The cost of living is high in Santa Fe, but it is no surprise when it offers something very different to other urban cities. Its buildings must be painted one of 54 shades of brown by law and are almost always made of stone. The city offers some exquisite jewellery pieces which is sometimes the very thing that attracts visitors to the city. A lot of residents make their living by selling handmade jewellery encrusted with precious gems. There is a market in the main square almost every day selling gold bangles, rusty silverware, carved metal bookmarks, and carefully cut rings and necklaces.
On my flight over to Santa Fe, I became friends with the girl besides me, Anna, who had completed her Physics PhD in Cambridge and was now working for the NASA program in Santa Fe. She did not enjoy her time much in the city because of how sparse the area is. The airport in Santa Fe was miniature. There was only one baggage carousel, and my bag was only one of about 5 to come off the belt. We were in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea how I would get to my hostel. Fortunately, Anna offered to drive me straight to the door of my hostel.
The hostel was small, cosy and communal. It ran as a not-for-profit organization, and therefore each guest was required to undertake a chore each day to maintain the hostel. On the day that I arrived, I walked into the kitchen to find huge boxes of breads pastries, cakes and treats; packaged wholesome salads; big bowls of fruit and veg; and spreads and dips to devour: all that had been delivered by Whole Foods supermarket that day. It turns out they receive such a delivery every Sunday, and I just so happened to arrive on a Sunday, so it was all fresh and abundant! That certainly kept me going for a few days. Every Sunday, Whole Foods deliver food that they can no longer sell to nearby charities or not-for-profits, and the hostel was one of such recipients. Many of the guests were staying in Santa Fe for spiritual reasons.
I had been warned about the deceptively powerful sun here. It was more humid in Texas and therefore people were more precautious about the sun, but because it was cooler in Santa Fe, the skies were very clear, there was very little shade and the sun especially hot. I learnt this quickly after burning my shoulders for 10 minutes under the sun.
The hostel was not far from a well-known attraction called the Meow Wolf Museum. It is an immersive art installation that was commissioned by the writer of the Game of Thrones. Inside, it begins as a murder mystery with clues guiding you through a house whose washing machine can be entered to glide down a slide into another room. There are secret passage-ways such as through the fridge, interesting soundscapes and music, and different rooms to explore. The walk on the way to the museum was interesting in itself, as I passed many vintage shops and boutique stores that would go unnoticed unless you were to walk closely to them. That evening, I cooked myself some Mexican eggs with the ingredients in the kitchen and whilst cooking, met a fellow traveller, Juan who was from Ecuador. The following day, we met for breakfast and caught a bus up to the town of Taos. The bus was approximately a 2.5 hour journey. On our bus was a runner who claimed to run 100 miles every day and supposedly held the world recording for running a marathon in record time. He also had an alcohol tracker clipped to his ankle; at least, this was what he had told us it was.
Juan and I visited the Hanuman temple in Taos. Just upon arriving, the temple was serving an Indian lunch. We grabbed the metal trays from the side and ate a delicious turmeric soup and tabbouleh-style salad. The soup was thick, made with chickpea flour, buttermilk and spices. The salad consisted of olives, leaves, almonds and chickpeas, served with a spicy chutney on the side. Most of those at the temple were there on a retreat, to engage in spiritual practice, spend their time reading or meditating, gardening and reflecting. The temple was nested in tranquil gardens and walked upon by colourful peacocks. A man with dreadlocks walked around the grounds, and told us he had been farming in the temple for 4 years. When asked about his future, he replied, “My only goal is the now.” We spent time talking to the retreaters at the temple and taking in the tranquil surroundings.
