tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90709752450917498332024-03-05T08:39:26.399-07:00OH THE PLACES YOU'LL GOA travel / food / lifestyle blog enabled by telecommuting."Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.comBlogger104125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-60564214406665851872013-09-19T13:14:00.000-06:002014-10-30T15:16:55.415-06:00Albuquerque Breaks into the Zeitgeist Thanks to Breaking Bad<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was
forced to blog about <i>Breaking
Bad</i>. Filmed at <a href="http://www.abqstudios.com/" target="_blank">Albuquerque Studios</a>, the Emmy-winning, universally
revered television show is all any Burqueno (aka <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/03/baked-in-artistry-in-albuquerque-new.html" target="_blank">Albuquerque</a> resident) has been
able to talk about since the final eight episodes began airing six weeks
ago. Now that the end is near, everyone
here seems to be having a collective epiphany, followed by an intoxicating
surge of pride, about how pivotal the show has been for Albuquerque –
economically, of course, but also in other intangible ways that are harder to
quantify but impossible to ignore. Even
the show’s producers realize this, leading them to <a href="http://www.uproxx.com/tv/2013/08/breaking-bad-thanks-albuquerque-billboards/" target="_blank">buy a bunch of billboards</a> to thank Albuquerque for “the great
chemistry.” I, for one, had a nearly
choked-up reaction to this gesture. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.uproxx.com/tv/2013/08/breaking-bad-thanks-albuquerque-billboards/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN3VQMp0orGu-sGoslW_pucD-7-XtnbsP7PmSNnx8KGfE4-zp77ZGLjs1clMfPTMbG9KRtamyO_PUTkugbL7RSpRgSdvZwSY9PldMDNxCChn6OZjSrsgYsV7N3FqnRRte5bVJiIisvYWPj/s400/Breaking+Bad+Billboard.jpg" height="190" width="400" /></a></div>
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To put it simply, AMC’s runaway hit has put Albuquerque –
an underrated city of 1 million that <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/5-free-things-mexicos-largest-city-162758418.html">many
Americans can’t spell</a> and a surprising number think is located in Mexico – on the map, both geographically and
psychologically. (Case in point: A recent <i>Entertainment
Weekly</i> cover story on the show listed Albuquerque as a stand-alone city name,
like New York or Chicago or Los Angeles.)
The fact that the gritty, underdog, crime-laced backdrop of Albuquerque
plays such an important role in the plausability of Walt’s story makes it a
place that has genuinely rooted in the minds of fans both in the US and
abroad. Yes, abroad! What’s been truly shocking is the number of international
visitors – particularly Japanese – who now vacation in Albuquerque because of
their fascination with <i>Breaking Bad</i>. They’re everywhere, taking photos of seedy
locations and venturing into desolate parts of the city that would never
otherwise be part of the “tourist trail.”<br />
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<a href="http://www.abqtrolley.com/index.php/THEBaDTOUR" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EBMdd93nhSHm6GmeZ4GbzIJ_mXrEOMboGO9bpuEeKkzAwDQp1QKWbhoOliJSL2QRYkvbauv_Dsl-SjWn2MUfZJ4689M9Eo_-Eibz3xeDCD3TOCdEuzpbljbnMwKe8sWxmVXUYnB1lhwI/s320/ABQ+Trolley+Bad+Tour.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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At first, they were finding these locations from the show
on their own and recreating scenes by throwing pizza boxes on top of Walt’s house.
Then The Candy Lady in Old Town began selling them <a href="http://thecandylady.com/breakingbad/BBCandy.htm" target="_blank">the same blue candy she supplied for the show</a> as a souvenir - soon followed by <a href="http://thecandylady.com/breakingbad/BBHat.htm" target="_blank">the Heisenberg hat</a>. And
the ABQ Trolley Company began offering its <a href="http://www.abqtrolley.com/index.php/THEBaDTOUR" target="_blank">wildly popular <i>Breaking Bad</i> trolley tour</a>. And
the City of Albuquerque added <a href="http://www.itsatrip.org/albuquerque/arts/breaking-bad-in-albuquerque.aspx" target="_blank">a self-guided <i>Breaking Bad</i> tour</a> on its <a href="http://www.itsatrip.org/" target="_blank">tourism website</a>. And <a href="http://routesrentals.com/" target="_blank">Routes Rentals</a> started its bicycling tour. And Rebel Donuts created <a href="http://rebeldonut.com/index.php/donut-gallery" target="_blank">its blue crackle donut</a>. And <a href="http://www.marblebrewery.com/" target="_blank">Marble Brewery</a> introduced its limited edition beers, Walt’s White Lie and Heisenberg’s Dark, and began hosting viewing parties every Sunday, while <a href="http://www.ilovesupper.com/" target="_blank">The Supper Truck</a>
started selling Los Pollos Hermanos-inspired chicken and wings. And Great Face & Body rolled out its <a href="http://greatfaceandbody.com/bathingbad" target="_blank">blue crystal bath products</a> and <a href="http://greatfaceandbody.com/cook" target="_blank">cooking classes for "Blue Sky" candy</a>. And on and on and
on. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://rebeldonut.com/index.php/donut-gallery" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWOmJ9c3XKK2V28UBJQMCLjB40DuUmgKSaDHMzso5ADJHIHN0bsWLKKgsuFH-PwDVYwrSh2aeStTj-vRokwU7Qok4pH0t03NDaU_sprffYPcok9pEYADp8AHP4qBYgRs9T3OqYLSIIniF/s320/Blue+Sky+Donut.JPG" height="314" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rebel Donut's "Blue Sky" Donut, Inspired by <i>Breaking Bad</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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While the city may have been a tad slow
to catch on and cash in, let’s just say the press has also seemed to jump on this
phenomenon last-minute as well, with more <i>Breaking
Bad</i> travel articles in the past two months than I could count. Among them: <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2013/08/11/travel/albuquerques-role-on-breaking-bad.html?smid=fb-share&_r=0"><i>Los Angeles Times</i></a>, <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/culture/2013/08/walter-whites-hometown.html"><i>The New Yorker</i></a>, <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2013/08/09/travel/breaking-bad-albuquerque/index.html#disqus_thread"><i>CNN</i></a> and <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/travel/destinations/2013/08/11/breaking-bad-albuquerque-tourism/2636859/"><i>USA Today</i></a>. Clearly, <i>Breaking
Bad</i> fever is at dangerous levels everywhere. But for Burquenos, we’ve become hopelessly addicted
to the notoriety, to the success of the show and to the global relevance it’s
given us. At least for two more weeks.</div>
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<a href="http://routesrentals.com/tours/specialty-bike-tours-abq/biking-bad-tour/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV60aaVeRvDOGaa9aIkhthbiTJsgqKYovuadnTj6V5sxEN3zZCpG2dtviV8U33U8Am9OfGrr7AJVDmzH1wY71gq60SzxBXMTfngy945l5KLIiXXDnEWllPzoNRTSsUxyQHXG03UJDe7OTs/s400/Biking+Bad+Banner.png" height="105" width="400" /></a></div>
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I recently gave in to the undertow by signing us up for
Routes Rentals' <a href="http://routesrentals.com/tours/specialty-bike-tours-abq/biking-bad-tour/" target="_blank">three-hour Biking Bad tour</a>, which included locations ranging from Walt and Jesse’s homes to Tuco’s
headquarters to Hank’s DEA office. Led
by guides who were gushing megafans themselves (no one can hide it at this
point, as <a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/talking-bad"><i>Talking Bad</i></a>’s weekly celebrity “super fan” demonstrates), the
tour took us to the locations of unforgettable past scenes (such as the barren lot
where a child on a bike became a murderer), as well as very recent ones,
including the plaza where Walt waited on a bench in vain for Jesse to arrive
for a meet-up. That one was especially
eerie, as the scene was still incredibly fresh, and I could just imagine Jesse
walking away in a panic.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPN4WR-TTYHkWSg6DjUZ6hiSVAWe9uwWA4Ayv4enibY3UIDUccKtYXIGCsI-aicrrwbOdDSfaDazpZXSqwK0r3R9yI8pGuCKte3iG8x4aqUQgfoV64zrRh70gy_oUNVc7_x_aLJYsaySy/s1600/Downtown+ABQ+Plaza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPN4WR-TTYHkWSg6DjUZ6hiSVAWe9uwWA4Ayv4enibY3UIDUccKtYXIGCsI-aicrrwbOdDSfaDazpZXSqwK0r3R9yI8pGuCKte3iG8x4aqUQgfoV64zrRh70gy_oUNVc7_x_aLJYsaySy/s400/Downtown+ABQ+Plaza.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The downtown plaza where Walt asked Jesse to meet him - only to have Jesse get spooked and walk away.</td></tr>
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The
tour let me see my adopted city thorough the eyes of a giddy tourist and led me into
unknown areas both quaint and sketchy. I
then got my final gratification when the most recent episode – during the
flashback – showed Walt pitching the idea of a day trip to the <a href="http://www.turquoisetrail.org/">Turquoise Trail</a>,<a href="http://tinkertown.com/"> Tinkertown</a> and <a href="http://www.turquoisetrail.org/stops/category/madrid/">Madrid</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"> </span>to Skyler. As
an East Mountainer who lives close to all three, it’s exactly what I'd do with
visiting friends, making me feel one with Walt in a way that was both exciting and disconcerting.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oOBZq5fqWiQ8iWSKFdb5DqbXN4b1mZFS2vgGLv3HoFZKUEb6exf_qsi4HMQR_0Bq_coBQ-KtE8z_1Qv7ZoJfRHzMmQ1sxvLTSoDdvBq4eL7-_q4mkYSDmPZXu_gMnZIZfXs3PwUhOLNB/s1600/Better+Call+Saul.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oOBZq5fqWiQ8iWSKFdb5DqbXN4b1mZFS2vgGLv3HoFZKUEb6exf_qsi4HMQR_0Bq_coBQ-KtE8z_1Qv7ZoJfRHzMmQ1sxvLTSoDdvBq4eL7-_q4mkYSDmPZXu_gMnZIZfXs3PwUhOLNB/s400/Better+Call+Saul.JPG" height="107" width="400" /></a></div>
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Whether the <i>Breaking
Bad</i> tourism juggernaut can be sustained, it’s hard to say. But there’s one big potential bright spot –
the <i>Breaking Bad</i> spinoff <i>Better Call Saul</i>, starring Bob Odenkirk
as the strip mall personal injury attorney* who reluctantly enabled Walt’s
deepening criminal activity, was recently <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/12/business/media/breaking-bad-spinoff-better-call-saul-is-picked-up-by-amc.html?smid=fb-nytimes&WT.z_sma=BU_BBS_20130912&_r=0">picked
up by AMC</a>. No word yet on where it
will film, but I will spit out my Chai tea if it turns out to be anywhere other
than Albuquerque. Local entertainment website One Headlight Ink even <a href="http://www.oneheadlightink.com/sindication/?s=better+call+saul&x=9&y=9" target="_blank">conducted a poll recently</a> about whether the slimy yet shrewd Saul Goodman will
be portrayed as a graduate of the University of New Mexico (UNM) law school, which
has the unfortunate distinction of <a href="http://www.abqjournal.com/228003/news/unm-law-school-applications-dip.html">facing
a severe drop in applications in recent years</a>.
But you gotta admit – it sounds just about right, doesn’t it? </div>
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*<i>Reportedly, the
Saul Goodman character was based on Ron Bell, a real-life personal injury and
DUI attorney in Albuquerque who has kitschy promotional billboards all over the
city. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-56732311311658188682013-03-24T13:26:00.000-06:002013-03-24T13:26:25.397-06:00The Secret Sandstone Caves of New Mexico<br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbJOMJhA0hrl9EnA81g3MRA_fvQqvwKU0reVYSkEdyeLUTa4KzGv_7cy2BhwzdbW0yMuMniJFvA5B3pLNWEd-js01z87IjtZXSLtqFDBSrpCFrz09xDcRyRXieiF4nQigX68vUEkTXkkH/s320/IMG_2088.JPG" width="239" /></div>
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In fall 2011, my partner Kevin was working on a film called <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2072066/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1" target="_blank">Blaze You Out</a>.</i> One of the scenes took place in a carved
sandstone cave located near Espanola, New Mexico, that is known as The Tree
Cave. Kevin took a bunch of photos of
this amazing cave – one of which we blew up on canvas and have hanging in our dining
room – and he also got the opportunity to talk briefly with Robert “Ra”
Paulette, the artist who’d singlehandedly sculpted the cave out of soft,
naturally occurring sandstone. Ra shared how this was one of several caves he’d
created in Northern New Mexico as a labor of love and a gift to his fellow New Mexicans. He sees them as wilderness sanctuaries that
can help modern humans connect with their innate emotions.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YCsHeC9J8h9Ap7-nShyXoC4l_h21qdMWmBT_XKNv1WPW57iZbKbaPOm8Q1FNVcHbmDajfGGwLFtpXERCqdKKYFwWrZ581ezCAlflTk9EWv4IcGP07lkFQKdV3q1M20_bBrB9LHwqQBwo/s1600/IMG_2049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YCsHeC9J8h9Ap7-nShyXoC4l_h21qdMWmBT_XKNv1WPW57iZbKbaPOm8Q1FNVcHbmDajfGGwLFtpXERCqdKKYFwWrZ581ezCAlflTk9EWv4IcGP07lkFQKdV3q1M20_bBrB9LHwqQBwo/s320/IMG_2049.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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It’s a little hard to understand how a cave
could do that unless you see one of Ra’s creations for yourself, which is
exactly what I did last weekend.
After much build-up, we finally took a day trip to see The Tree Cave
along with two friends. One was a friend
who’d inquired about the photo in our dining room and expressed a keen desire
to visit the cave. Another was a friend
who grew up in Taos and was the only person thus far who had recognized the photo
in our home and was familiar with The Tree Cave. So the four of us headed out on our mission
to experience or revisit this awe-inspiring work of art that’s unmarked, hidden
and known only to those who, well, know. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKfAej_2hie7XJZCFv1noWYSfHOXrRyig3EixKN3K30YfNI5nq5-uyAE3bVARzEBAB0QcWfxdznpNanNYubU5tfnkYGxJHbFdwQHOmjvN11RvmVQidKT0pFp2N1yc223AdAMB7KJbk08k/s1600/IMG_2054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKfAej_2hie7XJZCFv1noWYSfHOXrRyig3EixKN3K30YfNI5nq5-uyAE3bVARzEBAB0QcWfxdznpNanNYubU5tfnkYGxJHbFdwQHOmjvN11RvmVQidKT0pFp2N1yc223AdAMB7KJbk08k/s320/IMG_2054.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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Hiking up to the cave from the road, you are surrounded on
all sides by regal sandstone formations, all jagged and crumbling. It becomes quite clear how Ra picked this
spot, as the creamy-colored sandstone is incredibly soft and malleable. (That’s what allowed him to dig out the cave,
which he does all by himself until he gets tired. Then, as he told Kevin, he gets some folks to
help him cart away the excess sand.) The
first sign of something unusual is a cluster of skylights in the hillside far
above, which illuminate the cave with light and shadows. Then you see the long, narrow entrance, and
after passing through, find yourself in a massive chamber with a huge “tree
trunk” column in the center. The ceiling
is so high (20+ feet?) that you have the feeling – and acoustics – of a
cathedral. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFDM61rI-cPGGRAOTrcohUNdIhdRL348ytJhcKIAIlENDMyMyKLKt_x8ea-u2H1t1W9Fh-uOIIZaZkcT3Fp7pJMV3KdYn_O4ihZKiUYZ0A_gG61mHa81cOoYiPleZmNYK5G1JQQ64S0TZ/s1600/IMG_2052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFDM61rI-cPGGRAOTrcohUNdIhdRL348ytJhcKIAIlENDMyMyKLKt_x8ea-u2H1t1W9Fh-uOIIZaZkcT3Fp7pJMV3KdYn_O4ihZKiUYZ0A_gG61mHa81cOoYiPleZmNYK5G1JQQ64S0TZ/s320/IMG_2052.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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But it’s really what’s on those ceilings and walls that I
find hardest to describe (and thus I refer you to the photos). Creeping tree branches are carved in fluid
patterns and interlaced with hearts and flowers, the two secondary motifs of
the cave. There are also a number of carved
benches and seating alcoves, allowing you to sit down or step into a more
intimate space for reflection. Wall
niches occur throughout and have been decorated with candles and offerings from
visitors, including rocks, flower petals, movie tickets and rosaries. One has also been claimed by a resident bird
for her nest. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhripjVP1lNsONVMUf7QJgLg8pBwMfEQVbuaETz9R4PQCL3kwuHtcx04qmvomFVvsNZg1pe_wz1aHnbE4z63MZDOmZnDQkA0QQjf0fwkcjyCUVMwENRe7PxtoVvanDI7pq5zKXbU_UCarl0/s1600/IMG_2057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhripjVP1lNsONVMUf7QJgLg8pBwMfEQVbuaETz9R4PQCL3kwuHtcx04qmvomFVvsNZg1pe_wz1aHnbE4z63MZDOmZnDQkA0QQjf0fwkcjyCUVMwENRe7PxtoVvanDI7pq5zKXbU_UCarl0/s320/IMG_2057.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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Sitting in one of the recessed benches, I noticed that my
voice was magnified within the niche, despite talking in a whisper. This is one of the many atmospheric elements
of the cave, like its cool air and the way the
skylights highlight various carvings as the sun moves. Looking around, I felt the
tree branches started to look more and more like the ribbing on the interior of a
human’s intestines. Perhaps this was
because I felt enveloped in this magical experience. Looking at the myriad hearts carved into the gritty walls, it felt like I was inside “the lower intestine of love.” Unlike other art that you look at and witness,
this is art you can walk around in, touch, live and
breathe. Upon stepping back outside of it, you can't help but be transformed. You walk out into the hot, bright day marveling at mankind’s potential to be truly loving and giving. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHA3_Lp_i346btcI4UlEMxxJnkwgNer31rmox-1F0uwjcDkj_yZCYOjP9H8ywXNekevtDfFZ0BP_M0DrPePZ-ArTvHJ-qtq-h2aJYCo1DB4wXIxuyBESbKeQQ2vv-4nl5id87xliSBjp_Z/s1600/IMG_2064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHA3_Lp_i346btcI4UlEMxxJnkwgNer31rmox-1F0uwjcDkj_yZCYOjP9H8ywXNekevtDfFZ0BP_M0DrPePZ-ArTvHJ-qtq-h2aJYCo1DB4wXIxuyBESbKeQQ2vv-4nl5id87xliSBjp_Z/s320/IMG_2064.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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Now, I’m sure that makes me sound like a real
new age New Mexican, but it’s proof that Ra’s goal of creating surprising
emotions and thoughts with his caves is not that far-fetched. The Tree Cave is a very, very special place,
and I am humbled that I was able to experience it. I’ve since learned more about Ra Paulette in
<a href="http://www.embudovalleylibrary.org/local/ftp/vod/2col-ra.pdf" target="_blank">an oral history I found online</a>.
Surprisingly, however, this was one of only 10 results in my Google search
for information about him. (The only
major media coverage I found was an <a href="http://articles.latimes.com/1996-09-01/local/me-39768_1_cave" target="_blank">LATimes article from the 90s</a>.) He is a
professed hermit, and it seems he likes it that way. </div>
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Initially, before I visited, I wondered why Ra didn’t lead tours or charge
admission to the caves he’d spent years creating (for example, two to three
years per cave), but now I understand how antithetical that idea is to his artistic
philosophy. He no more owns the caves
than the private or public land they were built on. They
belong to New Mexico, and I only hope that future owners of the land will
continue to honor that. </div>
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"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-5673425901764704822012-05-15T21:08:00.001-06:002012-05-15T21:23:11.216-06:00The Street Art of Buenos Aires, Argentina<br />
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A few weeks ago, just before leaving for <st1:city w:st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:city>, I randomly got a recommendation
from a stranger. I was in the <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/03/baked-in-artistry-in-albuquerque-new.html">Golden
Crown Panaderia</a> in Old Town Albuquerque yammering about our upcoming
vacation. Out of nowhere, a woman exclaimed,
“You have to take the <st1:street w:st="on">Graffiti
Mundo street</st1:street> art tour!” She went on to tell me that it was the
highlight of her visit to <st1:city w:st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:city>
and that I needed to make a reservation a month in advance. Her fervor was so convincing that I booked it
that week. Thank goodness I did.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirsty of Graffiti Mundo at the first graffiti wall we visit, which spans an entire block. Here we get an introduction to the first collective of pioneering artists and how they got started. They simply asked a store worker nearby if they could paint the wall. He said yes, and so began an ever evolving, often repainted installation. </td></tr>
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Founded by two British expats in 2009, <a href="http://graffitimundo.com/">Graffiti Mundo</a> leads several different
tours of <st1:city w:st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:city>’
unusual and fledgling street art scene.
We chose the <a href="http://graffitimundo.com/graffiti-street-art-tours-buenos-aires/">bike
tour</a>, which takes place on Sundays when there’s less
traffic. For $35, you get a bike rental, helmet and bike guide (all provided by <a href="http://www.bikingbuenosaires.com/">Biking Buenos Aires</a>) plus an
engaging art tour led by Graffiti Mundo.
You also get the equivalent of an international meetup. An Aussie named Kirsty educated us on art,
and the shepherding of our eight-person tour – which included Americans,
Columbians and a Dutch chick – was done with Scandinavian precision and brio by
<a href="http://www.bikingbuenosaires.com/About-Us.html">a fellow named Karri</a>. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFi0b4Bx-AE4IE18h_IIglzkV2_ya1EaCeqmakA1f8_5ifqu9z6gVebIq4nsKFYprXiWxY_l8NK0bHK057MksUgkrv1ygahyphenhyphenIWQXycRjMrSb6VTGaAJSHv_lGCQeaUVlLxpmrCGVS5eZs/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFi0b4Bx-AE4IE18h_IIglzkV2_ya1EaCeqmakA1f8_5ifqu9z6gVebIq4nsKFYprXiWxY_l8NK0bHK057MksUgkrv1ygahyphenhyphenIWQXycRjMrSb6VTGaAJSHv_lGCQeaUVlLxpmrCGVS5eZs/s320/IMG_0837.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike guide Karri (right) keeping us hapless tourists safe. Also, you can see here that each bike rental comes with a custom license plate from that bike's "sponsor." You don't get to choose. The unfortunate plate I got: SCHMERLZ. </td></tr>
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Over the course of four hours, Kirsty led our merry band of
tourists around the historic neighborhoods of <st1:city w:st="on">Palermo</st1:city> and Villa Crespo while Karri put
himself between our group and oncoming traffic at many an intersection. Amazingly, in this big city of speeding,
lane-shifting traffic, every car (including taxis) politely stopped when he
raised his hand or rang his tinny bike bell.
