Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
in the road which requires you to move the steering wheel an inch to the right or left for
two seconds, and that's your excitement for the hour. The rest of the time you don't move
a muscle. Your buttocks grow numb and begin to feel as if they belong to another person.
IntheearlyafternoonIcrossedoverintoNewMexico-oneofthehighpointsoftheday-and
sighedatthediscoverythatitwasjustasunstimulatingasColoradohadbeen.Iswitchedon
theradio.IwassofarfromanywherethatIcouldpickuponlyscattered stations, andthose
were all Spanish-speaking onesplaying that kindofaye-yi-yi Mexican music that'salways
sungbystrollingmusicianswithdroopymustachesandbigsombrerosinthesortofrestaur-
ants where high-school teachers take their wives for their thirtieth wedding anniversaries-
the sort of places where they like to set your food alight to impress you. It had never once
occurredtomeinthirty-sixyearsoflivingthatanyonelistenedtoMexicanmusicforpleas-
ure.Yetheretherewereadozenstationsblaringitout.Aftereachsong,adiscjockeywould
come on and jabber for a minute or two in Spanish in the tone of a man who has just had
his nuts slammed in a drawer. There would then be a break for an advertisement, read by a
man who sounded even more urgent and excited-he clearly was having his nuts repeatedly
slammedinadrawer-andthentherewouldbeanothersong.Orrather,itwouldbethesame
song again, as far as I could tell. That is the unfortunate thing about Mexican musicians.
Theyseemtoknowonlyonetune.Thismayexplainwhytheyhavedifficultyfindingwork
anywhere other than at second-rate restaurants.
At a hamlet called Tres Piedras-almost every place in New Mexico has a Spanish name-I
took Highway 64 to Taos, and things began to improve. The hills grew darker and the sage
became denser and lusher. Everyone always talks about the sky around Taos, and it is as-
tonishing. I had never seen a sky so vivid and blue, so liquid. The air in this part of the
desert is so clear you can sometimes see 180 miles, or so my guidebook said. In any case,
you can certainly see why Taos has always attracted artists and writers-or at least you can
untilyougettoTaositself.Ihadexpectedittobeasweetlittleartists'colony,fullofpeople
with smocks and easels, and it was just a tourist trap, with slowmoving traffic and stores
selling ugly Indian pottery and big silver belt buckles and postcards. There were a couple
of interesting galleries, but mostly it was hot and dusty and full of silver-haired hippies.
It was mildly amusing to see that hippies still existedindeed were now grandparents-but it
was scarcely worth the bother of getting there. So I drove on to Santa Fe, fearful that it
would be much the same. But it was not. In fact, it was quite beautiful, and I was instantly
charmed.
The first nice thing about Santa Fe is that it has trees. It has trees and grass and shade and
cool plazas full of flowers and plants and the soothing burble of running water. After days
of driving across the barren wastes of the West this is a treat beyond dimension. The air