We then walked towards the plaza and found a popular coffee shop, where we ordered an unusual drink called Mocha Burgia. It was served in a tiny cup, was densely rich with dark chocolate, and cost a full $4. Shortly, we had to rush back to make the only bus that would return us to the hostel that day. That evening, Juan and I decided to explore downtown Santa Fe by night. Few buses past us by, so we tried our hand at hitch hiking and to our surprise, a man pulled over for us. Whilst downtown, Juan and I stumbled upon the oldest street in America, as well as the oldest house and church. A man working at a hotel on this street told us about the interior décor of the rooms: the art had been so colourful that it was too difficult to sell it to the public. People did not wish to own such art for their own homes so it was used in the hotel instead. The worker also told us that Will Smith had hired out all of the rooms of this hotel for a week over Christmas. The downtown of Santa Fe was like a ghost town. We saw only one bar open and little more than two restaurants still serving food.
It is almost impossible to get around the city without a car. It had not been realistic for Juan and myself to visit Taos by bus as the times were very inconvenient, infrequent and irregular. There were many things I wanted to do around Santa Fe, but I was simply not mobile without a car. The following day, I contacted the young man who had given Juan and I a lift to the downtown area; since he had a car, we would be able to explore places further away. He had left his contact details with the reception of our hostel, and so I decided to throw a message out about suggestions for things to do in Santa Fe. By the time the afternoon came around, we were hiking together at Ghost Ranch, known for being both the home and the source of inspiration of the paintings of Georgia O’ Keeffe. I had never before experienced how beautiful rock and sand could be. The landscape before us was a vast carving of emptiness, shadows being created by either the shape of the mountains or the sun, the latter giving the illusion that there were more peaks and valleys than there really were. Although slightly discomforted by the thought of mountain lions roaming these territories, I trusted that the talk of Ghost Ranch as a great hiking destination had taken the likelihood of such encounters into account. Immediately after, we drove to Ojio Caliente Springs which was approximately another one hour drive. I had been urged to visit these hot springs by many different people I had met in Santa Fe. The springs were a true place for relaxation. We spent a couple of hours soaking in the hot spring pools, trying out the different spring waters as the sun set around us.
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Earlier that same day, I bought a swim suit for $7.50 from a thrift store near to the hostel; I also bought a world map for 10 cents. On my way back to the hostel from the thrift store, I stopped into an antique furniture store. However, there were many very unusual and interesting items in the store. Firstly, I spotted a penguin-shaped cocktail shaker. The first time I had ever seen one of these, and the very reason that I recognized it, was just two days ago at the Dallas Museum of Art. There was a special exhibition on at the time that I had visited on cocktail-making glasses, shakers and collections and their history. The penguin-shaped bottle was one of them – they were incredibly heavy, unusual, sophisticated and reminiscent of the old days. I was shocked to have found an ornament deemed a work of art, that was enclosed in glass, and that I had seen for the first time just days ago, here in a small antique store in a quiet area of Santa Fe, Mexico. Had it not weighed so much, I’d have been tempted to claim ownership. As I continued to browse, I saw a jacket dangling from a hanger. It was the only item of clothing in the store. Again, because of something I had seen in Dallas, to my amazement, I recognized the stitching. The jacket was made using a wax technique to imprint patterns over the jacket, which was interwoven with intricate and delicate stitching. I had seen this very technique being showcased at the Dallas Museum of Art; an exhibition on South Asian art hung up huge pieces of fabric designed using this waxing technique, protected by glass. There was a detailed timeline that explained the process of the technique, and at the time, I was amazed at how it could produce such patterns and how ingenious of a technique it was. It rightly took its place as an art form in the museum. Days later, I was confronted with a wearable piece of clothing made with this very technique. The jacket was more than just a piece of clothing; it was art. The seller who had collected it told me that the jacket had been made by the Mau tribe in South East Asia, in China. “A few days ago,” he continued, “a fashion designer walked into my store and looked at that jacket. He wanted to buy the fabric and cut it up into a new piece. I didn’t want to sell it to him; I didn’t like the idea of this piece I had collected being cut up into little pieces and ruined.” I wanted it for what it was, for I appreciated it for what it was, for the journey it had taken and the hands that it had passed down. It was now in my hands to protect, and to preserve. He sold the item to me (and I bought it).