With the fear of death removed and a warm breeze wafting through the
tree-lined (and often cobble-stoned) streets, I found myself as relaxed as the
weekend vibe in <st1:city w:st="on">Palermo</st1:city>, the hippest area of <st1:city w:st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:city>. I was also able to see more of the city than
I had in the entire week prior. On bike,
you simply go farther – and take in more.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYfbxA0fjOFRX2mfE7bZpgOEPlZOKG9iVSxUUGnbuLkxhV_RKdM3O6BuOMyi_vSX5LqHN3EZiW_3dE6OgobJm1o6mL18VYwbb9Z0VhZTFkud3WMPdydC2JEJo9-jwRy-jXq4_KeF1FW89/s1600/IMG_0855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYfbxA0fjOFRX2mfE7bZpgOEPlZOKG9iVSxUUGnbuLkxhV_RKdM3O6BuOMyi_vSX5LqHN3EZiW_3dE6OgobJm1o6mL18VYwbb9Z0VhZTFkud3WMPdydC2JEJo9-jwRy-jXq4_KeF1FW89/s320/IMG_0855.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it a little bit odd to be standing on a cobblestone street, looking at a beautiful old building, that has a very bright, colorful, modern mural on it? Yes and no. But the street art of Buenos Aires is generally embraced by its residents. Even painting over someone's work with a new mural is generally okay, although a few artists get upset about it. Those held in the most esteem are somewhat safe - out of respect. The biggest no no came when someone stole street art off the buildings and put it up in a gallery for sale. </td></tr>
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That was an entirely pleasant perk of
the tour, but Graffiti Mundo also delivered the goods. I learned a LOT about <st1:city w:st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:city> through its street art. As a whole, it provides a fascinating psychological
study of what’s happened <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/business/articles/argentinatimeline.html">since
the Argentine economy collapsed in 2001-2002</a> – triggering frozen bank
accounts, soaring unemployment and an <a href="http://www.economist.com/node/21548229">ongoing financial quagmire</a> – and how art can both process and soothe the country's emotions. This is such a clear realization for Argentines that street art, which only started here after the collapse, is not considered a crime. In fact, artists can work in plain daylight without fear of arrest. In many cases, building owners welcome the artists - or even invite them to come. Case in point: the city's most buzz-worthy restaurant, <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/04/25/travel/25bites.html" target="_blank">Tegui</a>, has a graffiti-covered exterior.</div>
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Below is a selection of my favorite street art “installations” with a bit of detail about each.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbh27miKodti4USqenwjHEBnovJgSGnOmv7D6iv-fNKOOkEOPKCENkQn2XwwUqvsYn0AeVi9jzzqvl8ngeGCPvyo1pOgGuAWoN0rtmiwbOgJcSpiFhgopeA1qis1-vbWedz-8AlKcaVXn/s1600/IMG_0843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbh27miKodti4USqenwjHEBnovJgSGnOmv7D6iv-fNKOOkEOPKCENkQn2XwwUqvsYn0AeVi9jzzqvl8ngeGCPvyo1pOgGuAWoN0rtmiwbOgJcSpiFhgopeA1qis1-vbWedz-8AlKcaVXn/s320/IMG_0843.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A large mural by one of the city's first and best street artists, <a href="http://graffitimundo.com/artists/mart/" target="_blank">Mart</a>, who started at age 12. Like much of his work, it feels very dreamy, fanciful...and almost French. He uses aerosol paint yet achieves very fine lines somehow. It's a very distinctive style that you can recognize instantly when you see his work throughout the city.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCh3gI-joWjcVvFpXwfwSSvj4e35jpGCbA0F5vBjlrdyj_sV4H6UWOmjfEsRspoVW7V_CrKRJEEa1K-4EN_h6krpJQk4N4Uj2bgFBKKYE_nSoLEv4WtQb6rD4FloNr8LnL1Xs84qLMobwA/s1600/IMG_0852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCh3gI-joWjcVvFpXwfwSSvj4e35jpGCbA0F5vBjlrdyj_sV4H6UWOmjfEsRspoVW7V_CrKRJEEa1K-4EN_h6krpJQk4N4Uj2bgFBKKYE_nSoLEv4WtQb6rD4FloNr8LnL1Xs84qLMobwA/s320/IMG_0852.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of a large wall by one of the handful of female street artists, <a href="http://graffitimundo.com/artists/zumi/" target="_blank">Zumi</a>. It's a perfect example of how street artists tried to cheer up the city after the economic collapse - and why the police let them do it without punishment. Animals and other universally beloved, non-controversial symbols became popular subjects. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSOAPLHMAjRSePYOyxDLPx_CgWmn-EitqAoPkV3jjFJjeurCyngvWmofJQ7SvCZ5XTTfhz_8H5iNUBXRvvZLbbAzqVtpXFP9bANQjPtfcyvdy1LCUmgw-vf0rXmQO_ANLeWmV7vPysglE/s1600/IMG_0857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSOAPLHMAjRSePYOyxDLPx_CgWmn-EitqAoPkV3jjFJjeurCyngvWmofJQ7SvCZ5XTTfhz_8H5iNUBXRvvZLbbAzqVtpXFP9bANQjPtfcyvdy1LCUmgw-vf0rXmQO_ANLeWmV7vPysglE/s320/IMG_0857.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A large stencil piece that was put up section by section. Kirsty said this one was meant to be a shocking statement of what could happen in the future if we trash the environment. The artist tried to think of the happiest moment this scenario could affect to create an unsettling juxtaposition.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7-F5hmg0eRfO2x9gnGKcXLbKerjfay8xQ6G3jOmsTYy525-xjNQIPzH7ONyZYFF6fHe9BmQAjuB23L3wVwEVObFvzHtCciGMiQP7ZkiuX9zlLbzp3xhO_jP4sURrthTlcBPDl351p8pQ/s1600/L1090222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7-F5hmg0eRfO2x9gnGKcXLbKerjfay8xQ6G3jOmsTYy525-xjNQIPzH7ONyZYFF6fHe9BmQAjuB23L3wVwEVObFvzHtCciGMiQP7ZkiuX9zlLbzp3xhO_jP4sURrthTlcBPDl351p8pQ/s320/L1090222.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A piece by pioneering street artist <a href="http://graffitimundo.com/artists/ever/" target="_blank">Ever</a>, who often paints faces...but never the eyes. He always does something creative to avoid painting the eyes. As a result, it's also easy to spot his work right away. As for the Mao image, it made me think of how Argentina is currently inching away from capitalism towards isolationism.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHUqOygOJdUwWgXXSGAqIUMNyKVs27wjnzeBIR_HjsVhmZgbQz86a3IWdRJknbkICfDOp1XZWTOY4FMu42LYTametYjbI5Q6hxBC_6PeYYWgOwjPGjejI-NhoG1Hglrl_MvPNWGspPCs1/s1600/L1090236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHUqOygOJdUwWgXXSGAqIUMNyKVs27wjnzeBIR_HjsVhmZgbQz86a3IWdRJknbkICfDOp1XZWTOY4FMu42LYTametYjbI5Q6hxBC_6PeYYWgOwjPGjejI-NhoG1Hglrl_MvPNWGspPCs1/s320/L1090236.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of several incredible, large-scale pieces we saw by <a href="http://graffitimundo.com/artists/jaz/" target="_blank">Jaz</a>, another early and influential street artist. This guy is clearly one of the most talented - he drew these bulls freehand. He's also pretty resourceful. In the early days of the collapse, street artists couldn't afford paint, so they used whatever materials they could get their hands on. This piece has no paint - it is done in mud off the ground as well as charcoal. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga73czCT9jqAMWyKGbW41vSIuuVpMJdJ9gtMotnavvPP7dogf3haDy8spyVwRUnArP27EgX6vQNGLaPYAOWL92pwWKoacSgc7FLjCFIdOsVSXKt0LKWSmCkf68HTecoLSxR6uywCeLyKPl/s1600/IMG_0858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga73czCT9jqAMWyKGbW41vSIuuVpMJdJ9gtMotnavvPP7dogf3haDy8spyVwRUnArP27EgX6vQNGLaPYAOWL92pwWKoacSgc7FLjCFIdOsVSXKt0LKWSmCkf68HTecoLSxR6uywCeLyKPl/s320/IMG_0858.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You recognize this as Mart's work, right? (Same artist as the boy on the bicycle above.) I had to feature one more of his pieces as he was admittedly my personal favorite. That said, don't ask me exactly what's going on in this mural. I guess that's the point, though. His work is otherworldly. </td></tr>
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<br /></div>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-31022071387710610842012-03-06T09:34:00.000-07:002012-03-06T09:42:02.658-07:00Eating Up Louisiana: Two Tasty Road Trip Stops (Part II)<i><b><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2012/03/eating-up-louisiana-two-tasty-road-trip.html" target="_blank">Read Part I</a>, which
details our Cajun feast at Café Des Amis in Breaux Bridge, Lousiana.</b></i><br />
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Now, we flash forward to Sunday and road trip stop #2. We’re leaving <st1:city w:st="on">Natchez, Mississippi,</st1:city>
after a delightful weekend in this historic town on the Mississippi River (stay tuned for a separate post on that!). </div>
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This time, we make our brunch pit stop 1.5 hours south in <a href="http://www.visitbatonrouge.com/" target="_blank">Baton Rouge, Louisiana</a>, at the city's <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g40024-d490091-Reviews-Juban_s_Restaurant_Catering-Baton_Rouge_Louisiana.html" target="_blank">#1 ranked restaurant</a> according to TripAdvisor: <a href="http://www.jubans.com/">Juban’s</a>,
which is a bit more affordable at brunch. Located in a strip mall, this award-winning,
29-year-old culinary gem makes you forget all about that once you step
inside the gracious interior. It also
provides a contrast to Café Des Amis in that it specializes in upscale Creole
cuisine instead of Cajun cuisine. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juban's Restaurant in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, an ideal road trip stop right off I-10. Epicurean dining in a strip mall, though there's a lovely Southern facade out front. </td></tr>
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The difference? I’m
glad you asked, as I’ve always had a bit of confusion about the distinction
between these two French-influenced cuisines.
Basically, unlike the Cajuns who migrated from French Canada, Creoles
are descended from the early colonial settlers in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Louisiana</st1:place></st1:state>.
Most were of French and Spanish heritage, and most lived in or around <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New Orleans</st1:place></st1:city>. Later, the term included African-Americans as
well as those who were mixed race. Thus,
while there’s a strong French element to both Cajun and Creole cuisines, Creole
food also reflects other influences, such as from Africa and <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region>.</div>
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So it’s apropos that the two most famous Creole dishes –
gumbo and jambalaya – are both symbolic of this fusion of cultures. Essentially, both are a big heap of things
thrown into one big pot. In
fact, the word jambalaya is the combination of the French word for ham (jamon),
the French and Spanish article “a la,” and the last syllable of the Spanish
word for a rice-based dish (paella). Of
course, just to keep you on your toes, there is also a Cajun version of
jambalaya that later evolved, but unlike the “red” Creole version colored by tomatoes,
the “brown” Cajun version has a tasso base. </div>
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Got that straight? Phew! Fortunately, at Juban’s, I was able to put my quest for understanding such nuances aside and just indulge my palate. To try as many things as possible without passing out, we again split three items. Selections were made while munching on the complimentary sweet potato chips dusted with powdered sugar.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Potato Chips dusted with confectioner's sugar, the complimentary snack that hits your table upon arriving at Juban's. Clearly a secret plot to rev your appetite. </td></tr>
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I would like to thank the heavens now that I started with a <b>Strawberry Mint Julep</b>, which uses strawberry-infused honey bourbon. (Essentially, it’s Knob Creek bourbon that’s had a honey comb and strawberries soaking in it.) While my meal was excellent, this cocktail goes into the pantheon. Sweet but not too sweet. Husky but not too intense. In sum, the best mint julep I’ve ever had. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Strawberry Mint Julep at Juban's. Perhaps the most amazing discovery of the trip.</td></tr>
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Now, back to the food. First off was the <b>Pain Perdu</b> (“Lost Bread”), the Creole version of French Toast. Adding as much richness as possible (seemingly the name of the game in any <st1:state w:st="on">Louisiana cuisine</st1:state>), this dessert-like breakfast incorporates custard and <st1:place w:st="on">Chantilly</st1:place> cream as well as a topping of wild blueberries. It was absolutely divine, and it practically melted in my mouth. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pain Perdu at Juban's. Perfect if you like dessert for breakfast.</td></tr>
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Next, we took a sharp turn to the savory with a cup of Juban’s <b>Gumbo</b>, made with smoked chicken, roasted duck and andouille sausage. Of all the gumbos I’ve tried, this seafood-free, meat-laden version was definitely one of my favorites. It was incredibly smoky and flavorful with a dark medium <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roux">roux</a> (a French thickening base). </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cup of gumbo at Juban's is a must with any meal. Interestingly, it comes with a smattering of rice on top.</td></tr>
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Last, our <b>Monte
Cristo Madame</b> arrived, a peculiar-yet-satisfying merger of a Monte Cristo
sandwich and a Croque Madame – and of flavors both fatty and sweet. To break it down, it’s a fried ham and
gruyere cheese sandwich topped with a poached egg (that’s the “Madame” component)
as well as fruit compote. Overkill? Definitely.
But it all melded into one big “I can’t take another bite…but I must
have another bite” finish. <br />
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And that, in
the end, was the gastronomic theme of this entire trip: where excess meets ecstasy. <br />
</div>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-7597391557033464462012-03-05T10:43:00.000-07:002012-03-06T14:23:09.716-07:00Eating Up Louisiana: Two Tasty Road Trip Stops<div class="MsoNormal">
In recent months, I’ve been reminded of how much I love a road trip. Or more precisely, how much I love plotting a road trip based on where to stop and eat. </div>
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On a road trip to <st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city> over the holidays, that meant arranging our drive around stops at two places: one a new and unexpected favorite in western <st1:state w:st="on">New Mexico</st1:state> and the other a <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place> roadside institution since the ‘20s. The first was the <a href="http://www.wowdiner.com/">Wow Diner</a>, a <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/wow-diner-milan">surprisingly good “silver bullet” diner</a> found in a truck stop off I-40 in tiny <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Milan</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">NM</st1:state></st1:place>. My partner Kevin discovered it while shooting a film nearby last fall. With a worldly menu (lobster rolls!?) and daily specials, it’s a gourmet twist on retro comfort food. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting on the patio at Shields Date Garden in Indio, CA (near Palm Springs).</td></tr>
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The second was <a href="http://www.shieldsdategarden.com/shields_dates_our_story.aspx">Shields Date Garden</a>, the home of the legendary date milkshake as well as the kitschy short film, “Romance and the Sex Life of the Date.” For nearly a century, travelers have stopped at this tourist attraction off I-10 in Indio, CA, to stretch the legs, buy dates (they grow 10+ varieties) and get a yummy date shake for the road (you have to try one to understand how good it is). Happily, Shields has now expanded into <a href="http://www.shieldsdategarden.com/shields_dates_cafe.aspx">a full-scale restaurant</a>, where we enjoyed bountiful salads on the sunny, palm tree-filled patio.</div>
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Given how much these stops helped to buoy our taste buds and break up our drive, I knew I needed to apply the same approach to my upcoming road trip from Houston to Natchez, Mississippi, with a college friend now living in Houston. (This is the same girlfriend from previous gastronomic getaways to <st1:city w:st="on"><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/06/dazed-and-amused-in-austin-texas-part.html" target="_blank">Austin</a></st1:city> and <st1:place w:st="on"><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2010/07/get-your-slice-of-clam-pie-in-cape-cod.html" target="_blank">Cape Cod</a></st1:place>, who, like me, lives to eat.) It was about six hours in between, which meant we could stop for lunch on the way there and back to break it in half. The question was: where? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our road trip route. A is Houston, Texas (starting point). B is Natchez, Mississippi (destination). Most of our drive time was spent in Louisiana, though. Click to enlarge for better legibility. </td></tr>
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Neither of us had ever done this drive (which follows I-10 through <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Louisiana</st1:place></st1:state>’s swampy Cajun Country most of the way), and I didn’t want to <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2010/10/no-reservations-is-one-thing-no.html" target="_blank">take the risk of winging it</a>. We all know how it is to get ravenous and just give in to crappy roadside food or chain restaurants. But I wanted the real deal. Fortunately, we live in an age of Yelp and TripAdvisor, where everybody can share everything about a trip or a meal. Before departing, I had our plan for the drive there – and by the time we left <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Natchez</st1:place></st1:city>, I had a plan for the way back. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cafe Des Amis, located in a historic building in downtown Breaux Bridge, Louisiana.</td></tr>
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Road trip stop #1 was a place I saw raves about online over and over – <a href="http://cafedesamis.com/">Café Des Amis</a> in the cute little town of <a href="http://tourism.breauxbridgelive.com/">Breaux Bridge, Louisiana</a>, dubbed the “Crawfish Capital of the World.” Not surprisingly, Cafe Des Amis is known for its crawfish etouffee, a dish that perfectly represents the bountiful seafood of the region and the distinctive influence of the Acadians, French settlers who migrated from <st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region> to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Louisiana</st1:place></st1:state> in the 1700s. Eventually, they became known as “Cajuns,” while the region (which comprises 22 <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Louisiana</st1:place></st1:state> parishes in the “heel” of the state’s boot shape) became known as “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acadiana">Acadiana</a>.” </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breaux Bridge, Louisiana (population 8,100) is just a few miles east of Lafayette, Louisiana. From Houston, it's about 3.5 hours to Breaux Bridge. From Baton Rouge (which is to the east), it's about 45 minutes.</td></tr>
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Five minutes south of 1-10, Café Des Amis is not just famous for its food – but also for its <a href="http://cafedesamis.com/events.html">Saturday morning Zydeco Breakfast</a>. We were coming through on a Friday, sadly, but the meal alone made our toes tap. We started with an appetizer that sounded too ridiculous not to try: <b>Alligator Sausage Cheesecake</b>. This savory delicacy involves crawfish, sausage made from alligator meat, gouda cheese and cream cheese baked with herbs and spices and then smothered with a rich crawfish sauce (read: more cream). In a word: awesome.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mouth-watering (and heart-stopping) Alligator Sausage Cheesecake at Cafe Des Amis. </td></tr>
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Next was the <b>Pepper Jack Shrimp Poppers</b>, which are an even better example of how Cajun food is clearly designed to shorten your lifespan. Because who would want to eat four ostensibly healthy shrimp unless they’re stuffed with Cajun <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tasso_ham">tasso</a> (intensely flavored smoked pork) and Pepper Jack cheese, wrapped in bacon, breaded, then deep-fried…and then covered with more of that crawfish sauce? Yes, they were insanely good, and yes, I was beginning to realize that there was no way around gaining weight on this trip. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53YgOyI7JnHOuRonbz9FHC0nWnv0yznXiTsz41rmcEWCgFAwL_IP7BNRkjUvAd9uGjvg3Rot2EW_ssOUsh1cn-8bDGk7R8Oupobs4h_8CV3ydyCSKMXFTwZIAish_w3k-3HquMvVO63xK/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53YgOyI7JnHOuRonbz9FHC0nWnv0yznXiTsz41rmcEWCgFAwL_IP7BNRkjUvAd9uGjvg3Rot2EW_ssOUsh1cn-8bDGk7R8Oupobs4h_8CV3ydyCSKMXFTwZIAish_w3k-3HquMvVO63xK/s320/IMG_0512.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Crawfish Pie at Cafe Des Amis. The puff pastry just went "poof" upon being punctured!</td></tr>
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Then came the entrée – which we split after all that gluttony. Called <b>Crawfish Pie</b>, it’s a puff pastry filled with crawfish etoufée and accompanied by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maque_choux">corn macque choux</a> (a Cajun dish involving corn and veggies braised in – what else? – bacon fat) and dirty rice, both of which were outstanding. The entrée itself? I decided crawfish is a bit fishy for my taste. And we could have done without the puff pastry, which collapsed into nothingness, as shown above. But it’s probably for the best, because if it had been an irresistibly thick crust, I might have died of a heart attack on the spot. <br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><b><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2012/03/eating-up-louisiana-two-tasty-road-trip_06.html" target="_blank">Read Part II</a>, which dishes on our Creole meal at Juban's in Baton Rouge on the drive back. </b></i></span></div>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-80885865197660420652011-12-23T18:23:00.000-07:002011-12-23T19:04:16.017-07:00Living the Expatriate Dream…in the US<p class="MsoNormal">At one point in my life, I seriously thought I would live in another country. And I attempted it – <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2008/07/potential-deal-breaker-2-reliable.html">first in <st1:country-region st="on">Nicaragua</st1:country-region></a> (2006), and <a href="http://ba-adventure.blogspot.com/2007/02/saying-adios-to-buenos-aires-part-ii.html">then in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Argentina</st1:place></st1:country-region></a> (2007). Neither worked out, although I still occasionally have pangs for <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:place></st1:city> like the lover I never got over. (Happily, we are scheduled to reunite this spring for a weeklong affair.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Instead, as fate would have it, I <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/10/leaving-los-angeles-committing-to-new.html">relocated to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state></a> at the end of 2009. Many, many people were baffled at this choice, and I’ve answered the question of “Why New Mexico?” more times than I can count in the last two years. Lots of things usually get thrown into the answer: the artsy people, the wide openness, the cost of living, the unique lifestyle, the space and tranquility, the cultural heritage. </p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVH3WkTClR39CdfVgPAX0A5YN2vCS_mjS7roWpdjo0iCcQO_6HD0Jd9VP3PNZjf6wSHfLd0DPC3tpj2pdZnONya5CZjN_9-d1riirIyVknUHQoPJctdmhPxr-WNXjNRQmE-AtdTOAVdIWb/s1600/New+Mexico+Centennial+Stamp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVH3WkTClR39CdfVgPAX0A5YN2vCS_mjS7roWpdjo0iCcQO_6HD0Jd9VP3PNZjf6wSHfLd0DPC3tpj2pdZnONya5CZjN_9-d1riirIyVknUHQoPJctdmhPxr-WNXjNRQmE-AtdTOAVdIWb/s400/New+Mexico+Centennial+Stamp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689499994916817074" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">But it wasn’t until I was reading the January 2012 issue of <i>New Mexico Magazine </i>that another very important - and very appealing - factor crystallized. It was put into words by author <a href="http://www.hamptonsides.com/">Hampton Sides</a> (who wrote <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1400031109?ie=UTF8&tag=randohouseinc-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1400031109">Blood and Thunder: The Epic Story of Kit Carson</a></i>) in his reflection on <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>’s 2012 centennial. (New Mexico became the 47<span>th</span> state in 1912.) He said:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Yet even with statehood, I’m not sure <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> was ever fully conquered or assimilated, and that’s something I’ve always loved about this place. It’s still very much its own land, at the crossroads of myriad cultures, where the desert meets the mountains meets the plains. Living here is probably the closed one can come to an expat experience in the Lower 48. We’re in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">United States</st1:country-region></st1:place>, but we’re not entirely of it.”</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bells went off when I read this paragraph. I didn’t carry out my expatriate dream, technically, but I found something of an equivalent in my own country. To say that <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> is “a little different” than other states is an understatement. It feels like another country because for hundreds of years it <i>was </i>another country – it was <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-pilgrimage-to-chimayo-new-mexico.html">part of Spain for more than 200 years</a>, and then part of <st1:country-region st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region> for a short while, before becoming a <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region></st1:place> territory.