Having zigzagged back to Utah from Arizona, we dipped into the southwest corner of Colorado to take the diagonal across Four Corners, the proud place where four ruler-drawn state borders meet – and a fee charged by the Navajo tribe to have to privilege of taking a picture of your limbs starring out from this all-important point in America (and hopefully buy a few souvenirs from the dilapidated stands circling the dial). Feeling only slightly ripped-off, we headed towards the well-named Shiprock, jutting out of the vast dry land of northwest New Mexico. We had decided to go to Santa Fe, legend of artistic community and mixed culture. Coming in to town (surprisingly small for a state capital) its character was evident in the soft-cornered plaster buildings, like wind-tormented sand castles. The Missons (Spanish churches) are distinct in the style, and we rolled though the Plaza, and out again to find a youth hostel.
The grey-haired dude at the counter gave us a speech about independence and “doing our own thing” when we mentioned the facility’s invisible listings… we took a room and listened to house rules, which we would experience first-hand in the morning when we were given “chores” to sweep and take out garbage before getting our key deposit back. Long live communal living. It was a nice idea, though, and we were advised a very good local Taqueria for dinner, where the salsa was hot (no bland tomatoes or the like used in New Mexico!) and the margaritas strong. In the morning we went back downtown to gaze at gallery windows – a lot of native and Mexican inspiration, but colours too vibrant for my taste on the most part. There were exhibitions of Norval Morriseau (a Canadian native I know of) and Georgia O’Keefe, but we passed them by and wandered through the markets, asking about the local woven blankets, baskets, horse-hair pottery and turquoise jewellery. Finally we continued on through the state, to try to make it a ways towards Dallas.
No comments:
Post a Comment