Point. Shoot. And gorgeous.

This is past due, but such is life ... Better later than not at all, I guess. 

Again, I live in a world of a fragmented mind, one which most days is not my own. It’s occupied by work, dark thoughts of having lost dad, endlessly trying to find him in everything; and even darker thoughts about mom and where she is in her life, will she ever be “mom” again ... 

The world as it is seems to blow up with every breath ... We lose more rights, we lose more people to guns, to suicide, to hunger and thirst, to diseases, we lose whole countries to despots, we lose ourselves, we lose hope. Especially hope. Some days I feel like every headline is an April Fool’s joke! And I need to double and triple check every sentence. And then I sigh. It’s all true. All disappointingly, gut-wrenchingly true ... It’s the world as we see it now - shitty, abject, unfair, gaunt, non-common-sensical. It is no joke! 

And among all these thoughts, among it all, a faint desire to live on, to travel, to seek beauty, to push through it because we never know which day is our last. And when that day will come - do we really want to say “I wish I did”? I know I don’t. So, drained of hope and energy, I push through, I bite down and make travel arrangements, buy plane tickets (now, we’re in the world of “where can we fly direct?” to save as much time as possible through not too many airports and to minimize the exposure to too many people for too many hours on end), rent cars and hotels, and charge my camera to prepare for our next destination. 

So, in February-March we took a trip to Arizona. We booked a hotel in Tempe, then spent almost equal amounts of time between it, Phoenix, Scottsdale. One day, we spent most of the time in Saguaro (pronounced “sah-war-oh.”) National Park, less than 2 hours from Scottsdale, and the rest of the same day we took a brief tour of Tucson. 

Our first stop in the desert was at Papago Park, between Tempe and Scottsdale

I read somewhere a short description of these cities like this: “Tempe is a college town. Scottsdale is touristy. They know tourism and do it well. Phoenix is just a big metropolis.” (did you know that Phoenix is the 5th most populous city in the US, even before Philadelphia and way before San Francisco?! Neither did I!). I could not have put it better myself. 

These are the random thoughts and a couple of images from that journey ...

• If this trip won awards in any category it was for the amazing food everywhere. Not just good, but diverse - the variety and the many options for this vegan pescatarian were almost endless.  Flavor galore, diversity - Phoenix has it all. One thing that stuck out was that most places serve three meals every day and “Benes” were on almost every menu. Translation: “benes” are eggs Benedict done 100 ways. I am still puzzled as to why in the middle of the American Southwest an egg dish is so popular?! Or breakfast for that matter?! 

The Phoenix Saute at The Daily Jam in Tempe - a perfectly complete and completely vegan breakfast

• There was a huge bottle of lotion in the bathroom, anchored to the wall. This thing was like 1lb of lotion:  a clear reminder that you’re in the desert now and your skin will crack. So, lather up! 

• It was nice to see “letter mountains” again: is it a custom? A tradition? Don’t know, but in the American West where they post huge letters on some of the most prominent mountains in the middle or on the side of a city: there was a T for Tempe, an A for Arizona State University in Tempe and another one yet for University of Arizona in Tucson.

• A billboard showed ‘Straight into the mountain we head. Just like we like it!’. And I could not have agreed more ... 

• So. Many. Cacti. I grew up with cactus plants in my house: they were small, maybe 8 inch pots. My grandma had about 10 green thumbs, not just one! She did so well with all the plants, but she did the best with cacti, I think. Growing up I heard about it from her that it is easy to grow cacti but that it is hard to make them bloom or make them grow - they grow slowly, they bloom once in a hundred years - is what grandma said although later on in my life I lived in the desert and I think they bloom more often than that. She had all these types of cactus plants - the ones that looked like flattened footballs (the prickly pears), the ones that looked like cucumbers, and these ones that looked like leafless twigs with millions of long, poky thorns on them. She made them all grow and bloom. It seemed like every year.  Well, now, in the desert during this trip, I saw all of these and then some, about 1000 or more times bigger than I could have ever imagined as a kid. My childhood cacti were mere molecules compared to these plants we saw in Arizona.
  The saguaro cactus (the one that looks like a person with arms) is on every postcard and license plate in Arizona. You think you’ve seen them all till you’re standing next to one of them and then you’re asking yourself: what the heck is this creature?! They could be a power pole? A frozen human being? A tree? Definitely not a mere plant. They are enormous! The height of your house or bigger. And then you learn about their age - they don’t even get an arm till they are 100 or 150 years old. You drive down the road and you’re thinking: these cacti lining up the dusty roads have been here longer than any of the houses and maybe even longer than the whole state of Arizona. 