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcNxTpIsZ3b2jjLV-ja7sXnjd1Hx6yKqXB4fHGpu89YOKySujVV7U3VhbaZ2ywjkll7sJie_a3VgRRwp98GRl-c8ydzPBOuDhZADe6qUUDdLd0KYJiCfYM_UVc6vM410nyakWpM-O2Axf/s1600/New+Mexico+State+Flg.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcNxTpIsZ3b2jjLV-ja7sXnjd1Hx6yKqXB4fHGpu89YOKySujVV7U3VhbaZ2ywjkll7sJie_a3VgRRwp98GRl-c8ydzPBOuDhZADe6qUUDdLd0KYJiCfYM_UVc6vM410nyakWpM-O2Axf/s400/New+Mexico+State+Flg.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689499993905975010" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">For further proof of <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> “other-country-ness,” consider the following:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <ul style="margin-top:0in" type="disc"> <li class="MsoNormal">Many Americans do not know there's a state called <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">Those who do realize it’s a state are often <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2011/11/curious-thing-about-new-mexicos-image.html">confused about it</a>. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">The license plates say “New Mexico USA” to clarify things.</li> <li class="MsoNormal">It’s the only state in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region></st1:place> with a bilingual constitution. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">Along with CA, it’s one of two states with a Hispanic majority.</li> <li class="MsoNormal">We have the first female <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Latina</st1:place></st1:city> governor, Susana Martinez. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">The state flag colors honor Isabella of Castilla.</li> <li class="MsoNormal">The state flag symbol (the Zia sun symbol) is Native American. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">Most city (“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city>”), street and forest names are Spanish. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">The <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Pueblo</st1:city></st1:place> (“adobe”) style architecture is one of a kind. </li> <li class="MsoNormal">The government tested the atomic bomb here. (Ahem.)</li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal">You get the point. It just took me a while to get it – that New Mexico is clearly an extension of my previous wanderings and the strong tug I felt to move to Latin America. Now, as I drive home on a dirt road looking at cows in the field, I realize it’s not unlike a scene I would see in rural <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Nicaragua (minus the desert terrain, of course)</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Without exactly realizing it, I got the best parts of what I liked about Nicaragua – including a slower pace, a Spanish-speaking culture, extreme friendliness and the ineffable feeling of being somewhere so completely different – and yet with all the conveniences that come with the good old USA, such as reliable mail and FedEx delivery. And around the holidays, you<i> all</i> know how important that is.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I guess there's just one thing left to say: Feliz Navidad!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">p.s. On January 6<span>th</span>, the US Postal Service will release <a href="http://nmcentennial.org/2011/09/governor-susana-martinez-unveils-new-mexico-centennial-postage-stamp/">New Mexico’s official Centennial Stamp</a>, which is pictured above. Keep an eye out for it as it’s quite gorgeous. </p><p></p><p></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-49664985925789406752011-11-07T20:37:00.000-07:002011-11-09T09:49:23.159-07:00The Curious Thing About New Mexico’s “Image Problem”<p class="MsoNormal">Barren. Arid. Boring. Like Mars.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Recently, the New Mexico Department of Tourism conducted focus groups in <st1:city st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on">Houston</st1:city> and <st1:city st="on">Chicago</st1:city> to find out what people thought about <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>. These phrases above were <a href="http://www.bizjournals.com/albuquerque/news/2011/11/03/new-mexico-defined-as-arid-barren.html">some of the results</a>. Worse, some people said they had <i>no impressions</i> of the state whatsoever, while others thought there were <i>beaches</i> here. To really twist the knife, <st1:state st="on">Colorado</st1:state> and <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Arizona</st1:place></st1:state> – two adjacent states tested for comparison – came out better on almost every measure tested, even skiing. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:state st="on">Arizona</st1:state> is better for skiing than <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>? Really? Listening to a public radio news report on these focus group results, I had to shake my head with befuddlement. I mean, <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state> has eight ski resorts compared to <st1:state st="on">Arizona</st1:state>’s four, and it has <st1:place st="on"><a href="http://www.skitaos.org/"><st1:placename st="on">Taos</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Ski</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></a></st1:place>, a highly respected top ski destination. Are people just that clueless about <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>? The answer is yes. There’s a reason, after all, that <i><a href="http://www.nmmagazine.com/">New Mexico Magazine</a></i> has <a href="http://www.nmmagazine.com/50missing.php">a monthly humor column</a> sharing anecdotes about people, businesses and websites who apparently don’t know <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state> is a <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region> state.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wasn’t completely unaware of <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>’s strangely poor reputation before moving, however. <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/03/baked-in-artistry-in-albuquerque-new.html">Albuquerque</a></st1:place></st1:city> in particular drew raised eyebrows among people we knew, with two people reporting that they thought it was a “s*%#hole.” Then there was the poll I conducted on this blog, in which <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2010/05/sane-or-insane.html">66% of my dear readers let me know that relocating to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> was “insane.”</a> Part of that may have stemmed from the giant leap we took to moving to a state where we knew absolutely no one, but I also suspect the state’s “image problem” could have played a role.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yet here’s where this all gets squirrelly. Clearly, people ARE visiting <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>, given that tourism is a $5.5 billion dollar industry (the second largest in the state). And people HAVE heard of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/04/desperately-seeking-santa-fe-new-mexico.html">Santa Fe</a></st1:place></st1:city>. In a very favorable light. I mean, just consider all the perennial accolades that <st1:city st="on">Santa Fe</st1:city> – the state’s 400-year-old cultural and literal capital as well as a UNESCO-designated “<st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Creative</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>” – receives from top travel publications and websites. Here’s a roundup of some of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city>’s 2011 honors alone:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul><li><a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/TravelersChoice-Food">2011 TripAdvisor Top 10 Food Destinations</a> (#7)</li><li><a href="http://www.travelandleisure.com/americas-favorite-cities/2011/city/santa-fe">2011 Travel + Leisure Favorite Cultural Getaway</a> (#1)</li><li><a href="http://away.com/features/top-ten-christmas-vacation-destinations-1.html?page=2">2011 Away.com Top 10 Christmas Destinations</a> (#4)*</li><li><a href="http://www.concierge.com/cntraveler/articles/504129">2011 Conde Nast Traveler Top 10 <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region></st1:place> Cities</a> (#3)**</li></ul><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>*See my <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2011/02/when-farolitos-fly-christmas-eve-in.html">Christmas Eve in Santa Fe blog</a>; </i><i>**Believe it or not, <st1:city st="on">Santa Fe</st1:city> beat out cities like <st1:city st="on">Chicago</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on">Honolulu</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">New York</st1:state>, <st1:city st="on">Savannah</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on">Seattle</st1:city> and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Boston</st1:place></st1:city> in this poll.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then there’s the fact that the <i>New York Times</i> certainly considers New Mexico a worthy destination to cover at least once a year, with a recent <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/10/23/travel/36-hours-in-albuquerque.html">36 Hours in Albuquerque</a> piece (yes, Albuquerque!) as well as past features like <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/02/07/travel/07santafe.html?nl=travel&emc=tda">The Art of Being Santa Fe</a> and <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/01/09/travel/escapes/09Santa.html">The Thrifty Wintry Charms of Santa Fe</a>. I’ve also seen recent features on <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> in countless other publications – to the point that I am constantly thinking I need to get into the travel writing game. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I ask, where is this poor or vague reputation coming from? Clearly, it’s not from the travel media, which treats <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city> like its darling. But maybe the real question is, is it really a "problem" that <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> is not a place people know much about? Sure, it matters to tourism revenue, but does it matter to me? After all, one of the things I love best about my new state is that fact that I only have to share it with two million other people – less than a quarter of the amount of people I had to co-exist with in Los Angeles. Its “off the radar” status keeps the winds of mass migration at bay and makes our tourists especially cool people who look deeper into things. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It also makes it a ball hosting first-time visitors to the state – who are by far the majority of our visitors – and introducing them to a landscape unlike anything most have ever seen. It is just so different here, and entirely unlike <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Phoenix</st1:place></st1:city> or any other “low elevation desert” destination. (Our house is at 6,800 feet, after all.) I’d like to think our visitors (more than a dozen and counting, which makes us <i>very</i> blessed in the open-minded friends department) take back positive impressions that get circulated and work against the grain. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Or maybe they shouldn’t say anything, and we’ll just keep it our little secret.</p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-25214581082077830742011-09-12T21:24:00.000-06:002011-09-13T10:01:47.434-06:00My Pilgrimage to Chimayo, New Mexico<p class="MsoNormal">Last Friday, I took the high road.<span> </span>Finally.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9o_TTpGcgNYkpyNIgOC_umNXSYCpbfxcPUJ1He39HZudnIDeVEzmzLvu0Co3LkbeL0OuUyHpAsphSofDn2tq-tuok2EhXp_hzbjukeTmfmB0nXyBa2BbQhgsWsBCewt88JcsC7WbaL18/s1600/Map+of+High+Road+to+Taos.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9o_TTpGcgNYkpyNIgOC_umNXSYCpbfxcPUJ1He39HZudnIDeVEzmzLvu0Co3LkbeL0OuUyHpAsphSofDn2tq-tuok2EhXp_hzbjukeTmfmB0nXyBa2BbQhgsWsBCewt88JcsC7WbaL18/s400/Map+of+High+Road+to+Taos.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651686998478274722" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">A fabled 56-mile scenic byway, the “<a href="http://highroadnewmexico.com/byway/drive.html">High Road to Taos</a>” refers to the mountainous route between <st1:city st="on">Santa Fe</st1:city> and <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Taos</st1:city></st1:place>.<span> </span>It winds through the Sangre de Cristo (“Blood of Christ”) Mountains, offers stunning alpine views and is dotted with centuries-old Spanish villages such as Cordova, Truchas and Penasco, to name a few.<span> </span>Conversely, the “Low Road” (Hwy 68) takes you through the valleys along the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Rio Grande</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<span> </span>Both are beautiful drives, but the High Road has something that sets it apart:<span> </span><a href="http://chimayo.us/Points.html#Santuario">El Sanctuario de Chimayo</a>.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJW7sKjJHUqZIBr3uJuETdOKvBtTuTKiVHlfXSaso4xBiqCpFVR0hAq7s4_1UR67PguE_VAM56pPnrwHNMofuvfzZbFSkkOKVdhyFvrzSgPdKKfXl9Yvk0seq8YmZrZ9R8ZFp5nTU6laE/s1600/202.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJW7sKjJHUqZIBr3uJuETdOKvBtTuTKiVHlfXSaso4xBiqCpFVR0hAq7s4_1UR67PguE_VAM56pPnrwHNMofuvfzZbFSkkOKVdhyFvrzSgPdKKfXl9Yvk0seq8YmZrZ9R8ZFp5nTU6laE/s400/202.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651684118381906386" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Before I can tell you about this spectacular little church – considered the most important Catholic pilgrimage shrine in the <st1:country-region st="on">United States</st1:country-region> and certainly one of the most photographed structures in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> – I should first tell you a little about the history of the area.<span> </span><a href="http://chimayo.us/">Chimayo</a> and the other tiny villages along the High Road were settled by Spanish colonists, many of whom received Spanish land grants, in the 1600s.<span> </span>The area would remain part of <st1:country-region st="on">Spain</st1:country-region> until 1821, when <st1:country-region st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region> won its independence, and then in <st1:country-region st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region>’s hands until 1850, when <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state> became a <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region> territory following the Mexican-American War.<span> </span>(Statehood would not come until 1912.)</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzKbqKT6QvV7Av_za8HvG5jceYGO6eIpzsGiTmXzh1bbtm66R8_-KF9LjrQw4tZJge6L0c11M3eMNPsiNlWRr_qCG5D148k2_VFrJ0VEA2YansObabOkirREAeyE33-0Defhk-Tpho_BO/s1600/212.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzKbqKT6QvV7Av_za8HvG5jceYGO6eIpzsGiTmXzh1bbtm66R8_-KF9LjrQw4tZJge6L0c11M3eMNPsiNlWRr_qCG5D148k2_VFrJ0VEA2YansObabOkirREAeyE33-0Defhk-Tpho_BO/s400/212.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651692221228387346" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">As a result, the families of these early Spanish settlers in <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state> go back some 11 or more generations – before the country of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> even existed.<span> </span>It’s a rich history that I’m just beginning to understand, but El Sanctuario de Chimayo is certainly an excellent place to start.<span> </span>Built between 1811-1816 (when the area still belonged to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Spain</st1:country-region></st1:place>), this handmade adobe structure is said to have been built by a devout Catholic – Bernardo de Abeyta – on the site where he witnessed a miracle.<span> </span>Today, it contains a special room for its holy dirt, believed to have curative powers.<span> </span>Visitors are allowed to take a small bag of holy dirt with them.<span> </span>Some simply rub it on their skin.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQXXybqyjwisheu7v1TjKPlKG3F3yOBjWSG8McbyRxTazC2qwcImdpe_T8uAkmnJwy-vd-mU6iSfZPuvEJKjKAidHM6IZSIxW0dI-2_YSOOHWhQCpZ2E7RdcX49ezxi7_kqupVrNoya9T/s1600/Cruches+at+El+Sanctuario+de+Chimayo.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQXXybqyjwisheu7v1TjKPlKG3F3yOBjWSG8McbyRxTazC2qwcImdpe_T8uAkmnJwy-vd-mU6iSfZPuvEJKjKAidHM6IZSIxW0dI-2_YSOOHWhQCpZ2E7RdcX49ezxi7_kqupVrNoya9T/s400/Cruches+at+El+Sanctuario+de+Chimayo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651696083323998418" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">When you step outside of the holy dirt room, you find yourself in the prayer room, which is filled with symbols of suffering, healing and gratitude.<span> </span>I’m talking rows and rows of crutches, casts (from broken limbs), rosaries, baby shoes and photos of military men and women.<span> </span>These are the tokens of the more than 300,000 annual visitors to this National Historic Landmark, some of whom <a href="http://www.holypilgrim.us/indexalt.html">make the pilgrimage by foot</a>.<span> </span>This is especially common during Holy Week, when thousands of pilgrims from the <st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> arrive seeking miracles of healing.<span> </span>Many <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Santuario_de_Chimayo_Good_Friday_2.jpg">carry wooden crosses</a> or push wheelchairs.<span> </span>Others return in health to give thanks for having been healed previously.<span> </span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtGjHSuU5xd4BTC6ymGIiMDoI-3zbIJ7XL2owARvLyLkSqXJ8P6U-3zmlHkbbh0t25kIyFvirmc47Bh7fGWDbR7ON57k51Q_plJ8TKSt485M89A9PvFRp5fU17FEtkvWsBX6Qp5eRxUX6/s1600/Santos+Ninos+Chapel+Image.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtGjHSuU5xd4BTC6ymGIiMDoI-3zbIJ7XL2owARvLyLkSqXJ8P6U-3zmlHkbbh0t25kIyFvirmc47Bh7fGWDbR7ON57k51Q_plJ8TKSt485M89A9PvFRp5fU17FEtkvWsBX6Qp5eRxUX6/s400/Santos+Ninos+Chapel+Image.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651693188436384914" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve failed to mention the lovely, rustic sanctuary, which is filled from floor to ceiling with incredible religious and folk art, including dolls, <i>reredos</i> (brightly painted wooden screens) and <i>bultos</i> (statues).<span> </span>The thing that struck me most was the striking contrast between the subjects’ facial expressions– usually one of suffering or sorrow, with eyes closed or looking down – with the incredibly vivid colors used in the artwork.<span> </span>I felt both saddened and uplifted.<span> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbfYxPyfmNVijxJcbo60t1jUB471XcWvc5SuaFNWGOY6tpJQY4WY4rF0ppkB0tU2BPX9kIm_Utp879f33juxT4-eJclPOLBWbB8a2gzoTvbwZ_VwoMoNFJO8e8AeMrLU58NMFKhWts2kR/s1600/222.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbfYxPyfmNVijxJcbo60t1jUB471XcWvc5SuaFNWGOY6tpJQY4WY4rF0ppkB0tU2BPX9kIm_Utp879f33juxT4-eJclPOLBWbB8a2gzoTvbwZ_VwoMoNFJO8e8AeMrLU58NMFKhWts2kR/s400/222.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651684127663751090" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Just a short distance away is the Santo Nino (“Holy Child”) Chapel, with perhaps even more impressive art.<span> </span>Recently renovated, it displays the striking contemporary work of artist Fernando Bimonte and others.<span> </span>It’s the “cheerier” of the two structures, aesthetically, with a feeling of innocence and <i>gozo</i> (joy).<span> </span>As the sign out front instructs, you should enter with “the heart of a child” to fully appreciate the chapel – and, of course, get into the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">kingdom</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Heaven</st1:placename></st1:place>.<span> </span>I certainly felt more youthful and energized after as I headed to the gift shop.<span> </span>Need a car “bobblehead” of your favorite saint?<span> </span>This place is for you.<span> </span>My favorite item, however, was the “anime” version of The Virgin Mary pictured below.<span> </span>The only thing I can think to call it is “Catholic pop art.”</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizY5tVYPL-QKcMS-TXSDfoRlymoDCEflQBzgbFlFpy-9Lig96NdxSw8kOc-xYdmmAXEWzpiCZuW_5Q5iPu5x_imm39j8oKSTC8UOlbfWIFx5s9DEG6-elkm8RzxlmkX4RPXBgFgaUKdJDo/s1600/224.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizY5tVYPL-QKcMS-TXSDfoRlymoDCEflQBzgbFlFpy-9Lig96NdxSw8kOc-xYdmmAXEWzpiCZuW_5Q5iPu5x_imm39j8oKSTC8UOlbfWIFx5s9DEG6-elkm8RzxlmkX4RPXBgFgaUKdJDo/s400/224.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651684123032042434" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Between these two amazingly ornate adobe churches and their fantastic gift shops, you could easily make an afternoon of that part alone.<span> </span>But there’s even more to Chimayo, including art galleries, historic weaving shops and chile vendors.<span> </span>I recommend stopping into <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Medina</st1:place></st1:city>’s Gallery (pictured below) to chat with <a href="http://www.liveworkdream.com/2010/06/03/meeting-the-magical-mr-medina-again/">Carlos Medina</a>, a talented artist and highly entertaining raconteur known as “The Chile Man.”<span> </span>I tried several of his chile mixes, and they were incredibly piquant.<span> </span>They say the best red chile comes from Chimayo – an heirloom variety known as “Capsicum annuum Chimayo,” which was once used for medicine and currency as well as seasoning – and my taste tests did not dispute this.<span> </span>They did, however, make me hungry.<span> </span>So I headed to <a href="http://www.ranchodechimayo.com/">Rancho de Chimayo</a>, a historic restaurant with a charming terrace for outdoor dining.<span> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaNTc5db_inZKAFHTArf-9P2PJRiqE6exnHDECiksU8FShe8mg9eJ-ulI4ziMgNFOou3gUdfPpzuhVyqb-tNOzUSL5d5aEipdwbhLUp9SFGpjlK33dt6PRRG6J73F6CoClD__1AqFw458n/s1600/218.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaNTc5db_inZKAFHTArf-9P2PJRiqE6exnHDECiksU8FShe8mg9eJ-ulI4ziMgNFOou3gUdfPpzuhVyqb-tNOzUSL5d5aEipdwbhLUp9SFGpjlK33dt6PRRG6J73F6CoClD__1AqFw458n/s400/218.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651684133011567778" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Once there, I ordered the carne adovada (pork marinated in red chile from Chimayo, of course), which was served with posole (hominy).<span> </span>It’s their signature dish, and I was expecting greatness.<span> </span>Sadly, it was not something I would write home about.<span> </span>The posole was far from spicy, and the carne adovada did not compare to the best I’ve had thus far, which was at <a href="http://www.elbrunos.com/">El Bruno’s</a> in Cuba, NM, where the pork was super tender and moist.<span> </span>Fortunately, I was tipped off to what may be the best food in the area a few days later.<span> </span>Unlike Rancho de Chimayo’s beautiful setting (see below), this humble food is served out the window of a roadside shack.<span> </span>I should not have been surprised.<span> </span>It’s the golden rule: eat with the locals, not with the tourists!</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypVkuS3f9AOsqIdLyIIGLM-m6CPfQU8pTHqY71VNwsyHio3IFSqnB1ttPozxYFNJ-CzD-n49yJDTbgQmCooI4n4tEYUfQ-MVt6r13UTQ9DIe9wguqZegnz_bztZ0glHTR0QRNoZTOqvHr/s1600/197.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypVkuS3f9AOsqIdLyIIGLM-m6CPfQU8pTHqY71VNwsyHio3IFSqnB1ttPozxYFNJ-CzD-n49yJDTbgQmCooI4n4tEYUfQ-MVt6r13UTQ9DIe9wguqZegnz_bztZ0glHTR0QRNoZTOqvHr/s400/197.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651687006657528290" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Located on Route 76 between Chimayo and Espanola, the original location of <a href="http://www.elparasol.com/">El Parasol</a> (now a family-run mini-chain with five locations in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>) is everything I’ve been looking for in New Mexican cuisine.<span> </span>It’s delicious, addictive and cheap.<span> </span>For $20, we feasted on four chicken tacos, two <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sopaipilla">sopapillas</a> (fried quick bread, as shown below at Rancho de Chimayo), a tamale and a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frito_pie">frito pie</a>.<span> </span>The friend who recommended El Parasol insisted we try the chicken tacos, and I see why.<span> </span>They’re fresh, deep fried tortillas filled with tender shredded chicken and homemade guacamole.<span> </span>Add a little El Parasol salsa and…perfection.<span> </span>The frito pie was also a knockout thanks to the high quality beef and generous infusion of green chile, and the sopapillas were my favorite of any I’ve tried yet – huge, thick and soft.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSyWQqBwNWRcWSiS4hqwsgA4sbjxywwS-cGOlupxf22B6Vi_lqLdo_5FnAQzHI4115pB5KSBXKFYvZGUx28Hx5xT653ITVztC-2KcPR7o6beRUiilt0Ge8wYVn5QpZCWvRpZXnanQKB1M/s1600/199.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSyWQqBwNWRcWSiS4hqwsgA4sbjxywwS-cGOlupxf22B6Vi_lqLdo_5FnAQzHI4115pB5KSBXKFYvZGUx28Hx5xT653ITVztC-2KcPR7o6beRUiilt0Ge8wYVn5QpZCWvRpZXnanQKB1M/s400/199.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651693182732088002" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">I may have used more napkins than I care to admit during the meal, but as we sat at our picnic table watching streams of locals rolling in, I knew I’d finally found the spot for crave-worthy New Mexican food.<span> </span>And that, I realized, is another pilgrimage completed.<span> </span></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-40816375047089548362011-07-26T21:04:00.002-06:002011-09-06T18:09:56.351-06:00Milwaukee Part II: From Cheese Curds to Custard<p class="MsoNormal"><b>(Read Part I, “<a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2011/07/unexpected-coolness-of-cream-city-aka.html">The Unexpected Coolness of Cream City</a>,” if you haven’t already.)