert: a beautiful collection of Native art) and
many local art shops, after shooting the Rio Grande Gorge in the middle of a sleet
storm at below freezing temperatures, and after sampling some of the local food
joints (I have never tasted chili hotter than the green chili at Michael’s Kitchen: I agree with my
husband that that chili should have come with special instructions!), we headed
back towards Colorado.
The Rio Grande Gorge
The drive between Taos and Breckenridge, CO is one of the
most beautiful examples of a drive in The Rockies that I have ever been on.
Reminds me a lot of the drive in Glacier National Park, up in Montana. Majestic
peaks, eternal snow, an immensity of pines bordered elegantly by aspen trees
and loads of wildlife or exotic domesticated mountain-only animals, like alpacas,
llamas, and yaks. Again, the land is boundary-less and swallows you whole.
The land out there is un-apologetically gorgeous. Like a
perfect photo-model that you see on TV that has absolutely nothing wrong with
their face or body features, the land is perfect. Purely perfect: not one
strand off, not one feature distorted, not one detail astray … You’re rendered speechless,
because perfection defies words …
The Rockies and their elk
Breckenridge is a tiny mountain town with big ticket stores
and somewhat pretentious visitors – I s’ppose this is what ski resorts attract.
I like it, nonetheless, because you feel like the mountain is on top of you! And
I am a sucker for a mighty peak!
On the way from Taos to Breckenridge
A day later, we drove sheepishly, silently, begrudgingly,
and sad back to the Denver airport to ask the little captain to fly us back
home. We jumped back on that plane leaving wilderness behind and being grateful
to be back into the great wide world so we can tell the tales that magic land
shared with us.
Till we see you again, wild creature. Till then …
This is what I mean when I say the mountain is on top of you. This is when I feel I am truly getting lost ... Click the picture to see the entire album from this trip.