• Tucson was clearly poor: barred windows, homeless people in empty deserted mall squares - in contrast to the new almost posh campus of ASU in Tempe and the hopping, happening Biltmore fashion mall in Phoenix. 

• Tucson felt like the place where all ideas or dreams came to die. It was almost like a depressing, ghost town where humans have not been convinced yet that the town is truly over. It was at the exact opposite end of the liveliness of Tempe and Scottsdale. 

• Scottsdale Old Town is a must-see - yes, a bit touristy but done well, with minimum kitsch. Clean, inviting, and the people are welcoming, knowledgeable, and bend over backwards to accommodate. Just inviting! 

Some snaps of Old Town Scottsdale

• A reminder that you’re in the high-desert and in big-sky country: you must wear sunglasses even on cloudy days.

I have no idea how many hundreds of years this saguaro is for as many branches as it shows, but ... many ...

• Tempe - more than just a backdrop,  a mountain in the middle of the city is just another bump in the skyline.

• Street names and people remind you you’re on borrowed land here and must walk carefully: Talking Stick Way; Indian Bend Road. A rich Native American and hispanic majority of people live here. Their influence in everything from architecture to menu items; we had avocado in some shape or form with every meal, just like I had olives with every meal in Turkey.

• We visited Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West compound (home and architecture school). There, where human ingenuity meets and gets lost in nature, we got the best advice: if you hear a rattle, don’t investigate! If you see something, don’t take a picture of it. Just walk away! - this could be the motto for just about every stop anywhere in Arizona.

Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West compound - Scottsdale, AZ

• While driving through Saguaro National Park, or hiking at the Javelina Rocks, or taking in the hundreds of cactus species at the Desert Botanical Gardens in Scottdale, or chasing quail and so many other birds making homes inside the saguaros, you can easily see that you are clearly  back in the land of point-shoot-and-gorgeous. No special training or qualities required for amazing pictures. Every single picture is a winner! 

The many aspects of Saguaro National Park outside Tucson, AZ

• More modern architecture than I expected - I would have expected this modern vibe somewhere like L.A. or something, but not in the middle of the desert. I also know now where all the ranch homes of America have settled: in the Phoenix-Scottsdale-Tempe area is where they all went! You are hard-pressed to find anything but a ranch anywhere. They must be easier to keep cool in the torrid summers.  

One of the modern apartment buildings in Scottsdale, AZ

• You can say that this trip started with a beer. Several years back (2012), we went to the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, CO. There, we tasted many beers but one in particular stood out for us and one of Aa’s friends: the Orange Blossom (a lager) of the Papago Brewery in Scottsdale, AZ. Ever since 2012, I have wanted to find a way to visit Scottsdale and get all the beer I wanted. Coming here, I was hoping that the beer is local enough and good enough (it won a medal in its category at the beer festival) that every restaurant would carry it on their menu. Not the case. We finally did find one of the two beer joints (Huss Brewing)  that carry it on tap and it was every drop as good as I remembered it. 

Orange blossom lager (right) at Hussing Brewing in Scottsdale, AZ

• Food and service won everywhere in Phoenix except the airport. If you want a piece of white bread (when you actually ordered a slice of sourdough) with a side of attitude at 7AM - go to the airport and order it first thing in the morning. Not a lie! 

So. Many. Birds. We saw such great diversity of birds and hundreds of wild quail.

Just a glimpse of the Desert Botanical garden in Scottsdale which was amazing. One of the most beautiful botanical gardens I have seen. You think that desert vegetation is sparse and poor, but it offers such diversity and surprise. Life is truly miraculous and it springs everywhere ...

As we were making our way out of the botanical gardens, we caught a glimpse of the iconic Arizona sunset. It was as breathtaking as you always hear about ...

25 Years

25 years ago today, I boarded a KLM flight from Bucharest, Romania, where I said "goodbye" to my tearful parents, sister, and a childhood friend, en route to Amsterdam for a brief layover. After that, I boarded a Northwest flight to Atlanta, GA onward to my very first visit to the USA. 

My mom would tell you that after I passed passport control in Bucharest, I waved them goodbye one last time, and headed for the gate, without ever glancing back. 

I came here on a Business Visa that was to expire in exactly 4 months, on May 19. On that day, January 19, 1998, I had no way to envision that you could build a while life in as little as 4 months! But dad was very adamant: "You make it or break it in those 4 months. You might never see another visa again, so make it worthwhile!" I was not yet 23. 