</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wasn’t alone in having my comeuppance on <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Our whole group did, with the exception of the friend who’d suggested it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her parents had moved there recently, and she enthusiastically vouched for it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The rest of us were, as you can guess, deeply skeptical.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> But ultimately </span>her proposal (a free lakefront condo and car to use) was too good to turn down.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Even then, though, I was still scratching my head about why I was buying a flight to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Electively, no less!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I kept thinking about all the “<a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2008/08/my-top-15-geographical-crushes-as-of.html">geographic crushes</a>” I’d yet to visit.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCHEhdefe-rC_hcf_cr4CNzitozNVkgRaE3a9Qxx-idDvayPfQ0V53ZzQy8eZTpsX6zThl_DdWvlg8k9QP4yBQup86tdolODuVaDN9eaPBY0fc_sqa3x0xXR2InCl9gwb9UwHfZzpKWXr/s1600/CIMG1889.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCHEhdefe-rC_hcf_cr4CNzitozNVkgRaE3a9Qxx-idDvayPfQ0V53ZzQy8eZTpsX6zThl_DdWvlg8k9QP4yBQup86tdolODuVaDN9eaPBY0fc_sqa3x0xXR2InCl9gwb9UwHfZzpKWXr/s400/CIMG1889.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633866318746593474" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Happily, the confusion started to wane the first night, when we strolled through <a href="http://www.easttown.com/">East Town</a>’s massive, four-day <a href="http://easttown.com/events/bastille-days">Bastille Days</a> festival, hit up the $6 wine stand and nibbled on fried cheese curds while lounging in a grassy park listening to a great blues band.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Don’t know what cheese curds are?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I didn’t either.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Turns out they’re the solid parts of curdled milk.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It sounds gross, but they are a big <st1:place st="on">Wisconsin</st1:place> specialty.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You’ll see them in all sorts of varieties (as the photo above shows), and you’ll also see them fried with marinara or ranch dipping sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They’re a little chewy, a little sour, and a lot of tastiness.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnrYhbqFoU1CM7EjR260FHA7PxBokmMbui1ONtlLUPHwRhvfwl3_K6k1wzsHcyZ81N_FDXNdh1N7AlQ-sABZ6IVq1tg1Wit6rxpvxFfql_ru71L1PYBAFNpf3mWi_JzGOylDyx4tDYHo_F/s1600/CIMG1843.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnrYhbqFoU1CM7EjR260FHA7PxBokmMbui1ONtlLUPHwRhvfwl3_K6k1wzsHcyZ81N_FDXNdh1N7AlQ-sABZ6IVq1tg1Wit6rxpvxFfql_ru71L1PYBAFNpf3mWi_JzGOylDyx4tDYHo_F/s400/CIMG1843.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633866313609168162" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">By the next day, I couldn’t even remember why I’d been confused.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Randomly, I picked a hike and a lunch spot that were both winners.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The <a href="http://urbanwilderness-eddee.blogspot.com/2010/10/seven-bridges-trail-at-grant-park-short.html">Seven Bridges Trail</a> in <st1:city st="on">South Milwaukee</st1:city>’s <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Grant</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Park</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Beach</st1:placetype></st1:place> took us past forests, streams, meadows and an isolated beach (pictured above).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Everything you’d want in a little nature detour.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>From there, we drove back along the quaint neighborhoods along scenic <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Lake Drive</st1:address></st1:street>, which hugs Lake Michigan, and headed to <a href="http://barnacle-buds.com/">Barnacle Bud’s</a> on the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Kinnickinnic</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The <a href="http://www.expressmilwaukee.com/">Milwaukee Express</a>, the local weekly, had called it “the place to be in summer…if you can find it.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyngw1BcDijLdQFahTBS7u41yLvhhIk8nPwdXkTRGqs5Ji61dt90cLeUvTJ9MZoF0hVAiqaqnG8lYFysAlIcNuiu4BUNat5fNpMq4Iq2sUKNANek0qMT8qhI9vULI9iUd40hdgXL936dVG/s1600/CIMG1871.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyngw1BcDijLdQFahTBS7u41yLvhhIk8nPwdXkTRGqs5Ji61dt90cLeUvTJ9MZoF0hVAiqaqnG8lYFysAlIcNuiu4BUNat5fNpMq4Iq2sUKNANek0qMT8qhI9vULI9iUd40hdgXL936dVG/s400/CIMG1871.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633867316533200098" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">They weren’t exaggerating.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hidden on an industrial street that looks abandoned at first, Barnacle Bud's is the offshoot of Skipper Bud’s, a boat storage facility.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Delightfully ramshackle with picnic tables and beer served in buckets of ice, Barnacle Bud's was serving up its Friday Fish Fry to everyone arriving by car and boat.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I opted for the outstanding crab cake appetizer (voted Best in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city></st1:place> for good reason) and a brat (aka bratwurst sausage) on a bun instead.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As we clinked our cold beers together, things were seriously looking up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU1pZWy8uWB5_fvXM4mCEh416iMWzkxpBAHPl_zipAo3_BF46NHW_YbM2Go3oHtHI34Ti2ChBTrGGKwba-0GAbvNqkJ4mqQ9D_Vkq4Q8C6npzhYsQyQxEAqRoW1_XJ_2brLZU4y6nsLPF/s1600/CIMG1882.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU1pZWy8uWB5_fvXM4mCEh416iMWzkxpBAHPl_zipAo3_BF46NHW_YbM2Go3oHtHI34Ti2ChBTrGGKwba-0GAbvNqkJ4mqQ9D_Vkq4Q8C6npzhYsQyQxEAqRoW1_XJ_2brLZU4y6nsLPF/s400/CIMG1882.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633866324167897650" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">That night, we perused <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/glorioso-bros-italian-foods-milwaukee">Glorioso Brothers Italian Foods</a> market, picked up some provisions (including cheese, of course) and enjoyed a delicious spread on the porch of our lakefront condo.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>By Saturday, we were refreshed and fully in vacation mode.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>With a new zeal for exploring this now-intriguing city, we headed to the <a href="http://www.historicthirdward.org/">Historic Third Ward</a>, home to tons of new, happening places to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We settled into a rooftop table at <a href="http://www.cafebenelux.com/">Benelux</a> and studied their menu, which focuses on the cuisine of Europe’s Lowlands (<st1:country-region st="on">Belgium</st1:country-region>, The Netherlands and <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Luxembourg</st1:place></st1:country-region>).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We started with Bloody Marys, which in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city> all come with a refreshing beer chaser (it IS a beer town, after all), and decided to split two Pannenkoekens (huge Lowlands-style crepes).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKa-d2Mer-y5J334rspI8Ng2HXhCCbxfftbXjeYMIXUJMtLyGMrn_lDz2pX4ekG6MTnfm1E9kZeeq3w7Jzb658rHvZK5apv1jiF_BqxBz2npicAiGpGlDLcKNF4apsJt3zT_j55CXj2Yne/s1600/CIMG1926.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKa-d2Mer-y5J334rspI8Ng2HXhCCbxfftbXjeYMIXUJMtLyGMrn_lDz2pX4ekG6MTnfm1E9kZeeq3w7Jzb658rHvZK5apv1jiF_BqxBz2npicAiGpGlDLcKNF4apsJt3zT_j55CXj2Yne/s400/CIMG1926.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633866323883210978" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">From there, we walked along the nearly-three-mile-long River Walk to downtown and took our obligatory tourist photos with “The Bronze Fonz” (aka a statue of actor Henry Winkler).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> As you may recall</span>, the classic television sitcoms “Happy Days” and “Laverne and Shirley” were both set in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee, and </st1:place></st1:city>TV Land apparently commissioned the statue in 2008. (A rerun ratings strategy?)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguR2kKGbv7zFBHbH05Xg2P5gKIto6XZiSKTEOTTmWm2IUz9PRO9T1uB0FDWiBXsBm4Y3k3Ey7lj2DbpKaqsg1kO133MC3HL7gWJnUyCCu_caz3Kn4P4vPnHkk1ndVv2IlGeuFO4o67YB5n/s1600/CIMG1941.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguR2kKGbv7zFBHbH05Xg2P5gKIto6XZiSKTEOTTmWm2IUz9PRO9T1uB0FDWiBXsBm4Y3k3Ey7lj2DbpKaqsg1kO133MC3HL7gWJnUyCCu_caz3Kn4P4vPnHkk1ndVv2IlGeuFO4o67YB5n/s400/CIMG1941.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633866328208702930" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">We then crossed the river into the charming <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Old World Third Street</st1:address></st1:street> area before swinging back to <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">East</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Town</st1:placetype></st1:place> for one last walking tour.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We cut through <st1:placename st="on">Juneau</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Park</st1:placetype> to the waterfront to see the modernist architecture of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Milwaukee</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Art Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place>, originally designed by mid-century legend Eero Saarinen, with<a href="http://mam.org/info/details/quadracci.php"> an amazing “movable sunscreen” and outdoor pavilion area</a> later installed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This wing-like structure opens every morning at 10 a.m. See the photo below of it rising upward, halfway open.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s a perfect analogy for <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city></st1:place>, a city rising to a comeback in shocking (and striking) fashion.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJ6FDaujsQ_kHg0XsIb2pWmcS-OgXvUSeabEUa4ZOAsBTYnRB0JbYCtUkRDEW4ZaJqZh_Ebmohxz0kRTo4TBZExb6x5N20zBVJGWRTQUhdeGJTNomoF26SKZ9cmvIMfflCdEKFutE9rKQ/s1600/CIMG1968.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJ6FDaujsQ_kHg0XsIb2pWmcS-OgXvUSeabEUa4ZOAsBTYnRB0JbYCtUkRDEW4ZaJqZh_Ebmohxz0kRTo4TBZExb6x5N20zBVJGWRTQUhdeGJTNomoF26SKZ9cmvIMfflCdEKFutE9rKQ/s400/CIMG1968.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633867322261233090" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Nightfall brought us to a wine tasting event at Bastille Days, where we took in more great bands while sipping wines from around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A perfect ending to a big day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>On Sunday, with only a few hours (and a tiny bit of energy) left, we relaxed at Bradford Beach, a beach right in East Town where you can rent cabanas and beach chaises.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>On the way in and out, you can also grab burgers and custard at <a href="http://www.northpointcustard.com/">Northpoint</a>, the famous custard shack located right in the beach parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While the custard was cold and creamy, I have to say the burger was the thing that struck me: a truly mouth-watering hamburger on Cioppino bread with pickles, my favorite classic condiment.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsD0QFefmyAW9Hx6GyKHChtvwe-LAtF05yo3HLo2XQnPu6Kx8-RIxlPqsufTodg43DslC18_-2_0rj3ub3OJDdcks2XXuUU7HUg2qasMxZe3a8KsrnEZRF1rqcutpJrPD_PSHgtP9ctZF/s1600/CIMG1975.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsD0QFefmyAW9Hx6GyKHChtvwe-LAtF05yo3HLo2XQnPu6Kx8-RIxlPqsufTodg43DslC18_-2_0rj3ub3OJDdcks2XXuUU7HUg2qasMxZe3a8KsrnEZRF1rqcutpJrPD_PSHgtP9ctZF/s400/CIMG1975.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633867324798666322" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">An hour later, I left <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city> full in all senses.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not only was it a fantastic reunion with old friends, but it was a great “blind date.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Out of left field, I discovered another place I think I could live. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The only downside I can see is that teensy weensy detail called winter, as I was reminded when I saw a license plate that read, hilariously, H8WNTRS.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But the upside of a serious winter region like the <st1:place st="on">Midwest</st1:place> is that nobody does summer quite as exuberantly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I noticed this <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/07/life-is-just-bowl-of-cherries-in.html">when I was in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Michigan</st1:place></st1:state></a> the summer of 2009.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After such a long winter, you can tell how uber-grateful everyone is for summer.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Just look to the zillion festivals crammed into every summer weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In <st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city>, and the upper <st1:place st="on">Midwest</st1:place>, there’s an urgency and passion to summer.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I really like that, and I just wonder if someday I might need to have a seasonal pad in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For example, a cool riverfront loft in an old industrial brick building with its own boat slip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You just never know.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-91662701259846990452011-07-24T14:29:00.000-06:002011-07-26T21:58:18.948-06:00The Unexpected Coolness of Cream City (aka Milwaukee, Wisconsin)<p class="MsoNormal">When I first saw that <st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city>’s nickname was <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Cream</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>, I assumed this was a reference to the dairy industry.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After all, the one thing I knew about <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Wisconsin</st1:place></st1:state> is that cheese comes from there.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(It is, in fact, the number one cheese producing state in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region>, with more than 600 varieties of cheese produced.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But that’s not what <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Cream</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place> refers to.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s a special type of creamy-golden-yellow brick that was produced in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city> in the 1800s and used to construct many of the city’s well-preserved historic buildings.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXN0u7uw1yBmNsXL1N71tSfj0EBMvF6kj0esKXYLJ4BpVMWtASuL9y9gapiyx4w3G4M2mC7QfwvaY2KnKOrnOhecDQQ9jzm6kqqyBedE9GXILrwbuvd86jgNWC0In5hwkFs2A8S4CraWho/s1600/CIMG1965.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXN0u7uw1yBmNsXL1N71tSfj0EBMvF6kj0esKXYLJ4BpVMWtASuL9y9gapiyx4w3G4M2mC7QfwvaY2KnKOrnOhecDQQ9jzm6kqqyBedE9GXILrwbuvd86jgNWC0In5hwkFs2A8S4CraWho/s400/CIMG1965.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633025044117356226" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">This revelation was one of many last weekend, when a group of friends convened in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I realized that not only did I know nothing about this metropolitan city of 1.5 million – apparently a shared condition given that I would tell people I was going to <st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city> and they’d wish me a great time in <st1:state st="on">Minnesota</st1:state> – but I really couldn’t explain why.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It simply wasn’t on my radar.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Inexplicably, <st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city> has the same (lack of) appeal as say <st1:city st="on">Baltimore</st1:city> or <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Detroit</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD_n0qvdRhhyqs-CNQzNYgY8DpVGk0C6IwHA5o6yFQ0R-mekyT2jMGmQzEnMUsGXXDRovBxcumSspCDN5nEZl1RPZHcnJHV0Q21AVivpJZR9zBzKe2tgobZMo_ZuruBkqwhSkEWX7wLuIz/s1600/CIMG1973.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD_n0qvdRhhyqs-CNQzNYgY8DpVGk0C6IwHA5o6yFQ0R-mekyT2jMGmQzEnMUsGXXDRovBxcumSspCDN5nEZl1RPZHcnJHV0Q21AVivpJZR9zBzKe2tgobZMo_ZuruBkqwhSkEWX7wLuIz/s400/CIMG1973.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633025056892803666" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">But the truth of the matter, as I’m prepared to set straight today, is that <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city></st1:place> is a very cool place.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>First, <st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city> has a lovely setting right on the western <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">shore</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Lake Michigan</st1:placename></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That means vast ocean-like views, clear water, sailboats, waterfront parks and biking trails, and nice beaches within walking distance.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then there’s the wide <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Milwaukee</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> cutting through it, creating an impressive downtown <a href="http://www.mkedcd.org/DowntownMilwaukee/RiverWalk/index.html">River Walk</a> area with stately riverfront buildings and tons of dockside eateries that you can visit by boat. I personally think it eclipses the San Antonio River Walk, which is far better known.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As if that weren’t enough, there’s another smaller river – the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Kinnickinnic</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> – which is quite fun to say.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-9Qwg1ZwwN_SGMEDZlpmxuyL1PyaNSmfGN6CFNjTgMtGbS3U4Cy1unxvtzXenDu5JUHsdCL9VcsKMnYagDYXhNibwDgHsrSemjZ93k6TqnAVfsAYg8FYxAzwG8D3fg0TuYFelmAN_i9n/s1600/CIMG1909.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-9Qwg1ZwwN_SGMEDZlpmxuyL1PyaNSmfGN6CFNjTgMtGbS3U4Cy1unxvtzXenDu5JUHsdCL9VcsKMnYagDYXhNibwDgHsrSemjZ93k6TqnAVfsAYg8FYxAzwG8D3fg0TuYFelmAN_i9n/s400/CIMG1909.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633025053684235586" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Beyond this aquatic bounty, there are great urban areas like the <a href="http://www.historicthirdward.org/">Historic Third Ward</a>, where industrial buildings have been transformed into hip lofts, food markets and rooftop restaurants; or the <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Old World Third Street</st1:address></st1:street> area, where modern wine bars abut multi-generational sausage shops; or <a href="http://www.easttown.com/">East Town</a>, an upscale district full of parks and museums<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; ">.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Frankly, I didn’t see any downtown area that wasn’t comely, and I was looking for it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For a city with a declining population (another hallmark of a poor reputation), I saw no rundown areas, strangely.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Instead, I found <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee</st1:place></st1:city> immaculately landscaped, carefully preserved and more lively than depressed.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZgFg0Y6444HOWWBGerCLNdL5KX_zm_CJawLbpSwwWxMcdoMbXZOkZZKbcIZQhWvNBrNyk2H3E95luExK0dfG0_Cy_w11lWAV7NxS4FqPzYxRYt_clP7jy35eBY_K5dq6TYNL7W-QU-uH/s1600/CIMG1912.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZgFg0Y6444HOWWBGerCLNdL5KX_zm_CJawLbpSwwWxMcdoMbXZOkZZKbcIZQhWvNBrNyk2H3E95luExK0dfG0_Cy_w11lWAV7NxS4FqPzYxRYt_clP7jy35eBY_K5dq6TYNL7W-QU-uH/s400/CIMG1912.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633025062235764306" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">The fact that the cost of living is so reasonable (e.g. luxury three-bedroom waterfront condos between $200-$300K) doesn’t hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Another major ingredient is that this is a young town, which I definitely noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The median age is 30.3 years, which is six years younger than the national average of 36.8 years.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Fittingly, <st1:city st="on">Milwaukee</st1:city> is only second to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Las Vegas</st1:place></st1:city> in the number of bars, clubs and restaurants per capita.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was also named one of the top ten best places to be single by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Forbes</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As a result of all these surprising things, as well as the fact that its population loss has slowed to a trickle in the last decade, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Street</i> recently named it one of the “<a href="http://realestate.yahoo.com/promo/americas-five-most-underrated-cities.html">America’s Five Most Underrated Cities</a>.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I couldn’t agree more.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Read Part II of my head-turning date with <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Milwaukee <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2011/07/milwaukee-part-ii-from-cheese-curds-to.html">here</a></st1:place></st1:city>.<o:p></o:p></b></p><p></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-60281879233804180842011-05-26T11:52:00.000-06:002011-06-01T18:50:15.710-06:00New Mexico Is One of America's Top Five Food RegionsThat's according to<i> <a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/">Budget Travel</a></i> magazine's May 2011 issue, folks.<div><br /></div><div>In reviewing their roundup of the <a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/feature/new-mexico-chile-country,7286/">seven must-taste spots in "New Mexico Chile Country,"</a> I was surprised to learn that I'd only been to three. One of them, <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/golden-crown-panaderia-albuquerque">Golden Crown Panaderia</a>, was a memorable highlight of my <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/03/baked-in-artistry-in-albuquerque-new.html">first visit to Albuquerque</a>. I devoured several <i>empanadas dulces</i> while chatting with the charismatic owner and "bread artist" Pratt Morales and then brought home several loaves of his famous green chile cheese bread. (<a href="http://www.goldencrown.biz/shoppingcart/products/Original-New-Mexico-Green-Chile-Bread-(2-loaves).html">Order it online here</a>.) </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOdfzdyZtju17zcVKf3-PfV9pn_EfLSIrcoPn0jOaYFTBregg_eaK7PBbzTrCI2dNMgpVwEnd9iuz1EfNmqqtWG9LFs7wpjdHroyDJh2vHf34_ZgYBK3v3ojSYuN6e4-Vpp050m4z3fI2/s1600/Santa+Fe%252C+Albuquerque+and+Austin+March+2009+011.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOdfzdyZtju17zcVKf3-PfV9pn_EfLSIrcoPn0jOaYFTBregg_eaK7PBbzTrCI2dNMgpVwEnd9iuz1EfNmqqtWG9LFs7wpjdHroyDJh2vHf34_ZgYBK3v3ojSYuN6e4-Vpp050m4z3fI2/s400/Santa+Fe%252C+Albuquerque+and+Austin+March+2009+011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611098988993230722" /></a><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, the other two spots (<a href="http://www.golondrinas.org/">El Rancho de las Golondrinas</a> in Santa Fe and the <a href="http://www.jemezpueblo.org/">Pueblo of Jemez</a> west of Santa Fe) I've visited but not tasted. That means a re-do of those plus four more to try, with <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/place?hl=en&sugexp=ldymls&pq=sopapilla+recipe&xhr=t&cp=9&qe=bWFyeSBhbmQg&qesig=FNTq6QwQrWzXTszmcd0wCA&pkc=AFgZ2tmN0KuvlrhPpS6N0pwnM_jvgdnPCd2Aai11FAXkq8JgjeAtnym4zlADy4eM5mR-aRua_cN9EhaCfzWgBjkRpBMazpgbAA&biw=1038&bih=523&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=mary+and+tito's&fb=1&gl=us&hq=mary+and+tito's&hnear=0x87220addd309837b:0xc0d3f8ceb8d9f6fd,Albuquerque,+NM&cid=17955699218556143877&dtab=2&ei=ypreTbzNCu_OiAL2_fjLCg&sa=X&oi=local_result&ct=result&resnum=4&sqi=2&ved=0CDgQqgUwAw">Mary & Tito's</a> in Albuquerque being at the top of my hit list. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've heard repeatedly that I must try the savory stuffed <i>sopaIpillas</i> (the New Mexican equivalent of a turnover) and <i>carne adovada</i> (pork marinated in red chile) at this 48-year-old institution, which was one of five restaurants to receive the <a href="http://www.jamesbeard.org/index.php?q=james_beard_awards_americas_classics">"America's Classics" award</a> from the James Beard Foundation in 2010. Watch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/JamesBeardFoundation#p/u/7/XYiVPAHHC8U">their short video piece</a> to see 87-year-old owner Mary and hear her story.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wondering who else made the cut around the country? That would be Texas' Barbecue Belt, Portland's Farm-to-Table Movement, Louisiana's Cajun Country and Pittsburgh's Old World European Kitchens. Read <a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/feature/americas-best-food-regions,7287/?wpisrc=newsletter">the full article</a> to send your taste buds traveling. </div><div><br /></div>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-56103374819543500832011-04-19T12:04:00.000-06:002011-04-19T15:23:41.623-06:00A Hoodoo Needs Its Hat<p class="MsoNormal">The title may sound like something out of a Dr. Seuss book, but I’m talking about magical place that is in fact quite real.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjdzxiuDXZZ1FSdzQjbQtdylEyD1mjk47i9LI84RWAViro6B0X2KbKvCslwNaHCjyH5bWBF1IBBo-jbrHX3TfD1mzCUBbgcVL0OX7KhwW263kOUsgDG2LSsAtg0L598ZGlZgkLA_rvWqI/s1600/CIMG1728.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjdzxiuDXZZ1FSdzQjbQtdylEyD1mjk47i9LI84RWAViro6B0X2KbKvCslwNaHCjyH5bWBF1IBBo-jbrHX3TfD1mzCUBbgcVL0OX7KhwW263kOUsgDG2LSsAtg0L598ZGlZgkLA_rvWqI/s400/CIMG1728.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597359738514967682" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">A year and four months after relocating to New Mexico, I finally made it to <a href="http://www.blm.gov/nm/st/en/prog/recreation/rio_puerco/kasha_katuwe_tent_rocks.html">Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument</a>, about an hour and a half north in the <a href="http://www.pueblodecochiti.org/">Pueblo of Cochiti</a> (tribal land).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Kasha-Katuwe means “white cliffs” in the pueblo’s traditional language, while Tent Rocks is the anglo way of describing the unusual pointed <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoodoo_(geology)">hoodoos</a> that number in the hundreds here. (Another famous example of hoodoos would be Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRVdaPlbEvaipULUh1wCJlrXJxl2DD16pX4jHx6HcmB6nI8Z2QYwooMsjLq67J6Hj9jFYiMbexy7fl1oNqFoqAv2OuDsJh8Qkqv55NkLdlxs6LOMmLgcgnyHDhWOETypwCuuTy8iLjgwA/s1600/CIMG1706.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRVdaPlbEvaipULUh1wCJlrXJxl2DD16pX4jHx6HcmB6nI8Z2QYwooMsjLq67J6Hj9jFYiMbexy7fl1oNqFoqAv2OuDsJh8Qkqv55NkLdlxs6LOMmLgcgnyHDhWOETypwCuuTy8iLjgwA/s400/CIMG1706.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597359735100329826" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Towering up to 90 feet in height, some of them have hard caprocks, or “hats,” which keep their cone shape and softer layers intact.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Those that have lost their hats, however, are slowly crumbling right before your eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBigYZW-tKdvLK7-MEaRwDp9J95-I-eDRZWmVbCK5Fwxp_wgiSFKDI8byH4nZ9dLZMxvr-LSyF3dSDX9dzQudnAd8fOgqSidO36IsL4SOlfvkTDvTsTvfn_yvLKhEjMhH6ncTYMa9PGcpT/s1600/CIMG1714.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBigYZW-tKdvLK7-MEaRwDp9J95-I-eDRZWmVbCK5Fwxp_wgiSFKDI8byH4nZ9dLZMxvr-LSyF3dSDX9dzQudnAd8fOgqSidO36IsL4SOlfvkTDvTsTvfn_yvLKhEjMhH6ncTYMa9PGcpT/s400/CIMG1714.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597359749517683298" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">The 1.5-mile trail takes you through shady slot canyons at the bottom (which were slightly eerie after watching Aron Ralston get stuck in one in the film <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1542344/">127 Hours</a>), up a steep 630-foot climb, and finally, out onto a panoramic cliff where you are literally on top of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You can see the Sangre de Cristo Mountains overlooking <st1:city st="on">Santa Fe</st1:city> to the north all the way to the <st1:placename st="on">Sandia</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype> of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Albuquerque</st1:city></st1:place> to the south.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You can also look down at the posse of hoodoos below you for a whole new perspective on these otherworldly rocks.</p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZPBGu8qVzeQXwJ1RKKG1mb3F1VU3X_7fA_skAfHt73JmaP0D8AIkySb8J8ccyTVfNr152tD_Pew7-yflwLErXmP20c9f0X_yjg0kPV0tI9A9WNWUpIknPjeQQ6LAzUtR4z9TamYlr4ge/s1600/CIMG1748.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZPBGu8qVzeQXwJ1RKKG1mb3F1VU3X_7fA_skAfHt73JmaP0D8AIkySb8J8ccyTVfNr152tD_Pew7-yflwLErXmP20c9f0X_yjg0kPV0tI9A9WNWUpIknPjeQQ6LAzUtR4z9TamYlr4ge/s400/CIMG1748.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597359744993254802" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In case you’re wondering, these pumice, ash and tuff deposits were created by volcanic eruptions six to seven million years ago, and you can still find round black pieces of translucent obsidian (aka volcanic glass, or colloquially, “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apache_tears">Apache tears</a>”) mixed into the sandy bottom of the canyon.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s tempting to take a six-million-year-old sample home, but it’s prohibited.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So I took a photo instead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTr6eAx1_2fC7NOGAAEQ7_G_qPMpD2mAM6VLEQZ8n3B9stm4Myr5H0TkMH1-rpV0YMv4h7lDk1vOfVO2u94Go6qPnz8qflW3OLnQ6XTM6wfX3yYTWuEEjVwCjbuhYK_ZwjFmBeS6vuS09f/s1600/CIMG1691.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTr6eAx1_2fC7NOGAAEQ7_G_qPMpD2mAM6VLEQZ8n3B9stm4Myr5H0TkMH1-rpV0YMv4h7lDk1vOfVO2u94Go6qPnz8qflW3OLnQ6XTM6wfX3yYTWuEEjVwCjbuhYK_ZwjFmBeS6vuS09f/s400/CIMG1691.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597359724463668626" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">As a final nerdy factoid, I read in the Trail Guide that the Spanish conquistadors who arrived in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> in the mid-1500s (and brought green chile with them, as I wrote about in <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2011/04/green-chile-anything-amazing.html">my last blog post</a>) made note of this place in their diaries.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It surely must have looked like a serious contender for one of the <a href="http://science.nationalgeographic.com/science/archaeology/seven-cities-of-cibola/">Seven Golden Cities of <st1:place st="on">Cibola</st1:place></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But no, it’s just a breathtaking living geology laboratory that’s captivated humans for over 4,000 years. </p><p class="MsoNormal">And I can go there anytime I want. That’s pretty cool.</p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-23084356046128172882011-04-15T15:11:00.000-06:002011-05-23T13:56:41.639-06:00Green Chile + Anything = Amazing<p class="MsoNormal">If you know anything about New Mexican cuisine, you know it centers around green chile.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(And yes, that’s how it’s spelled here.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not chili/chilies, but chile/chiles.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Today, I learned even more about the state’s largest agricultural crop from <a href="http://www.santafetravelers.com/">Santa Fe Travelers</a>' blog post, entitled “<a href="http://www.santafetravelers.com/food-thoughts/were-chiles-always-in-new-mexico/">Were chiles always in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state></a>?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">According to the New Mexico Department of Tourism, wild chile plants originated in <st1:country-region st="on">Brazil, and </st1:country-region>like many things (both agricultural and cultural), they were brought to <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state> by the Spanish, who first arrived in the 1540s looking for the mythical <a href="http://science.nationalgeographic.com/science/archaeology/seven-cities-of-cibola/">Seven Golden Cities of <st1:place st="on">Cibola</st1:place></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(They, ahem, found no such thing.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Centuries later, a pioneering horticulturist from <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Las Cruces</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">NM</st1:state></st1:place>, helped cultivate the more hardy varieties that are ubiquitous today:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Big Jim, Joe E. Parker, Sandia and Española Improved. </p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTJLdmjZo0-OaUd49xPjs8D5drfMZ66qM4sfraK_d0LCy1NaGPzNKxDujZRoAKhSQj85em2FoluojHSVVkqdU1rUpg4LYC2UT7mVhC3Dxn8ZjFt5AC_7DvBz02g4TOzXFl4nBWLH91KaM/s1600/CIMG1685.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTJLdmjZo0-OaUd49xPjs8D5drfMZ66qM4sfraK_d0LCy1NaGPzNKxDujZRoAKhSQj85em2FoluojHSVVkqdU1rUpg4LYC2UT7mVhC3Dxn8ZjFt5AC_7DvBz02g4TOzXFl4nBWLH91KaM/s400/CIMG1685.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595929999896159602" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">When I say green chiles have become a cornerstone of our gastronomical life here in New Mexico, that they mark the harvest season (when you can smell them roasting outside grocery stories here) and that they can enhance just about anything you eat, you may think I’m drinking the green chile juice.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But before you question my sanity, let me ask – have you actually eaten green chiles?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If you have, you know they’re mildly spicy (meaning pleasantly, bearably spicy, and not too hot) and incredibly flavorful.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As further evidence, let me cite three ways green chiles have been unexpectedly added to dishes with killer results.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The first, as mentioned in the Santa Fe Travelers article (<a href="http://www.santafetravelers.com/food-thoughts/were-chiles-always-in-new-mexico/">with a recipe</a>), is Green Chile Apple Pie.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This one has actually caught on so much that you can now find it outside of <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state>, as I did in November when I bought one at <a href="http://greenchilekitchen.com/chilepies/">Green Chile Kitchen</a> in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">San Francisco</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Here’s the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/17/dining/17pies.html?_r=2&pagewanted=all">New York Times review</a> of their version of this unique pie.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The second is adding green chile to sushi.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My favorite example of this thus far is the <a href="http://www.abqsamurai.com/samurai-sushi-menu.pdf">Amex Roll at Samurai Sushi</a> in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Albuquerque</st1:place></st1:city>, which combines green chile with spicy tuna and cucumber.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Absolutely delicious and an explosion of spicy goodness.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You’ll also see green chile tempura as an appetizer or a specialty role in a number of Japanese restaurants here, showing that it’s not just a condiment but the headliner in many dishes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwF4P8Gv5-hTIrWAUcsR77e_EFdpXychePobSuMlHwV3Y99YHq1Y5st9s_sDZfOvpQh9fv9r8BTIGKFxdfP_MGHgTPOJrOMN_G2qMTasKrzcvYl8QoULppcDMjtWy083FaWqYgrMonHNT/s1600/CIMG1686.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwF4P8Gv5-hTIrWAUcsR77e_EFdpXychePobSuMlHwV3Y99YHq1Y5st9s_sDZfOvpQh9fv9r8BTIGKFxdfP_MGHgTPOJrOMN_G2qMTasKrzcvYl8QoULppcDMjtWy083FaWqYgrMonHNT/s400/CIMG1686.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595930005901879826" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, my most recent discovery on the “surprising uses of green chile” front would be the utterly addictive <a href="http://www.albuqcookie.com/green_chile_cookies.html">Green Chile Pecan Sandia Cookies</a> from <a href="http://www.albuqcookie.com/">AlbuqCookie</a>, a company founded by a New York transplant who also realized that in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> you can combine chile with about anything.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Another product I'm eager to try is his <a href="http://www.albuqcookie.com/leah_rosies_cookies.html">Chocolate Pepper Chile Cookies</a>, which also demonstrate the happy marriage of sweet and spicy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So there you have it - my trifecta of proof. Feeling the need to come up with your own wild and crazy combination?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Order green chile online (either roasted or frozen) from <a href="http://www.hatch-chile.com/catalog.asp">Hatch Chile Express</a>, as everyone from New Mexico will tell you the best green chiles are grown in Hatch, NM. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or, you can also snag a jar of <a href="http://www.505chile.com/products.html">505 Southwestern All-Natural Diced and Flamed Roasted Green Chiles</a> in many supermarkets.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(They too source all their green chiles from Hatch, and their name is a reference to the <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state> area code, 505.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-87544958206564060522011-02-10T18:24:00.000-07:002011-02-24T10:26:50.103-07:00When Farolitos Fly: Christmas Eve in Santa Fe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZSKnn4-eIulfnKpKAA5eWyFt94EgIgI4rK3LUatuEtHjodNIk3Is4SvcLP53NgAqLEDAHcqFf9XHKnrWbiwylOoiEFErkjvdCDRug8MQNMW-vjDNdHgXWW2S9xl9OTLDkEyBIOvfQktg/s1600/Christmas+Eve+Farolitos.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZSKnn4-eIulfnKpKAA5eWyFt94EgIgI4rK3LUatuEtHjodNIk3Is4SvcLP53NgAqLEDAHcqFf9XHKnrWbiwylOoiEFErkjvdCDRug8MQNMW-vjDNdHgXWW2S9xl9OTLDkEyBIOvfQktg/s400/Christmas+Eve+Farolitos.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572238630339751346" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">[This is rather late, I know.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I just got my hands on our photos from Christmas Eve, and I was reminded what a special thing this is!]</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Imagine it’s a cold winter night in a 400-year-old city, and the only lights you see are candles placed inside paper bags (aka farolitos) and bonfires in front of some homes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The glowing farolitos line the narrow streets and rugged adobe walls, while the crackling bonfires provide warmth, a distinctive holiday fragrance (thanks to the aromatic pinon logs) and interaction with fellow revelers.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RX1vBaFwGnrq7gnDggEiSHZ0pNHIN3QkUq9nVghbLdfEDqy8nH1CIxq3pYipKDW6fbQpzlK4R6H4_1u81OgUQHbdqJJIooQdvT7J_dm5maXKt1XFzG-QQYoVh4gLK1DAbOoOeYIZABJA/s1600/Farolito+Display.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RX1vBaFwGnrq7gnDggEiSHZ0pNHIN3QkUq9nVghbLdfEDqy8nH1CIxq3pYipKDW6fbQpzlK4R6H4_1u81OgUQHbdqJJIooQdvT7J_dm5maXKt1XFzG-QQYoVh4gLK1DAbOoOeYIZABJA/s400/Farolito+Display.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572238634059145250" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">This is <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2005/12/16/travel/escapes/16santa.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city> on Christmas Eve</a>, and you’re here, walking around the city’s oldest neighborhood in your warmest coat, hat and scarf (not to mention your long johns), because this is what New Mexicans do.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s a longstanding tradition rooted in religious practices (the farolitos are meant guide baby Jesus to shelter) that’s become an opportunity for Santa Feans and tourists alike to come together for strolling and caroling and, quite frankly, marveling at it all.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city> is postcard pretty as is, but at night, by candlelight, with all the electric streetlights dimmed for the occasion, it’s magical.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ygQ9BvXr2DlsQ6Cc_GtwV5UvgZuDPaLnDWkuyX15_r7Jc6VpWrfjA9OWsO150jlUCLMDrl3s8FJHEataSSJBb7sivzCDthXmkNj8EIWgncXV704J8ekYWres8zKRYwLbBP9Grin9b-sy/s1600/Canyon+Road+on+Christmas+Eve.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ygQ9BvXr2DlsQ6Cc_GtwV5UvgZuDPaLnDWkuyX15_r7Jc6VpWrfjA9OWsO150jlUCLMDrl3s8FJHEataSSJBb7sivzCDthXmkNj8EIWgncXV704J8ekYWres8zKRYwLbBP9Grin9b-sy/s400/Canyon+Road+on+Christmas+Eve.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572238636356573122" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Artists have joined in on the Christmas Eve tradition by making <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><a href="http://www.canyonroadarts.com/">Canyon Road</a></st1:address></st1:street>, with its 100+ art galleries and studios, a featured stop on your stroll.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Most galleries stay open late and tempt you inside to see their latest collections with hot cider and cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> (The lovely mermaid above was enough to get us into one shop.) </span><st1:place st="on">Holiday</st1:place> music spills out of every doorway, and lighted sculptures and kinetic art call you over for a closer look.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There are also roving bands of carolers and other curious processions (like the chariot built with camping lanterns pictured below) heading up and down <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Canyon Road</st1:address></st1:street>, amidst the throng of people who’ve replaced the cars on this famous, winding street.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Pnoxyouw2Ltg_Z3MtERGslg6m-KldAm9DsbfAm-EI-OK3kFJPs2xr1VDHWTZKW0obdgYCbH3LUnvpSECeNXWdDvEC7oqoqrSEFWi3MSH2LZPpec-pvHeW0C4l7H6RYAhZVV9WSQstPTB/s1600/Christmas+Eve+Procession.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Pnoxyouw2Ltg_Z3MtERGslg6m-KldAm9DsbfAm-EI-OK3kFJPs2xr1VDHWTZKW0obdgYCbH3LUnvpSECeNXWdDvEC7oqoqrSEFWi3MSH2LZPpec-pvHeW0C4l7H6RYAhZVV9WSQstPTB/s400/Christmas+Eve+Procession.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572238626818904930" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">For me, the festive scene on <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Canyon Road</st1:address></st1:street> was certainly something to take in, but I most enjoyed wandering the quiet little lanes that branch off of it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You feel so far from modernity and all its loud and busy ways. Some of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city>’s oldest homes are in this area, and being on foot, it was an unprecedented opportunity to peek in the windows and see what it’s like to live in a historic adobe (among the priciest real estate in town).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The shot below shows a glimpse of the extensive collection of religious art we spied in one home.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOUmX1Rv0UnedvVHFPjqAHfA_ELduaDD-VtTJv_2DM1f92DnKLTe-DBMhulQtZtOcoAecjeNw-x6dMg4rh6RDfOrYWtTO_pp2xWHDws2WC0REoWk5wAZuTos9EUKYSjql2elVv3k9GadU/s1600/Peek+Inside+Adobe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOUmX1Rv0UnedvVHFPjqAHfA_ELduaDD-VtTJv_2DM1f92DnKLTe-DBMhulQtZtOcoAecjeNw-x6dMg4rh6RDfOrYWtTO_pp2xWHDws2WC0REoWk5wAZuTos9EUKYSjql2elVv3k9GadU/s400/Peek+Inside+Adobe.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572239868387883778" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">In the stillness of the <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Canyon Road</st1:address></st1:street> side roads, you also have the attention span to notice something else.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The flying farolitos.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yes, believe it or not, <a href="http://www.abqjournal.com/north/242314231254north12-24-10.htm">an ingenious solar energy expert</a> developed a way launch a kite-like version of the farolito, which rises comet-like across the sky until gets smaller and smaller and eventually burns itself up in a falling cascade of ashes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Check out <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErdtwhH9OVc">this YouTube video</a> showing a flying farolito from “launch to loss” – forward to 1:30 to see it start to go up.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If you didn’t know about this little twist on the tradition, you would rub your eyes and wonder if you’d seen an UFO.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But no.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s just Christmas Eve in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santa Fe</st1:place></st1:city>, a place like no other on a night like no other.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-50054500613945511962011-01-08T17:57:00.000-07:002011-01-08T19:34:25.922-07:00The Truth About Truth or Consequences, NM<p class="MsoNormal">I had planned a relaxing, romantic, semi-adventurous, warmer weather getaway.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I had done it in stealth.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was my Christmas present to Kevin, and I was determined to keep the cat in the bag.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That part, at least, was a success. The trip, however, turned out a little differently than I had imagined.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFOrY4sPLRc2Vui0fssoL6oaSKOYYrmz7hfg1dqZ4W3CvNt6cNR6JUeS609a-ItKJ_Db2dgTAx1EutJovfSb_uqLpAkvT3mxmypX133aflxQ5YnQ8tro5mKDYmrl30Pq0oH_G07btXEwW/s1600/CIMG1587.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFOrY4sPLRc2Vui0fssoL6oaSKOYYrmz7hfg1dqZ4W3CvNt6cNR6JUeS609a-ItKJ_Db2dgTAx1EutJovfSb_uqLpAkvT3mxmypX133aflxQ5YnQ8tro5mKDYmrl30Pq0oH_G07btXEwW/s400/CIMG1587.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559997002449468354" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">The first omen was logging onto the <a href="http://www.virgingalactic.com/overview/spaceport/">Virgin Galactic website</a> two days beforehand, with the intention of buy two tickets for the <a href="http://www.spaceportamerica.com/news/spaceport-america-hardhat-tour-information.html">Hard Hat Tour of Spaceport <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region></a> (still under construction).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If you haven’t heard, that’s the brainchild of Sir Richard Branson, the place where starting next year, the average wealthy-as-all-get-out citizen will be able to take a commercial flight into space for $200,000.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Credit card in hand, ready to book our three-hour tour, which I was sure would be the highlight of our trip, I instead find myself confronted with the following message:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span class="apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Arial;color:black">Due to the safety implications of increased construction activity on the spaceport site, we are unable to accept new Hard Hat Tour reservations until further notice. We anticipate tours to resume shortly.</span></i></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nooooooooooo.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Okay, I think – this is disappointing, but not the end of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m sure there are plenty of other things to do over two days in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truth_or_Consequences,_New_Mexico">Truth or Consequences, NM</a> (formerly <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Hot Springs</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">NM</st1:state></st1:place>).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Certainly a town that renamed itself after winning a 1950s game show contest had all sorts of kooky stuff to get into.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(And if you count drinking $4 cocktails at the bar at a bowling alley called Bedroxx as one of them, maybe I was<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> </i>right.) <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqllWdLJ1JXJ_MGkt7MbKkR-jKY_gJdXV9pnTfiXHCH_bqZ7jVvn85qXFcINvup0tLixl-VftwNU3agCbjkZ68fzLoZqnOc2nBtLuNwptyh_21uVjQjOF9ZNAdGVAGVAakgBZegSB9Sv9G/s1600/CIMG1594.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqllWdLJ1JXJ_MGkt7MbKkR-jKY_gJdXV9pnTfiXHCH_bqZ7jVvn85qXFcINvup0tLixl-VftwNU3agCbjkZ68fzLoZqnOc2nBtLuNwptyh_21uVjQjOF9ZNAdGVAGVAakgBZegSB9Sv9G/s400/CIMG1594.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559999813032594674" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">As we pulled into T or C (as the locals call it), approximately three hours south of Albuquerque, I will admit that I was a bit startled, especially given some of the descriptions I’d read.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“<a href="http://nymag.com/travel/2007/spring/30639/index1.html">An <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">East</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Village vibe in the Southwest</st1:placetype></st1:place></a>,” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">New York Magazine</i> had called it, as well as "a town with a low-key, ambient weirdness.” <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">New York Times</i> had talked about the “<a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/10/05/travel/05Surfacing.html?ref=travel">stark beauty and quirky local vibe</a>.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Budget Travel</i> magazine, to which I swear loyalty, had named it one of their “<a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/bt-dyn/content/article/2008/08/02/AR2008080201303.html">10 Coolest Small Towns</a>” in 2008.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I wasn’t really seeing any of that – the funkiness, the coolness, or even enough live human beings to get a clear vibe.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It appeared rather deserted and thus jived most with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Sunset </i>magazine’s phrase:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“<a href="http://www.sunset.com/travel/southwest/take-a-trip-to-truth-or-consequences-00400000014696/">a dusty one-stoplight town on the banks of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Rio Grande</st1:city></st1:place></a>.” (We had to look around to find the river, but we did finally - here's a shot of a pretty stretch of it below.)