My 'to do' list was pretty short, but ballsy, nonetheless. I didn't know what the future would bring, but if the future offered me to stay in America (which was my dad's wish for me ever since I could remember), I wanted a couple of few things:

• A legal status. 
• A job small enough to be able to perform with my education at the time (English major graduate) without having to go back to school, and big enough to afford me to live a decent life - a small place to live, a small but reliable car, some pocket money to travel once or twice a year.
• Some sort of treatment for my genetic condition which was predicting that I would not make it past the age of 25. I so wanted to live past that fast-approaching age! 
• To be free. To be truly free to be who I am, without apologies. To not pay bribes for the rest of my life for things that are my rights. To be free to speak my mind without fear that some government functionary would take their power tripping on me just 'cause they can. 

That was about it. You can call it "my American dream".

Northwest is long gone - I almost cried when it became Delta. That was my plane! My Mayflower, if you will! I have learned more things than I can count, and I have aged by many decades, physically, and by centuries emotionally and mentally. I have had my moments at the top of the mountain, victorious and lonely, and I have had more joy than anyone should be allowed in a lifetime. I have been truly blessed. I have had my heart broken more times than I can count. By people, by love, by governments, by times ... But all in all, I have felt fortunate and oh, so undeservingly and hopelessly lucky! 

On such an important day for me, I don't feel accomplished, I don't feel short-changed, nor disappointed that I have not done more. I feel at peace. I truly hope I see many more anniversaries, but if this were to be my last one, I'd be pretty pleased. More than anything - I feel tired and ready for more - all at the same time. 

I hope that the next 25 will be half as eventful as these first 25. And today, I am without a "to do" list. Today, I just want to never forget that when you truly mean to accomplish something, 4 months is enough! 

It was a plane like this one that brought me over on my first journey. I will never forget it! 

The Pup

“Who needs a house up on a hill

When you can have one on four wheels
And take it anywhere the wind might blow
(…)
Just hang a map and throw a dart
And pray to God the engine starts and go.

(…)

Parking lots and county lines
Countin' mile marker signs
Where the buffalo and antelope
(…)
One more postcard for the wall
Off in our home sweet home away from home”

I dreamed of camping in The Rockies since my first trip there, to Vail, CO in 1999. You can say that was a century-old dream. As such.

We were lucky enough to move Out West in 2010 and we tent camped in various places, but not as much as I wanted to. I was too scared to. Too scared of bears and too scared of the random (and frequent) rattlesnake.

In the summer/ fall of 2015, we bought a camper, for added security and because neither one of us was done camping. We called it “The Pup”. That was really, its name – “The Wolf Pup” from Forest River. 

The Pup

We bought it for one feature only: it had an enormous window right in front of the dining table. We dreamed of having many meals on that table while watching the wildlife and the vegetation. And that, we did.

That window!! 

My mom made us a cross-stitched framed “poster” to hang in it. It felt like home. If you’ve never owned a camper or used one, it’s like having a vacation home anywhere you want to be. Wherever you go, you change your landscape, your view, but you’re still home. Like you never left. No need to sanitize your bathroom when your hotel is your own house.

Mom's cross-stitch 

We kept a “Wolf Pup Journal” in it and we both wrote about every stay in The Rockies, and then across America, and then around NC and VA. Here are some samples from our adventures.

“First trip ever together, in a camper. Beautiful fall colors. Temps dropped to 65F. (…) The campground is full of mooing cows. Love it! (…) Our favorite meal was the baked potatoes. Just wrapped in foil and cooked in the fire. Tonight we’re having pancakes – just fried dough in the flat iron press. The fall is gentle and gorgeous, but it is bitter cold at night. Grateful for the camper! It’s been a no phone and no internet kind of weekend.” (me) – September 2015 - Diamond Campground in Spanish Fork Canyon, UT

“As I write this we are sitting in our camp chairs, relaxing, enjoying the sound of the river, the falling yellow and orange leaves. And the sounds from the river.” (Aa.)