</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0gEyCcftKv9k-c7y1be3ePJM6C-4YRElwMFoGmpub1Bvvk8cDlhJxqNUU8rF-zuA1B5yAtA0nxYsv1QkW7H72ulYG7twR-3IlJuS3e0x48FYCeZaQE71DqnZG3GAuV2kbWqBpfaQg-Kr/s1600/CIMG1599.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0gEyCcftKv9k-c7y1be3ePJM6C-4YRElwMFoGmpub1Bvvk8cDlhJxqNUU8rF-zuA1B5yAtA0nxYsv1QkW7H72ulYG7twR-3IlJuS3e0x48FYCeZaQE71DqnZG3GAuV2kbWqBpfaQg-Kr/s400/CIMG1599.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559997023372390850" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">It didn’t help that we arrived in the heels of a cold snap that had lowered temps from 75 degrees the previous week to the 30s, with lots of blustery wind.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or that it was Wednesday of the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, apparently a dead zone of activity in a town that locals told me comes alive on the weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or that we arrived around 4:30 p.m., and all the shops closed by 5:00 p.m.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We checked into our hotel, scheduled our complimentary 30-minute hot springs soak in one of the private tub rooms for 9:00 p.m. (you get one free soak every day of your stay as well as hot springs water piped directly into your bathtub), strolled around downtown long enough to get thoroughly frozen, and thus, not sure what else to do, headed off to dinner at 5:15 p.m., just like my parents would do. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">This shockingly early meal was the harbinger of the sleepy feeling that would engulf our trip – yet without any actual restful sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(More on that later.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The meal itself at <a href="http://www.cafebellaluca.com/index.html">Café BellaLuca</a>, just a block away, was good.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We had a crabcake, a salad, a bowl of carbonara pasta.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We sipped our glasses of wine and then an apertif.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But after all that, it was still only 7:00 p.m.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What to do now?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We asked the waiter for a suggestion, and she sighed and told us there wasn’t much nightlife.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The hip kids go to the bowling alley, she said. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So at 7:15 p.m. on a Wednesday night, we found ourselves at the <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/bedroxx-bowling-alley-truth-or-consequences">Leopard Lounge</a> at Bedroxx Bowling Alley, wondering what twilight zone we’d entered.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Bowling a few games might have passed the time, but it was league night.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No dice.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We drank our bargain cocktails, watched music videos on the TV and eventually found it was time for our soak back at the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Great.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLkSeW08AIGAxmf8rDa_qbBqb1aBy-VQ3GzNZBb6vnaEKQYmNLFxi5NCS5oFgYzkbcEEWxZIRAJc137c4B9JB0EwZCj5Zb3wOK3fdcXJ2W3l7DBZdDf5B1bSJ04XE5AIHzBXnxKCtCYq7/s1600/CIMG1580.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLkSeW08AIGAxmf8rDa_qbBqb1aBy-VQ3GzNZBb6vnaEKQYmNLFxi5NCS5oFgYzkbcEEWxZIRAJc137c4B9JB0EwZCj5Zb3wOK3fdcXJ2W3l7DBZdDf5B1bSJ04XE5AIHzBXnxKCtCYq7/s400/CIMG1580.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559996997213241474" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">After changing into our robes back at the historic <a href="http://www.sierragrandelodge.com/Home.aspx">Sierra Grande Lodge</a> (built in 1926, and the only hotel in a town of retro motor court motels), we headed to the spa for our private soak in a lovely stone tub.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Things were looking up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The water felt great, and they even had a pitcher of ice water with two glasses set out for us.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>And boy did I gulp it down.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You see, the geothermal <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">hot springs</st1:place></st1:city> that sit just 30 feet below the town are hot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Real hot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Like 107 degrees hot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The kind of hot that gives you a flush feeling and elevated pulse when you get out.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I found it very relaxing at first – and nearly unbearable at the end. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> (I was reminded of a motel I saw downtown called "Fire Water Lodging," pictured below.)</span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1p3ONzDKXKBaG7BDxmMwaLsfM99J50AFEX4ozV85ialcy49RfbHHZ-rWTtx0EG9_pBk0p9hu2Pc2Dlr9S1Kq8lq8y5WdIowzA_sDW5ijzoUfQZ2MBqznqB5R_vLNrfnzJYebsZjJv8NyP/s1600/CIMG1591.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1p3ONzDKXKBaG7BDxmMwaLsfM99J50AFEX4ozV85ialcy49RfbHHZ-rWTtx0EG9_pBk0p9hu2Pc2Dlr9S1Kq8lq8y5WdIowzA_sDW5ijzoUfQZ2MBqznqB5R_vLNrfnzJYebsZjJv8NyP/s400/CIMG1591.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559997008443608722" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Back in our room, our bodies refused to cool down, and our heart rates wouldn’t slow either.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Combined with an incredibly hard bed and thin pillows, this led to the first of two nights of tossing and turning. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>When Kevin told me he’d slept like crap as well the next morning, I couldn’t believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The whole point of a relaxing spa getaway was to sleep better than at home.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Also, this was supposed to be the “nicest” lodging in town.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>True, the staff couldn't have been friendlier, and the exterior and grounds of the hotel as well as the spa were nice, but the creaky bed could not have been more uncomfortable. WTH? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Clearly, I had to readjust my understanding of what “nicest” means in a health-spa-boomtown-gone-bust that was trying to revive in an economically depressed region.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yes, there were big city transplants opening stores, giving massages and teaching yoga.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But even with the New Age set, this was still a rough n’ tumble place with “kicker bars” (aka, “where shitkickers start fights,” as one local told us), and any notion of “luxury” really has no audience.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or at least not yet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps when the millionaires start showing up for their trips into space, that will be the tipping point. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I can only imagine the seismic impact that will have on this sleepy little town, which, w<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">ith some preservation efforts and an economic infusion, definitely has potential. It certainly has all the history. (<a href="http://www.geronimospringsmuseum.com/">Geronimo soaked here</a>!) Not to mention some of the most striking cacti I've seen in New Mexico - including the "fuzzy" kind pictured below.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDY4hiTMRN4uK1Z93tXuxsMx-W6W23qPdQiCGUV1DoRL78u6xwccB75o8Hqo8UbOO9ckGW0lQTOhvV1bAVqAAi51NZoP0SdRs1Nf5ThlFXi4QAP-POzgprH9ui57bGbq8ZY8jIENWQV8p/s1600/CIMG1597.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDY4hiTMRN4uK1Z93tXuxsMx-W6W23qPdQiCGUV1DoRL78u6xwccB75o8Hqo8UbOO9ckGW0lQTOhvV1bAVqAAi51NZoP0SdRs1Nf5ThlFXi4QAP-POzgprH9ui57bGbq8ZY8jIENWQV8p/s400/CIMG1597.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559997013060984690" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Until then, I have to tell my truth.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>T or C really wasn’t the right getaway for this particular trip.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“<a href="http://www.nmmagazine.com/retroromance_march09.php">Retro romance</a>,” as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">New Mexico Magazine</i> called it, was not what we found.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But after reflecting on the experience, we both agree that we’d give it another chance if spaceport tours resume.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We’d stay at <a href="http://www.blackstonehotsprings.com/">Blackstone Hot Springs</a>, a restored motel with kitschy theme rooms that’s about half the cost of the Sierra Grande Lodge, we’d avoid soaking at night (and soak for shorter periods), and we’d go on a weekend so that hopefully we’d encounter some of the cool folks that clearly do frequent this place.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh, and maybe we’ll bring our own pillows, just like a fellow we saw in the parking lot of Blackstone Hot Springs.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-44330952452758699662010-11-01T15:27:00.000-06:002010-11-01T15:58:18.872-06:00Expand Your View in Villa Grove, Colorado<p class="MsoNormal">When it starts turning cold, the mind naturally turns to all places warm.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And in the high desert, the only places that stay warm in the winter are <st2:city st="on"><st2:place st="on">hot springs</st2:place></st2:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Fortunately, they’re all over the place.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You just have to know where to find them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(And then, when you do, you just have to be prepared to A) hike in and B) encounter possible nudity.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Most are clothing optional.)</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjstjIifPPN9wjTiDwRJCOxkLI6eoPyREOC8tuZ7fssyovfuPdyNja9xyUYXn-6DUGco0tIOnn3GWuYUD9mdzAA3K3_KlGeTHO52N_0oyAv9W6EmWjEeuy2G3MkZzsptDV3L-0ltaKu6iUt/s1600/CIMG1222.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjstjIifPPN9wjTiDwRJCOxkLI6eoPyREOC8tuZ7fssyovfuPdyNja9xyUYXn-6DUGco0tIOnn3GWuYUD9mdzAA3K3_KlGeTHO52N_0oyAv9W6EmWjEeuy2G3MkZzsptDV3L-0ltaKu6iUt/s400/CIMG1222.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534698420812682658" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">This summer a friend took me to <a href="http://www.olt.org/">Valley View Hot Springs</a> in Villa Grove, a rural enclave in southern <st2:state st="on"><st2:place st="on">Colorado</st2:place></st2:state> with one general store/restaurant (<a href="http://www.villagrovetrade.com/">Villa Grove Trade</a>, which has a great buffalo burger).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s the kind of place you would never discover without an introduction.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The springs themselves are high up in the mountains above <st2:state st="on">Colorado</st2:state>’s <st2:place st="on"><st1:sn st="on">San</st1:sn> <st1:middlename st="on">Luis</st1:middlename> <st1:sn st="on">Valley</st1:sn></st2:place>, an area best known for its potatoes as well as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crestone,_Colorado">a fascinating little New Age town called Crestone</a>, which has facilities for every major world religion.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXvKiQ3dl5_WPJtlWI1huBtM1aB6DfEf0WGwH2o83Hge3VwuI4a-LPBXirVXGK3Y2OHhQOlNdlaGhFxc1G5rGTT03F5p-tReVKU3F56gwI9PFr80lRSmHmProQH1EEh1xEFHQUIqOSQko/s1600/CIMG1229.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXvKiQ3dl5_WPJtlWI1huBtM1aB6DfEf0WGwH2o83Hge3VwuI4a-LPBXirVXGK3Y2OHhQOlNdlaGhFxc1G5rGTT03F5p-tReVKU3F56gwI9PFr80lRSmHmProQH1EEh1xEFHQUIqOSQko/s400/CIMG1229.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534698436535579938" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">But once you’re in the know about Valley View Hot Springs, it’s almost like you’re part of an incredibly devoted family.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>People who come here have been coming for years, as a ritual of relaxation and cleansing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> The overnight camping rate is just $30. </span>And, to ensure that the experience would never change, the owners converted the place into a public trust (the Orient Land Trust) that ensures <a href="http://www.olt.org/land_trust/OLT_Land_Conservation.htm">a continuing set of stewardship practices and guest policies</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM16eJncxaqjMatNn3EM8PjMSQCZoV-BBlZWmaSTr4FsUX85B51f2SiN3SHc_-neSnI19VywlTHUeMWXuZDN03BrQvamS28zShzUa_pjUrnQPQsqh1WE3ya0bfP64Yy6plxesDq0_HczA/s1600/CIMG1206.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM16eJncxaqjMatNn3EM8PjMSQCZoV-BBlZWmaSTr4FsUX85B51f2SiN3SHc_-neSnI19VywlTHUeMWXuZDN03BrQvamS28zShzUa_pjUrnQPQsqh1WE3ya0bfP64Yy6plxesDq0_HczA/s400/CIMG1206.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534699931213863714" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">During the 4.5 hour drive from Albuquerque, my friend told me not only about the unique “public ownership” aspect of Valley View Hot Springs but also the magical and healing qualities of the spring water, which pours out of the mountainside in a series of descending pools.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The thing is - you just can’t believe it until you experience it for yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it IS unlike any other spring water I’ve encountered.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">First, the water temperature (96-98 degrees) makes it so that the water feels like a second skin.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s not too hot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s not too cold.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s just right.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s also incredibly silky and soft and soothing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But perhaps the most amazing thing is that as a result of all this, you never wrinkle, and you never feel like you have to get out.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You could easily soak in the springs for hours without any issue – not even sunburn, as several of the pools have shaded areas.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNwNYu5i3J__VKLkrSno1UpyDtlE-Qv25hRpOqxdk1rxKgTOXjsvzUxTkpDQpfM5bSBFJyjRBTCPdaKt6VGZOzwjwOOBJSKAN26lT_fr29_r4mpHxL4O51CIgDa0Q1qnQRLbCKOyxuxFH/s1600/CIMG1208.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNwNYu5i3J__VKLkrSno1UpyDtlE-Qv25hRpOqxdk1rxKgTOXjsvzUxTkpDQpfM5bSBFJyjRBTCPdaKt6VGZOzwjwOOBJSKAN26lT_fr29_r4mpHxL4O51CIgDa0Q1qnQRLbCKOyxuxFH/s400/CIMG1208.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534698415896886834" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">That latter detail was quite imperative as I arrived at Valley View with a nasty case of sun poisoning.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I had a number of worries about sun exposure as well as hot water being potentially irritating.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But they all faded away along with all sense of time, stress and “the real world.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I headed for the shady corners of each pool, and the water truly did abate the itching and redness.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Life soon eased into a lazy rhythm of soaking (moving from this pool to that pool), sleeping and eating.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdTelTh07Bc_RnttAV1HmBYM_HA1cmFKq9a0l0slVV23ZCZ0dglR7vg-KNYua3fpKYvmWui8l8cd2a8OZVzQjhrrTU8T_42WyQstkrVDmqhuF-UUURC6HMuKrsw0N5-PRPknMX7a6XKO7/s1600/CIMG1199.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdTelTh07Bc_RnttAV1HmBYM_HA1cmFKq9a0l0slVV23ZCZ0dglR7vg-KNYua3fpKYvmWui8l8cd2a8OZVzQjhrrTU8T_42WyQstkrVDmqhuF-UUURC6HMuKrsw0N5-PRPknMX7a6XKO7/s400/CIMG1199.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534698438970747874" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Adding to the enchantment is the pristine campground.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Under a canopy of trees, tame deer walk right up to you, and steaming brooks of hot spring water babble down the mountainside, creating a feeling of “Gorillas in the Mist.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We set up camp at the intersection of two streams, making for the most narcoleptic sleeping conditions of all time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was ready for a nap anytime I approached our tent.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk4uPzH74TMKuYoY3GbtvnBXTKqVtelKEZzGEo7xehZh1-ECH538EWnotmhKTXXzB13eR1OjDhE4nLWZmDnS7oFJSz3Afhr0V2Kj4wOq1Qo2tp4gmQV6q7BHGU0qCvQ-ZlgPTqG19HdSv/s1600/CIMG1214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk4uPzH74TMKuYoY3GbtvnBXTKqVtelKEZzGEo7xehZh1-ECH538EWnotmhKTXXzB13eR1OjDhE4nLWZmDnS7oFJSz3Afhr0V2Kj4wOq1Qo2tp4gmQV6q7BHGU0qCvQ-ZlgPTqG19HdSv/s400/CIMG1214.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534699926902218274" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Impressively, the entire place (including the public bathrooms, showers and a number of rental cabins) is powered by harnessing the hydrothermal energy of these hot water streams.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s off the grid and completely self-sufficient, not to mention low-impact.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There’s a respectful understanding on the part of every guest, and no one would even think about leaving a piece of trash at their campsite.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUysGYl8nYBl_B5thV1O2CXJi-qq8Udf3CzvkkET5IRXuAAAq8dcWy4cW-AeD8TlyKO-1cGREOs2gNdwB9nbrKuwFrp2SJeZxmFOV_OsAAQ83kz9lXOMgTzYJdhjw1KMryNsn62vlRff0/s1600/CIMG1227.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUysGYl8nYBl_B5thV1O2CXJi-qq8Udf3CzvkkET5IRXuAAAq8dcWy4cW-AeD8TlyKO-1cGREOs2gNdwB9nbrKuwFrp2SJeZxmFOV_OsAAQ83kz9lXOMgTzYJdhjw1KMryNsn62vlRff0/s400/CIMG1227.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534698425738989250" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Beyond using one of the complimentary “noodles” to free-float in one of the upper pools, another great way to take in the "Valley View" is from the swings, which allow you the giddy pleasure of feeling as free as a child as you gaze down on the vast valley below.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You feel so incredibly far away from everything down there.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And you are.</p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-2953154063635285252010-10-29T15:18:00.000-06:002010-10-29T15:29:21.381-06:00No Reservations Is One Thing. No Destination Is Another.<p class="MsoNormal">Traveling without a plan?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>C’mon now.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If you know me well, or even if you know me a little, you’ll know I have never done such a thing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or at least not willingly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m Type A, after all.</p><p class="MsoNormal">When I have a trip coming up, I research, research, research.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then I research some more.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s partially out of some deep instinctual need to know what I’m doing (or ahem, shall we say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">be in control</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it’s also for pleasure.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Honest.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I love making lists of restaurants we might want to try.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I like reading reviews on Yelp.com and TripAdvisor.com.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I like getting oriented – and anticipating things.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">(And, by the way, research shows that anticipation <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">increases</i> happiness – as well as what you gain from the overall travel experience.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Don’t believe me?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Check out this fascinating <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">New York Times</i> article called “<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/08/business/08consume.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=homepage">But Does It Make You Happy</a>?” The takeaway for me was that my alter ego Planny Plannerson is not something to be embarrassed about, but in fact a vital component to my happiness.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That said, I confess that I have often longed to be one of those spontaneous travelers, the kind who just lets fate direct them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Who doesn’t stare at the map.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Who doesn’t worry about where to sleep tonight – or at least not until nightfall.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Who doesn’t use guidebooks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But who manages to find him/herself in the craziest situations.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And thus, who comes homes with amazing stories that make jaws drop and bellies ache.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess all Type A’s long to be this person at times, and perhaps that explains the recent trend I’ve seen of “plan-less” travel journalism.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In September, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">New York Times</i> began a monthly travel feature called “Getting Lost.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The idea is to plop yourself in a foreign destination with no maps, no GPS and zero research – and just see what happens.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The first piece was “<a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/09/12/travel/12Lost.html?pagewanted=1&hpw">Lost in Tangier</a>,” a seemingly perfect destination for confusion given its labyrinthine center.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The problem?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The writer ran into people he knew (and who knew Tangier quite well), and after that, he was no longer lost, I would argue.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But the second piece, “<a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/10/24/travel/24ireland.html?scp=4&sq=getting%20lost&st=cse">Lost in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Ireland</st1:country-region></st1:place>,</a>” revealed greater challenges in the “purposefully lost” concept, given the isolation of traveling by car instead of foot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The writer barely interacted with anyone for the first three days and found loneliness setting in until he decided to just accept being alone.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For me, this is the part I think I would really stink at.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Being lonely on vacation sounds awful.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I also don’t like the idea of missing out on something really sublime right around the corner – because I don’t know about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This writer, for example, never found that classic Irish pub full of storytelling, singing men. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Times </i>series, however, invokes less anxiety than another article I read in <i>Oprah</i> magazine, which takes impulsive travel to a new extreme.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s called “<a href="http://www.oprah.com/world/Traveling-to-Tokyo-without-a-Map_1/1">Traveling to Toyko Without a Map</a>,” but it’s not just that the author took off without a map.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She left home <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">without a destination</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She packed a bag, went to the airport and asked a stranger where she should go.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The response was “<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city>,” and thus, she bought a flight to Toyko.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>From there, she asked people on the plane where to stay, people at the hotel where to eat and so on.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Every aspect of her trip was determined by the advice of others.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s a head-spinning idea, and of course, it’s only possible if you have the funds to buy a ticket anywhere last minute.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it really intrigued me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Would you find that elusive thing only a local could tip you off to?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Is everything you need available from a random person on the street – and you just have to ask?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Unfortunately, I doubt I have the cojones.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mean, what if your random stranger said a place where it might be dangerous to show up with no idea what you’re doing and no one around who speaks English?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Those type of fears aside, there’s no doubt that kind of trip is going to be a story like no other. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Maybe even a bestselling novel, later adapted into an award-winning film.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that’s why I’ll always wish I could be that kind of traveler.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And why I’ll always read these type of travel articles with keen interest and admiration.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But let’s face it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m not that person.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Which is why I have to run.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I have research to do for an upcoming trip.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-64081978839054037742010-10-09T19:04:00.000-06:002010-10-11T09:57:56.830-06:00It’s All Happening in Harlem<p class="MsoNormal">Boarding the shuttle from <st1:city st="on">Boston</st1:city> to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state> recently, I picked up a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">NY Times</i> and settled in for the short flight.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was on the way to join my partner Kevin, who’s been working in <st1:place st="on">Harlem</st1:place> on a renovation project.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’d become so jealous of all the fun he was having in this newly revitalized neighborhood that I wanted to check it out for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“It is so happening here,” he told me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk-NDBfV4bsRpVccSm7qc1G5KRuQsPVRKVvCgqNpXHZklmBRT3yXraHRhyX4LgXzdmktq13GmrUGD7tC9VMb9zo2juHMuMbH3lvDcPDAjLPj-dAz2YwwFCpJAztFx6vjWxhBLDwGjuZkkl/s1600/CIMG1388.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk-NDBfV4bsRpVccSm7qc1G5KRuQsPVRKVvCgqNpXHZklmBRT3yXraHRhyX4LgXzdmktq13GmrUGD7tC9VMb9zo2juHMuMbH3lvDcPDAjLPj-dAz2YwwFCpJAztFx6vjWxhBLDwGjuZkkl/s400/CIMG1388.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526228378105154434" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Well, wouldn’t you know, I flip to the Weekend section of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Times</i> and spot an article called “<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/17/dining/17tipsy.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=going%20upscale%20uptown&st=cse">Going Upscale Uptown</a>,” a roundup of several hip new restaurants and bars that are bringing <st1:place st="on">Harlem</st1:place> into the limelight.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The excitement of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Manhattan</st1:place></st1:city> came flooding back, despite it being what I once called “<a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2008/12/most-cold-hearted-of-all-my-exes.html">the coldest of all my exes</a>.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I hadn’t even arrived, and I was already plotting which spots to try.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That night, having forgotten all my city slicker instincts, I urged Kevin to hit up some of the places in the article.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We walked over to <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Frederick Douglas Blvd.</st1:address></st1:street> between 112th and 120th, the stretch featured in the article, only to find that everyone else in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state> had read the article and decided to do the same thing for their Friday night.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The places were packed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No tables open. Nowhere to stand.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yes, I should have known, but such things don’t happen in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Crowds?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Waits? Not things I think about anymore.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7toI2EVY-foei1kViEucp9RNDM6ZMMpiS97u1AdatoI2ljKdnSrxzN16hhpMKN4hcfeMWSHKBinJwqTDmtyiF8NJJtcLhG5BkIs1G3ddhTxyP4fwT9ylVuSQW04mrbDOktK1LJ5qkFdtE/s1600/CIMG1395.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7toI2EVY-foei1kViEucp9RNDM6ZMMpiS97u1AdatoI2ljKdnSrxzN16hhpMKN4hcfeMWSHKBinJwqTDmtyiF8NJJtcLhG5BkIs1G3ddhTxyP4fwT9ylVuSQW04mrbDOktK1LJ5qkFdtE/s400/CIMG1395.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526228385396011330" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">But in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state>, you better think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So I did, and like a smart urbanite, we returned to one of the smallest spots, <a href="http://www.67orangestreet.com/">67 </a><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><a href="http://www.67orangestreet.com/">Orange Street</a></st1:place></st1:city>, in the middle of the week.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Much better.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We got seats at the bar (which actually afforded more room than the tiny table we tried first), ordered some appetizers and cocktails (the Brazilian Jig for me, The Emancipation for Kevin) and chatted with <a href="http://www.67orangestreet.com/karlfranz.htm">Karl Franz Williams</a>, the owner, whose photo had been in the <i>Times</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Life had been good for him that week – after the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Times</i> piece came out, he did four more interviews, he said.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That’s good news for his two places – he also owns <a href="http://www.societycoffee.com/">Society Coffee</a> just a few blocks north, which has a very community-oriented vibe – and good news for <st1:place st="on">Harlem</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The word was out about the rebirth (depicted in the mural shown above), and everyone was showing up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Blacks, whites, Latinos, tourists.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Lots</i> of tourists. We kept seeing them everywhere we went.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyaxjoHqJz32WT7pD9RNaOaFz2op-9d-pnERIFkg44lg5KPN0IvPjbcsFkuEkr1eqJKTUeDbdpYgTTxo7kN1x4O_WiacQN2DNEFtkGZN7CNiMV9rJ3zc_ceUecQ8ZplGIw3XEzo9bKwXZ/s400/CIMG1299.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526228375523401730" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">In fact, we soon decided European tourists (particularly German) were more in the know about <st1:place st="on">Harlem</st1:place> than we were.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They had camped out at <a href="http://www.yatengabistro.com/">Yatenga</a>, the very cool French bistro where we had planned to brunch on the patio and watch the African American Day Parade (pictured above), and they also knew about <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2009/03/09/2009-03-09_marjorie_eliot_of_washington_heights_hos.html">the Sunday afternoon Parlor Jazz series</a> at pianist Marjorie Eliot’s apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A friend tipped us off and we arrived – along with all the Germans – to see Marjorie and a flutist/saxophonist make improvisational magic.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77APcR3QD-Je4szM9PpR23Qf-GNCn916xc5_8LU6lgUs7MlDMKdxUa_J8yZAofBYWe36IWhFhzRndPMeaJh8oAp_-2Hssfu1xO7kizNYkouXnlxEQlcklZF7RII9pcAwLY5M3CQu-pkkL/s1600/CIMG1324.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77APcR3QD-Je4szM9PpR23Qf-GNCn916xc5_8LU6lgUs7MlDMKdxUa_J8yZAofBYWe36IWhFhzRndPMeaJh8oAp_-2Hssfu1xO7kizNYkouXnlxEQlcklZF7RII9pcAwLY5M3CQu-pkkL/s400/CIMG1324.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526233516339771458" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">But I can tell you now exactly what the Europeans know.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There is some seriously good eating and drinking to be done in <st1:place st="on">Harlem</st1:place> these days.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>On the soul food front, I have to be a heretic, though.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I say forget <a href="http://www.sylviassoulfood.com/">Sylvia’s</a>, the famous restaurant where tour buses now frequent.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I thought the Queen of Soul Food's Fried Chicken and Waffles were just okay.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The cake-like cornbread was really the best part.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><a href="http://www.amyruthsharlem.com/">Amy Ruth’s</a>?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Well, I can’t even say as the Sunday brunch line was so out-of-control, I refused to wait in it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">can</i> vouch for <a href="http://www.melbasrestaurant.com/melbasite/menus/menubrunch.pdf">brunch</a> at <a href="http://www.melbasrestaurant.com/">Melba’s</a> (photo below), run by Sylvia’s niece.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Melba serves chicken and waffles too, but she’s added a modern touch to everything from to her decor – sleek and sophisticated with a bopping jazz soundtrack – to her menu.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She serves Mimosas and Mellinis, for example, and her cute mini waffles come with this insanely good strawberry butter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I opted for the Sweet Potato Pancakes, however, and I did not regret it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They were moist, heavenly and repeat-worthy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Kevin’s Salmon Croquette was also quite good (and better than Sylvia’s, he said.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5usdxWhoG_Cnlravw-TS7h2oleG8Zk0qa11BBjjb2MnTjYgLbGV-aUlMRisVHi5prJfBAWn7YBgdIwV_ajPxn55ND6A8FfLZpJcgRhd1aso0FiVm58OvhrOCzjXU28GJAzdjFR0hInrH/s1600/CIMG1389.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5usdxWhoG_Cnlravw-TS7h2oleG8Zk0qa11BBjjb2MnTjYgLbGV-aUlMRisVHi5prJfBAWn7YBgdIwV_ajPxn55ND6A8FfLZpJcgRhd1aso0FiVm58OvhrOCzjXU28GJAzdjFR0hInrH/s400/CIMG1389.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526231597020080818" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">But the best meal I had in Harlem was at <a href="http://www.zomanyc.com/">Zoma</a>, an upscale Ethiopian restaurant next door to 67 <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Orange</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We stumbled in without knowing anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ve always thought Ethiopian food was interesting, and that the communal eating was fun, but this was my first experience with crave-worthy Ethiopian. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Beside the delicious Doro Wett chicken, I can’t stop thinking about a vegetarian side dish we had called Shiro Wett – chickpeas, lentils and peas in a berbere sauce with “a multitude of spices.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The menu called it “Ethiopian comfort food,” and yes, it’s as comforting as mashed potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMkCx0CDQVHFK5HNJ4PsqScBkfEk5Lji59BwUoSVDr6meGZrJ1_SvPjWtICsDeKJWlZjPaqlbNuWL5AHOKiTOrCNbOSFV-8SGjoTT4QsPa7x7_pJRcda6r7tHZpTYM0b6jcYM7bTh7QYK/s1600/CIMG1384.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMkCx0CDQVHFK5HNJ4PsqScBkfEk5Lji59BwUoSVDr6meGZrJ1_SvPjWtICsDeKJWlZjPaqlbNuWL5AHOKiTOrCNbOSFV-8SGjoTT4QsPa7x7_pJRcda6r7tHZpTYM0b6jcYM7bTh7QYK/s400/CIMG1384.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526228389497553810" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I know you don’t believe me ("chickpeas and lentils!?"), but it’s true.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So if you ever find yourself at the top of Central Park, within five minutes walking distance of the many beautiful blocks of Harlem brownstones just to the north, stroll on up Fredrick Douglas Blvd. and see what I’m talking about.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You will not leave hungry – nor will you fail to notice the incredible, diverse energy of this resurgent area.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHetMFz0AnOva5ejVyibyXQeGNJ23APO9POztcEUTha-zC5CPRWoCMhZQS0sDz-Ab1t3uymUEbEa0ZAwWZFRnxy4hLj5lz43_sMedDW32eR_p_3sx9IQFTttA0lcOMYXNZdOZHcmyPAKjp/s1600/CIMG1292.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHetMFz0AnOva5ejVyibyXQeGNJ23APO9POztcEUTha-zC5CPRWoCMhZQS0sDz-Ab1t3uymUEbEa0ZAwWZFRnxy4hLj5lz43_sMedDW32eR_p_3sx9IQFTttA0lcOMYXNZdOZHcmyPAKjp/s400/CIMG1292.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526228372585330578" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Oh, and I'm sure you'll bump into some Europeans too (for proof, see the ones behind Kevin above). As a final parting shot, below is a photo of Kevin giving directions to some French tourists. They wanted to know where they could see some basketball being played. No, I am not joking. The racial cliché had us giggling the rest of the afternoon. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYP5HMB0YRokRipelLajt8cgXFz1x0JUU_bbn_Asc47YY-9awgbaira3bdEqz4cIRGoyMprFXz4Ym3eJNw1x2rqynjilME6V9wrsa73ReG02FmwnlYrI4V4pnMKKW5Qkp0mD1nPywx_THU/s1600/CIMG1385.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYP5HMB0YRokRipelLajt8cgXFz1x0JUU_bbn_Asc47YY-9awgbaira3bdEqz4cIRGoyMprFXz4Ym3eJNw1x2rqynjilME6V9wrsa73ReG02FmwnlYrI4V4pnMKKW5Qkp0mD1nPywx_THU/s400/CIMG1385.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526233520838808706" /></a>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-26446266127513978542010-09-07T12:34:00.000-06:002010-09-07T13:10:31.135-06:00Budget Travel's Coolest Small Towns 2010As a longtime <i>Budget Travel </i>subscriber, I've always been titillated by the magazine's annual "Coolest Small Towns in America" issue. And of course, now that I'm a recent transplant to a very small town myself (only 1,500 people), I'm even more keen.<div><br /></div><div>But this year, for the first time, I am unfamiliar with all 10 finalists - which are voted on by readers and must have a population under 10,000 people. Looks like I'm losing my edge, folks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here are this year's winners, dubbed as small towns "with more personality than cities triple their size":</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. Ely, Minnesota</b></div><div><b>2. Cloverdale, California</b></div><div><b>3. Brevard, North Carolina</b></div><div><b>4. Saugatuck, Michigan</b></div><div><b>5. Kennett Square, Pennsylvania</b></div><div><b>6. Bandon, Oregon</b></div><div><b>7. Cuero, Texas</b></div><div><b>8. Medicine Park, Oklahoma</b></div><div><b>9. Nyack, New York</b></div><div><b>10. Egg Harbor, Wisconsin</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Agree? Disagree? Been to any of them? (Check out the <a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/bt-dyn/content/article/2010/08/08/AR2010080802762.html?wpisrc=newsletter">the full article</a> and <a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/bt-srv/gallery/1009_CoolestSmallTowns/index.html?jumpToPic=0">photo slideshow</a> to learn about all ten.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out two of these small towns - Cuero, Texas, and Medicine Park, Oklahoma - are within striking distance in neighboring states. Maybe a road trip is in order. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here goes that wanderlust again!</div><div><br /></div><div>p.s. You may also want to peruse <a href="http://www.budgettravel.com/bt-dyn/content/article/2009/09/04/AR2009090402162.html">the 2009 winners</a>. At least I was familiar with two - Lexington, Virginia, and Rockland, Maine - and could feel reasonably good about myself. </div>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-60828748156603063892010-08-24T17:55:00.000-06:002010-08-25T11:50:32.030-06:00The Tao of Taos, New MexicoWe’ve been trying to get to <st1:city st="on">Taos</st1:city> since we arrived in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But the 2.75-hour drive makes it tad bit longer than a day trip.<br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUsGZef1O4b50PYjVRLUCzQfcp7mtm_cxVgRSepkKXEBeCBG12ymhyphenhyphen6Bp90LY59lsrGQdZVCY0Xlfz_sgK3277t6Us1AZ8byEijkUzxNrkAYBMpvOFw2sX6dGFEAvUbOEsYRfylQw0ctPs/s1600/CIMG1109.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUsGZef1O4b50PYjVRLUCzQfcp7mtm_cxVgRSepkKXEBeCBG12ymhyphenhyphen6Bp90LY59lsrGQdZVCY0Xlfz_sgK3277t6Us1AZ8byEijkUzxNrkAYBMpvOFw2sX6dGFEAvUbOEsYRfylQw0ctPs/s400/CIMG1109.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509133465649080594" /></a>Then, as luck would have it, a friend in LA connected us with an old friend of hers who lives in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Taos</st1:place></st1:city>, and we were extended an invitation to come up for a weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This is one of many examples of the immediacy of <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New Mexico</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You meet people, they’re incredibly friendly, you become friends with them, you go stay with them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzsNjIUUMYxvcszv1CMbi9ml9tBLHgevb1WTpbQszYmNkPF-1jFsGRzVf_XbJzzZv-R2UtLpkASWIBXY3djcYhwcGi7Bff623tdk72eW6ckAnfZtWZn9SZGsJFgMUVQ0VEBm3JmyQzByaF/s1600/CIMG1110.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzsNjIUUMYxvcszv1CMbi9ml9tBLHgevb1WTpbQszYmNkPF-1jFsGRzVf_XbJzzZv-R2UtLpkASWIBXY3djcYhwcGi7Bff623tdk72eW6ckAnfZtWZn9SZGsJFgMUVQ0VEBm3JmyQzByaF/s400/CIMG1110.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509130556045270418" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">These new friends, as it turns out, could not have been better guides to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Taos</st1:city></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She grew up in the area and works at a prestigious museum.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He’s an artist and furniture maker.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And together, they know just about everyone in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Taos</st1:city></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No wonder we got to attend two parties and a wedding reception in one weekend with them.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOXkxpsAMZlraNChV8nwNb6aBLvnsp0MxZLNLLxRMqvTZReosx7IEF1c9fd2QDL07-_RtekojbgRwVtAukG3K0T4iY2cQbUZ9H3TNm94Y3kOpZ1IhSecbaR-XTUiU1UzV4UlP4KFgFC7y/s1600/CIMG1121.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOXkxpsAMZlraNChV8nwNb6aBLvnsp0MxZLNLLxRMqvTZReosx7IEF1c9fd2QDL07-_RtekojbgRwVtAukG3K0T4iY2cQbUZ9H3TNm94Y3kOpZ1IhSecbaR-XTUiU1UzV4UlP4KFgFC7y/s400/CIMG1121.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509130558940145378" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, it’s not that hard to get to know people here.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In fact, we ran into two people we’d met at our first party while grabbing coffee at <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/world-cup-taos">World Cup</a> near the plaza.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This was clearly a common occurrence that surprised no one.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And to top it off, we learned we’d see them both again later in the day for another party.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigups9TleKzNOQYvKDPdpUO20qcLcQWHv7CGmbyjYOCRpWjl8QxA_ZMMHedUTYwv2pDCaLPtFmns1Dl3au0ktOM1g4OiPDmpaOrh0M-xktxmJjxgtjh0kvV5NecU1ENa9-M5R_MucJxNxv/s1600/CIMG1126.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigups9TleKzNOQYvKDPdpUO20qcLcQWHv7CGmbyjYOCRpWjl8QxA_ZMMHedUTYwv2pDCaLPtFmns1Dl3au0ktOM1g4OiPDmpaOrh0M-xktxmJjxgtjh0kvV5NecU1ENa9-M5R_MucJxNxv/s400/CIMG1126.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509130564141441506" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">While exploring the small downtown (including the <a href="http://johndunnshops.com/">John Dunn Shops</a>, housed in the infamous gambler and stagecoach driver’s former home), we also checked out the <a href="http://www.harwoodmuseum.org/">Harwood Museum of Art</a>’s new <a href="http://www.harwoodmuseum.org/exhibitions/view/63">photo exhibit of the Taos Pueblo</a> from the beginning of photography to present.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This iconic UNESCO World Heritage adobe structure has been continuously inhabited for over 1,000 years (chew on that for a minute), and the exhibit features shots from the last 140.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDw5bJUgQBjLEd0ikVnfXB-UcdpjWDFjbNLIRDKuLux6ii-b1Sve3d111Jfv84C_6u5Jo0OUsu-9FmwFDcCecQizbQUMdF1l1EpWIT2-mCWf4HmezyX4txJT-Z3ijQLvdueX85YnrL5fA/s1600/CIMG1102.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDw5bJUgQBjLEd0ikVnfXB-UcdpjWDFjbNLIRDKuLux6ii-b1Sve3d111Jfv84C_6u5Jo0OUsu-9FmwFDcCecQizbQUMdF1l1EpWIT2-mCWf4HmezyX4txJT-Z3ijQLvdueX85YnrL5fA/s400/CIMG1102.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509130538446895170" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">In part, it was this close proximity to a vibrant Native American community that drew so many artists to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Taos</st1:place></st1:city> in the early days to paint the pueblo and its inhabitants.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The <a href="http://www.harwoodmuseum.org/collections/taos-society">Taos Society of Artists</a> was founded in 1915 by prominent transplants from <st1:state st="on">New York</st1:state>, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city> and other major cities, and this worldly artistic sensibility continues.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Everyone we met had lived in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state> or LA previously, it seemed.)</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireWCcj31qal-HafdBo9Im8mneKP1xNFE4AWXPZ2viQ-cVpVapYXu0xqtjiiBuhJOmg2LiRCT-ZdmCl4vi4EFTlROl1InLkQj-v-to0CqZgmvRa_aeXKqdd8XPLqoI4XDulz7ZUTzFTmpF/s1600/CIMG1134.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireWCcj31qal-HafdBo9Im8mneKP1xNFE4AWXPZ2viQ-cVpVapYXu0xqtjiiBuhJOmg2LiRCT-ZdmCl4vi4EFTlROl1InLkQj-v-to0CqZgmvRa_aeXKqdd8XPLqoI4XDulz7ZUTzFTmpF/s400/CIMG1134.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509133446992828674" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, they were also drawn to the beauty of the area, with its ancient cottonwood trees, snow-fed streams and grassy valleys.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But what really sets <st1:city st="on">Taos</st1:city> apart is the perfect ring of mountains (including <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheeler_Peak_(New_Mexico)">Mount</a></st1:placetype><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheeler_Peak_(New_Mexico)"> </a><st1:placename st="on"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheeler_Peak_(New_Mexico)">Wheeler</a></st1:placename></st1:place>, the highest in the state) that encircles it, making for breathtaking views in all directions as well as <a href="http://www.skitaos.org/">world class skiing</a>, which attracts an entirely different set of affluent visitors.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdpvLqWgpmz5R7bW2-4NBHvDf8Lg5Hkv6JnUDDDLZ1HYr_ReFJ0pbRSdYnrp-MnyufEQv1xwvmpCjYXsyDqanrdpPm5P2pifhBL12oLEUDULsQI7_C0HIQ0UNATqzLe2PBBNTEJgrAkys/s1600/CIMG1136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdpvLqWgpmz5R7bW2-4NBHvDf8Lg5Hkv6JnUDDDLZ1HYr_ReFJ0pbRSdYnrp-MnyufEQv1xwvmpCjYXsyDqanrdpPm5P2pifhBL12oLEUDULsQI7_C0HIQ0UNATqzLe2PBBNTEJgrAkys/s400/CIMG1136.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509133444146307762" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Maybe that’s why <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Taos</st1:place></st1:city> just doesn’t seem like a town of 6,000 people.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>With its natural pulchritude, famous residents (including Julia Roberts) and international tourists, it feels more sophisticated than a small town…and yet decidedly rural and rustic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m still trying to put my finger on it, but the vibe is very distinct, very free, very appealing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Even more than <st1:city st="on">Santa Fe</st1:city>, whose name alone inspires certain lifestyle aspirations, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Taos</st1:place></st1:city> is just cool.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQuDonHNjpAuGTDvE6IEuDeBopKZWHvcGj98mKJNQQ-TxDGYr0ixyn7tLhi_3-NL-tB_TyEmIRtESMNga8rQ-PhIme-aM6I7pwgwXE4dPHXYFOXDYYBpkw4gYBP0d5arUKtTFnKgnlvnJ/s1600/CIMG1116.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQuDonHNjpAuGTDvE6IEuDeBopKZWHvcGj98mKJNQQ-TxDGYr0ixyn7tLhi_3-NL-tB_TyEmIRtESMNga8rQ-PhIme-aM6I7pwgwXE4dPHXYFOXDYYBpkw4gYBP0d5arUKtTFnKgnlvnJ/s400/CIMG1116.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509130546154071506" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Since I found myself rather drawn to it (okay, full-on crushing on it, let’s be honest), I guess it’s a good thing it’s so far from a major airport.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Otherwise, I might have had some second thoughts about whether we should have looked into buying there instead.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But given how much my partner’s profession involves travel, it just wouldn’t work logistically.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I guess that’s what keeps <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Taos</st1:place></st1:city> the way it is.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhKl2qKBcj1k0dDtuCzEMz-5a_skX3UvrWR5pLUePaQ0hknMff_sp3n5t1dVeK8AcQj9VaTybKjCrfyMJOE4tvCBoWc2tW4ORdJasJ9nqHWeOyOOuO7cAnf0onqyVSYthfSJpMusJEY2a/s1600/CIMG1113.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhKl2qKBcj1k0dDtuCzEMz-5a_skX3UvrWR5pLUePaQ0hknMff_sp3n5t1dVeK8AcQj9VaTybKjCrfyMJOE4tvCBoWc2tW4ORdJasJ9nqHWeOyOOuO7cAnf0onqyVSYthfSJpMusJEY2a/s400/CIMG1113.