“This is a gorgeous campground – very woodsy and shaded. We’re camping by The Salt Creek and the mountain stream song is soothing. It’s late in the year but it’s 80F+ today. So peaceful.(…) A deer came and drank from the creek this morning, over breakfast. ” (me)  – September 2015 – Ponderosa Campground on Nebo Loop, UT

“Our site has lots of sap on everything, from the towering pine trees above us. Yesterday, around 5PM, we were having a snack and Aa. saw a deer outside our dining seat window – so close, just outside - eating trees.” (me) – June 2016 - Timpanogos Campground, Alpine Loop, UT

“Reason #1 why we bought a camper was so that we could feel safe to camp off the grid, meaning not in a campground. So, this is our first try. (…) We picked a pasture by the side of the river, on the right of the road. (…) There is not much to be heard, other than the occasional breeze through the tall grasses and the stream right in front of us. There is a rare car, and lots of close gun shots. I am thinking of the Old West: we have a shovel waiting right next to the firepit, gun shots, tall grasses, a big, cloudless, tall sky above us. Old and New West at its best.” (me) – August 2016 - off the grid in Diamond Fork Canyon, UT

“This time the campground is a ghost town! Maybe two other couples and the camp host. I love camping in the fall for this reason: quiet and uncrowded. We didn’t forget anything this time, … but we needed more duct tape! Always can use more of that!” (me)

“Shortly after arriving we had a short thunderstorm. We sat under the awning and read. After the storm, we shot the water on leaves then went for a hike. Had a lot of trouble keeping the fire going today.” (Aa.)  – October 2016 - Cherry Campground – Spanish Fork, UT

The West and The East

“We’re above 8000F and my heart can tell you that. I don’t have enough air, and my throat feels strangled, but the view from up here is stunning! We’re parked atop this huge pasture covered in yellow daisies. Bugs, butterflies and birds hover over it in droves. Then, in the way distance, the Nebo range stands tall and green with hints of red rock. It’s probably one of the most beautiful places we’ve ever camped in.” (me) – July 2017 -  Blackhawk Campground on Nebo Loop, UT

“After lunch we explored the river behind our site. The river’s so full and as loud as a torrential downpour. The whole weekend we felt like it was raining outside, but it was just the river. The site and the entire campground are the most forested that we’ve ever camped in. (…) On Saturday, I painted a campfire in the woods and a lotus flower. We napped. At night, Aa. learned to play Macau and he loves it.” (me) – July 2017 – Tanners Flat Campground, Little Cottonwood Canyon, UT

The past-times

“The trip Eastward started yesterday. We spent the first night on the road at The Moab KOA. It’s a lovely, quiet place on Highway 191. (…) Gypsy is still a bit scared, but he is better by the hour. He’s scared when the heater comes on and when he sees other people outside our window.” (me) – October 2017 – Moab KOA, UT

“We drove on Historic Route 66 the whole way from New Mexico. I felt like such a hippie. Oklahoma is humid and hot.” (me) – Elk City KOA, OK

The KOAs

“The first camping trip since we moved back to NC. We were reminded very quickly on our first night, that we can no longer camp in the summer in NC. The heat, humidity and bugs made it impossible to be outside or have a pleasant campfire. (…) We hiked, we napped, I wrote, we read and it’s been fun to do something else than be in the house.” (me) – Holly Point Campground, Falls Lake, NC

“After getting the pup situated, I checked in with the campground host. I then delivered firewood to friends (…). It’s cold and rainy, so we did hot dogs and beans on the stove. It was a delicious dinner.” (Aa.) – November 2018 – Camping with friends in Hanging Rock State Park, NC

The food gets a different dimension out there 

“The site we have is right on Smith Mountain Lake. (…) It’s been great to look at this huge lake, hear the geese and crickets sing their song, hear the waves splash the shore when a boat goes by, see the huge fish jump out of the water for a sip of real air. (…) Surely every trip is a lesson and a memory for both of us.” (me) – August 2019 – Camping with friends in Camp Kilowatt, Union Hall, VA

People buy campers for various reasons. Some buy them to have them as their home. We bought ours to find peace in The Rockies. Off the grid. When we moved back East, the landscape, the weather did not allow for the same wilderness and getting-lost-ness that we had experienced in The West. It was time to say goodbye. And we did. This week. We’re left full of longing, but happy that we had these four years of learning and communing with nature in a way you can’t do from your couch.

Good bye, Pup! We both hope you can make many more people 

feel at home and safe, like you did with us!  

Never understood whether the rainbow starting in my home was supposed to be a good omen or not: Driving back East to NC we drove for a whole day into a downpour which became a tornado at one point. As we were getting closer, the rainbow dumped into our Pup. At that time, with the Utah house sold and the NC one not bought yet, The Pup was our only home. 

That Wild Creature. The West.

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.