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509136913740161474" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Life’s not about logistics if you live there.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s about…life.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In fact, it seems like the kind of place where you have to have your own income or your own thing going on already, be it art or otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Which reminds me - Dennis Hopper, another famous part-time Taos resident (he fell for it after shooting Easy Rider there and was a renowned artist in his own right), loved getting away to Taos so much that he wished it to be his final resting place.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Below is the San Francisco de Asis Church in Rancho de Taos, <a href="http://www.santafenewmexican.com/LocalNews/Taos-honors-Hopper">where his funeral was held</a>.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8HQ9ZFTb0sBysmqAQ2nslcyhHwEXZBI3xaUBhibpncIEd5Jp0M94AFARd9LrZtk63g1BESHeafZSwUZ62XeyHJ46629jwhVi2_XF0rh64Q427p5EHy153DLk5TJ32ZQVuZ3OQE2hECia/s1600/CIMG1139.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8HQ9ZFTb0sBysmqAQ2nslcyhHwEXZBI3xaUBhibpncIEd5Jp0M94AFARd9LrZtk63g1BESHeafZSwUZ62XeyHJ46629jwhVi2_XF0rh64Q427p5EHy153DLk5TJ32ZQVuZ3OQE2hECia/s400/CIMG1139.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509133455339495890" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">So while I can’t have <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Taos</st1:place></st1:city> as my mate, it’s definitely got all the makings of an in-state weekend cheat.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m dying to get back and see the <a href="http://www.taospueblo.com/">Taos Pueblo</a> in person, for one. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Perhaps I’ll attend one of the <a href="http://www.taospueblo.com/calendar.php">religious ceremonies</a> they invite the public to attend throughout the year.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ve been told that the Procession of the Virgin on Christmas Eve is something special – with bonfires lit everywhere and a blend of Catholic and native traditions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-28752585297553871832010-08-06T17:30:00.000-06:002010-08-10T09:48:30.485-06:00The Last Garment Maker in Denver’s LODO District<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i>“The West is not a place. The West is a state of mind.</i>”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">– “Papa” Jack A. Weil, 1901-2008</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A year before we moved to <st1:state st="on">New Mexico</st1:state>, my partner Kevin visited <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Denver</st1:place></st1:city> and brought me back a t-shirt from <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/index.html">Rockmount Ranch Wear</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It featured a bucking bronco and read “Styled in the West by Westerners.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You could say it stood out from the other t-shirts in my urbanite’s closet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He got himself a vintage Western shirt with saddle stitching, sawtooth pockets and white pearly snaps, which reminded me of something an <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Austin</st1:place></st1:city> hipster might wear. Very retro. Very now.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVB-abZ1qbVa2S06ADQc0kg6GIkVHnnzOZ6SMAWYjwFNZhOwqku6oFPSsyoMCk3sAzkqgROgv2mGybHeKE-RQ2nZZ3lgS-nVrCHahcMb1VGJ7fra5bTxcMT73mAmFHQy2fU54uFNC3nwBg/s1600/CIMG0637.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVB-abZ1qbVa2S06ADQc0kg6GIkVHnnzOZ6SMAWYjwFNZhOwqku6oFPSsyoMCk3sAzkqgROgv2mGybHeKE-RQ2nZZ3lgS-nVrCHahcMb1VGJ7fra5bTxcMT73mAmFHQy2fU54uFNC3nwBg/s400/CIMG0637.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502446419556314610" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">At the time, I had never heard of Rockmount, nor did I know <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/celebrities/celebrity_gallery.htm">how many celebrities wear it</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But when we <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2010/08/following-old-santa-fe-trail-to.html">drove up to </a><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2010/08/following-old-santa-fe-trail-to.html">Denver</a></st1:place></st1:city> earlier this summer, I got a chance to find out what all the fuss is about.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Turns out Rockmount is something of a legend – as was its recently deceased Founder and CEO, Jack A. Weil, who ran the company until his death in 2008 at age 107.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>His book, <i><a href="http://www.rockmount.com/special.htm">Ask Papa Jack: Wisdom of the World’s Oldest CEO</a></i>, dispenses his famously opinionated lessons.</p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK4uQ1aj0_prBSmUEv1DkH-1cIM4cjKswN_CJYlXEq4DutDGlso4rZ_yqL-fEYHwQQNvvJRHpwF8CyccFuLhfIvRkrsszca45XXefkavgX3RFEXPnHqwXjv_r1iVv2QJfSZ0QR0gFnp1w/s1600/Ask+Papa+Jack.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK4uQ1aj0_prBSmUEv1DkH-1cIM4cjKswN_CJYlXEq4DutDGlso4rZ_yqL-fEYHwQQNvvJRHpwF8CyccFuLhfIvRkrsszca45XXefkavgX3RFEXPnHqwXjv_r1iVv2QJfSZ0QR0gFnp1w/s400/Ask+Papa+Jack.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502448202970811122" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I knew I liked the guy when I flipped through his book at the Rockmount headquarters in Denver’s historic LODO (lower downtown) district – where gold was first discovered, industrial warehouses later sprung up, and more recently, trendy stores, clubs and restaurants have proliferated – and landed on a page where he was bashing Sam Walton, Wal-Mart's founder.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Sam Walton was nothing but a hillbilly."</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDLBemARBgWAwCx47wkipnlP_kpW9P4koi47n5Bj0ESYTi8EubMJNCw8Gv0w8HjAMmutpiVfcEvcA3GqqWEVi6_6nWPHynH9x0EehQos3g24kuqJD6z2b5_pG17lU_TgE3imirPP58Hul/s1600/CIMG0636.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDLBemARBgWAwCx47wkipnlP_kpW9P4koi47n5Bj0ESYTi8EubMJNCw8Gv0w8HjAMmutpiVfcEvcA3GqqWEVi6_6nWPHynH9x0EehQos3g24kuqJD6z2b5_pG17lU_TgE3imirPP58Hul/s400/CIMG0636.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502446404067330370" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Weil’s disdain may in part be personal – they were acquainted – but also professional.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Rockmount <a href="http://www.management-issues.com/2006/5/25/blog/the-worlds-oldest-ceo.asp">refuses to sell to chains or discounters</a> like Wal-Mart, and in fact, Weil felt those very outlets were responsible for ending clothing manufacturing in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He may be right given that Rockmount’s historic five-story building (built 1908) in LODO is the only clothing manufacturer remaining in the area.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LQPnr1LmiJyB3wzUEBxYFY4lUAN3iFDaoyDVwoWEu0lbB22tiiRNfoZ8AK9zeYOGeb-EDRAYHHmFdnrwzIKRUcbH7sP23yww2Tw-WcU5Qfy_qh8FMuF_mzbIOsQdnwenSdMCxqGevMet/s1600/CIMG0639.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LQPnr1LmiJyB3wzUEBxYFY4lUAN3iFDaoyDVwoWEu0lbB22tiiRNfoZ8AK9zeYOGeb-EDRAYHHmFdnrwzIKRUcbH7sP23yww2Tw-WcU5Qfy_qh8FMuF_mzbIOsQdnwenSdMCxqGevMet/s400/CIMG0639.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502446408972056642" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Rockmount’s finely tailored <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/shirts/shirt_cataloghome.htm">shirts</a>, <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/skirts.htm">skirts</a>, <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/tie_catalog.htm">ties</a>, <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/scarfs/scarfcatalog.htm">scarves</a> and more are still made mostly in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Accordingly, they’re not cheap – around $70-$90 a shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But as Kevin says, they’ll last forever.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You can find more modern “relaxed wear” Western styles, and you can also find <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/shirts/vintage.htm">vintage fitted designs</a> from the 40s, 50s and other eras, including "high wattage" shirts with hand chenille embroidery, fringes and rhinestones.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The <i>original</i> bling. Recognize these two?</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyrqvmRF5EyKp0eI67H3Hu5UG6b3EtnrgT8kN4Qjwpo_QE9gFU5PMstc6DtnaYJnpva5yV5JO_TUZoAbzaLZ0MUYysEiDrSaUHw7wP3tjDN0I0sJrBXulGI9nxzlV2B2cddApN4ivTAuB/s1600/WilliamShatnerandJamesSpader2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyrqvmRF5EyKp0eI67H3Hu5UG6b3EtnrgT8kN4Qjwpo_QE9gFU5PMstc6DtnaYJnpva5yV5JO_TUZoAbzaLZ0MUYysEiDrSaUHw7wP3tjDN0I0sJrBXulGI9nxzlV2B2cddApN4ivTAuB/s400/WilliamShatnerandJamesSpader2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502451555095677986" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">A trailblazer as well as a holdout, Rockmount introduced the sawtooth pocket and was <a href="http://www.rockmount.com/our_story.htm">the first to add snaps to Western shirts</a>, now a common practice and part of the rockabilly aesthetic. The reasons were quite simple.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> Buttons come off, c</span>owboys don’t like to sew, and it’s easier to wiggle out of a shirt with snaps if you get caught or snagged out on the range.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that’s the Western state of mind, folks. </p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-22462593520686934772010-08-05T14:53:00.000-06:002010-08-07T12:31:36.639-06:00Why I Didn't Order The Vitamin Soup - And Stuck with Copywriting<p class="MsoNormal">I’m a freelance writer, and I telecommute from wherever I am at the time of the assignment.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That’s what's allowed me to travel for longer periods of time, and consequently, that’s what enables me to write this little blog about the places I fall for.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I say I’m a freelancer writer, most people ask, “What publications do you write for?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then I have to explain that I’m not a freelance journalist, but a freelance copywriter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That I write websites, newsletters, emails, ads, brochures and “marketing stuff.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At this point, their expression usually turns to one of disorientation or disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it's okay - I don’t take it personally.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I understand that journalism has more romance than copywriting.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s just that I like being paid on an hourly basis rather than per word.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Five years into my freelance adventure, I’m still okay with why I took the direction I did.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m still self-employed, after all.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m still getting to travel.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I even managed to buy a house…with another freelancer.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Different industry, same glorious uncertainty/flexibility.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And if you’d like to know even more about why I didn’t pursue travel journalism after flirting with it, I’ll directly you to this painfully amusing excerpt from a former freelance journalist (now a staff newspaper writer).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sure kills the romance, doesn’t it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Excerpt from “<a href="http://www.theawl.com/2010/08/seven-years-as-a-freelance-writer-or-how-to-make-vitamin-soup/2">Seven Years As A Freelance Writer, Or How to Make Vitamin Soup</a>" by Richard Morgan:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing is pitching two ideas to a new editor at the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><em><span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in;font-style:normal;mso-bidi-font-style: italicfont-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Times</span></em><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">, after having written for the publication for five years, and being told (quoting exactly here): “I think you’d have better luck pitching your stories elsewhere.”</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:15.75pt;margin-left: 0in;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing means walking from the <st1:placename st="on">West</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Village</st1:placetype> to the <st1:place st="on">Upper East Side</st1:place> and back because you don’t have enough money for the subway. Freelancing means being so poor and so hungry for so long that you “eat” a bowl of soup that’s just hot water, crushed-up<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.theawl.com/2009/12/a-note-regarding-michael-schudson-and-journalism-schools"><span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0incolor:#1B3A74;">multivitamins</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and half your spice rack (mostly garlic salt).</span></i></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing is being woken up on a Monday at 8 a.m. by an editor who gives you the following assignment: “Put together everything interesting about all the city’s airports by Friday,” doing it, and then not getting credit when it runs… as an infographic.</span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing is having your mother send you a book called<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><em><span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in;font-style:normal;mso-bidi-font-style: italicfont-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">$ix-Figure Freelancing</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"> </span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">which lists as helpful resources, on page 198, the dictionary, thesaurus, and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://sree.net/"><span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0incolor:#1B3A74;">sree.net</span></a>.</span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing means your editor will reject your pitch and then, seven month later, run the story you pitched—with the same language as your pitch—and then have it submitted for a National Magazine Award.</span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing is having an editor tell you that he really loves the story you’ve filed and wouldn’t change anything, and in fact suggests you expand upon the characters a bit—and also cut the story in half. Because, in an editor’s world, it’s possible to expand upon characters and not change the structure while you also cut the story in half.</span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:15.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;"></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">Freelancing means having to chase down checks every time, even when that means waiting<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><em><span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in;font-style:normal;mso-bidi-font-style: italicfont-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">two years for $1000</span></em><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:10.5pt;color:black;">. It means having stories killed and being told that the editor-in-chief gave no reason, but that the same editor would love to work with you some more.</span></i></p>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-49853887668695943062010-08-02T19:05:00.000-06:002010-08-07T12:30:49.779-06:00Following the Old Santa Fe Trail to Colorado<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrPEGPFsqvLo-jsQxYX9GIesGZPCrugcK4JVzt4viU0ZqP1As31-px8k1MvLF56qByLHrYhAGr99yrtwtX8KcS8XjUwQ8yrOcTy1ULWuXfVp_2nf-TSpgqBeHFJAw9H77rwEvET15Po_l/s1600/CIMG0641.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrPEGPFsqvLo-jsQxYX9GIesGZPCrugcK4JVzt4viU0ZqP1As31-px8k1MvLF56qByLHrYhAGr99yrtwtX8KcS8XjUwQ8yrOcTy1ULWuXfVp_2nf-TSpgqBeHFJAw9H77rwEvET15Po_l/s400/CIMG0641.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500993856323924258" /></a>From Santa Fe, it’s an easy six-hour drive to Denver on I-25N. Back in the 1800s, however, this route – which parallels the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/safe/planyourvisit/upload/SAFEmap1.pdf">historic Santa Fe Trail</a> most of the way – was pretty grueling, thanks in part to the treacherous mountain crossing at the Colorado border. Today the most dangerous aspects may be avoiding hitting an elk or veering into another lane while admiring in the vast scenery.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRLy06WrJxaOO-TXUZlmObJn2Kb84VqlDgwIen1Xmjyey9rQmBr4uxV6Qn4Ao8pHAMIpeMzaPvL0ZXQhyZvTuyt-V8wzncV2nfQaSQCRS4uA8B5IsHk1ZieiGpyo7-RHJ5-3Q4_4nJWzZ/s1600/CIMG0618.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRLy06WrJxaOO-TXUZlmObJn2Kb84VqlDgwIen1Xmjyey9rQmBr4uxV6Qn4Ao8pHAMIpeMzaPvL0ZXQhyZvTuyt-V8wzncV2nfQaSQCRS4uA8B5IsHk1ZieiGpyo7-RHJ5-3Q4_4nJWzZ/s400/CIMG0618.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500993842325080482" /></a>Following this storied trail – which turned Santa Fe from an isolated outpost into a commercial center – gives you a lot of time to contemplate, given the countless acres of wide open grazing land you’ll pass, as well as several glimpses into history. A stop in <a href="http://www.lasvegasnewmexico.com/">Las Vegas</a> (yes, that would be Las Vegas, New Mexico….not <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2008/09/vegas-trend-i-can-get-on-board-withfor.html">Las Vegas, Nevada</a>), an hour north of <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/04/desperately-seeking-santa-fe-new-mexico.html">Santa Fe</a>, is one of the largest eyefuls. With its leafy colonial plaza and creaky storefronts, the entire downtown is like a living Western movie set. (Over 900 structures are on the National Register of Historic Places.) No wonder numerous films, including <i>No Country for Old Men</i>, have been shot here.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8oSCx8LCrgP86Z3o0UT3aXICX4oyugaZ7TF6qKEwA_0DRk9cXFNShaUVTnWi6LyywumHx-2ZHYWroFwg1WxMUbcRCIX3A8CyglvU9uNJeey5rX58C6Hjn2Ix5oA2Bd3XS0BWFHCUj7UC/s1600/CIMG0615.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ8oSCx8LCrgP86Z3o0UT3aXICX4oyugaZ7TF6qKEwA_0DRk9cXFNShaUVTnWi6LyywumHx-2ZHYWroFwg1WxMUbcRCIX3A8CyglvU9uNJeey5rX58C6Hjn2Ix5oA2Bd3XS0BWFHCUj7UC/s400/CIMG0615.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500996339292490418" /></a>Founded in 1835 with a land grant from the Spanish government, Las Vegas was the last Spanish settlement established in the US – and soon became the prosperous epicenter of the Southwest, thanks to its location along the Santa Fe Trail, and later, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atchison,_Topeka_and_Santa_Fe_Railway">Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway</a>. It had four opera houses and electric railcars. But it also had an infamous underbelly. Doc Holliday <a href="http://www.americanwest.com/pages/docholid.htm">practiced dentistry and owned a saloon here</a> – until he had to leave town after shooting a local. Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid, Jesse James and every other outlaw passed through too, giving Las Vegas <a href="http://www.legendsofamerica.com/nm-lasvegas.html">a reputation of harboring murderers, con men and bandits</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MrCXrSh07cwCO_CYa9uE7aaAMjrEJz19Qqpfq2Y_E1-gG7Y3EdWUqN_gQGbDvy3fW5N2QxK5EjZO4L-yEbFUBJ0-Mo0PoTBbClv2D7mNoTfV9u2TqVgEXcsJS9R963YdTZm75y7xCPoi/s1600/CIMG0620.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MrCXrSh07cwCO_CYa9uE7aaAMjrEJz19Qqpfq2Y_E1-gG7Y3EdWUqN_gQGbDvy3fW5N2QxK5EjZO4L-yEbFUBJ0-Mo0PoTBbClv2D7mNoTfV9u2TqVgEXcsJS9R963YdTZm75y7xCPoi/s400/CIMG0620.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500993850831635058" /></a>Storefronts like <a href="http://www.tomeontherange.com/index.htm">Tome on the Range</a> and “OK Café” on Old Town's Bridge Street remind you of this colorful history. And of course, there’s the <a href="http://www.plazahotel-nm.com/">Plaza Hotel</a> (built 1882), which is the epitome of the grand frontier hotels and the place where Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders <a href="http://www.plazahotel-nm.com/history.html">held their first reunion in 1899</a>. Still operating today, it is home to the Landmark Grill as well as Byron T’s Saloon. Many of the nearby buildings still need restoration, though, and hopefully someday someone will pump a few million into bringing them back to life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdIwAsfgQ0C9TeFwGQBrAuzdclnrSTLXrCYYFhlHyKSJELKOJACgpML4He7NCLOnGTmhdSCwX-SX7HPhUJjfFyjs3iZ48ARKZqFM-yG-hP178MuEWPr3N0W_Kfg31yIHUInftOrraE_j6/s1600/CIMG0613.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdIwAsfgQ0C9TeFwGQBrAuzdclnrSTLXrCYYFhlHyKSJELKOJACgpML4He7NCLOnGTmhdSCwX-SX7HPhUJjfFyjs3iZ48ARKZqFM-yG-hP178MuEWPr3N0W_Kfg31yIHUInftOrraE_j6/s400/CIMG0613.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500993836119522898" /></a>Two hours north, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trinidad,_Colorado">Trinidad, Colorado</a>, offers another turn-of-the-century flashback. Now known as the sex-change capital of the US (the phrase “taking a trip to Trinidad” has become code for such a procedure), this mining town was the place that weary wagon-bound travelers would pull into for supplies after making it through the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raton_Pass">Raton Pass</a> at the Colorado border. It’s another Santa Fe Trail boomtown gone bust – and yet with hints of a comeback.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaA7xIznhva4uVWLqhKf35LjvqQDkoNp5m9fOxwxoLE_EpS9kWZFd31EJBfiZyqIb108lYR35POCnkZmbZAhlisSPJpl-WIsaKuJ-Kwf-XPKteTiiv9pLgtLcuXdUb_uJsS6hIC_oVfWS/s1600/CIMG0648.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaA7xIznhva4uVWLqhKf35LjvqQDkoNp5m9fOxwxoLE_EpS9kWZFd31EJBfiZyqIb108lYR35POCnkZmbZAhlisSPJpl-WIsaKuJ-Kwf-XPKteTiiv9pLgtLcuXdUb_uJsS6hIC_oVfWS/s400/CIMG0648.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500997453928575506" /></a>A prime example is Danielson Dry Goods, a sophisticated <a href="http://www.danielsondesigns.com/111207.html">café-meets-gift store</a> housed in the restored Five ‘N Dime store on Main Street. The owners <a href="http://www.danielsondesigns.com/DDStory.aspx?AspxAutoDetectCookieSupport=1">wanted to help transform the depressed downtown area</a> – and clearly, they’re leading the way. On the left side of the building, you can order the signature <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/101/1514258/restaurant/Colorado/The-Cafe-at-Danielson-Dry-Goods-Trinidad">Corazon Chicken Salad</a> and a sparkling soda and sit in a booth lit by a chandelier. On the right side, you can browse picture frames and greeting cards decorated with quotes (manufactured by the owners’ design company, now the largest employer in southern Colorado) as well as soaps, perfumes and more.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguG8-TY5cUFCqI3ZgI0JtidZSkkheghXKauQYCrRLXHA8XJaeb5pkGvBXu2zppa29wqfb89XCVFITWbU_udKCQj7b3VxtS2lBcCS1r_9hIJ5aCTCSWNk3hyqWY0MvWv5vYKgtAeC2lqvQs/s1600/CIMG0649.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguG8-TY5cUFCqI3ZgI0JtidZSkkheghXKauQYCrRLXHA8XJaeb5pkGvBXu2zppa29wqfb89XCVFITWbU_udKCQj7b3VxtS2lBcCS1r_9hIJ5aCTCSWNk3hyqWY0MvWv5vYKgtAeC2lqvQs/s400/CIMG0649.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500996331151296338" /></a>After stopping for breakfast or lunch here, you too may get inspired by seeing how the past can be preserved for the future. These two Old Santa Fe Trail towns are not yet widely recognized tourist destinations, but they have all the history required – and just need a little more revitalization. I know it’s possible after seeing my own hometown’s shuttered downtown turned around in two decades."Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-43392212322027282010-07-06T17:39:00.000-06:002010-08-07T12:34:36.916-06:00Find Your Slice of the (Clam) Pie in Cape Cod<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm6yxTwXI4kH4yXLJ_eG9lanvwSMgz2dLja5T8dE1k7e1NeVctnJbQ3d76cUIsuUy4Qsd-_HESFTIZZMiEMNquoODI_qECBNmVKND6aB_OyfNRLALmkqOi32TfbgfWNpn9d4Xo1vGPRpC3/s1600/CIMG0739.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm6yxTwXI4kH4yXLJ_eG9lanvwSMgz2dLja5T8dE1k7e1NeVctnJbQ3d76cUIsuUy4Qsd-_HESFTIZZMiEMNquoODI_qECBNmVKND6aB_OyfNRLALmkqOi32TfbgfWNpn9d4Xo1vGPRpC3/s400/CIMG0739.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490963483367460354" /></a>Every year, my friend Laura and I take a weekend trip to a place we’ve never been. Last year, it was the capital of cool: <a href="http://talesofatelecommuter.blogspot.com/2009/06/dazed-and-amused-in-austin-texas-part.html">Austin, Texas</a>. This year it was the capital of summer: Cape Cod, Massachusetts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpb7yoeJfzwlutYhBI-Pk0nC233Lk9nMwi90_RcRW5xX4a_RoUeLf4UIuEjy_BHiq1SQUlAbL2pjTUj2weXabJxZ2mXKhA16TQ1u1rGofDAQuEBLR6Wd5XQ9JIdC7aFqizjuPjH-NtwgA/s1600/CIMG0662.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpb7yoeJfzwlutYhBI-Pk0nC233Lk9nMwi90_RcRW5xX4a_RoUeLf4UIuEjy_BHiq1SQUlAbL2pjTUj2weXabJxZ2mXKhA16TQ1u1rGofDAQuEBLR6Wd5XQ9JIdC7aFqizjuPjH-NtwgA/s400/CIMG0662.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490963494817296786" /></a>You could say our theme is simply a “girl’s getaway.” But more accurately, it could be called a “girls’ gastronomic fling.” From start to finish, our itinerary is dictated by where and what we will be eating. And as a requirement, we do not consider the impact on our waistlines. That’s life back home – and this is a fling, after all!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHvWoT7QfLUCww0fR3nvmC3ZaOVbpWszeBd48rRwH1fvSJFfDEE90jenwXdv_HwmOjuus1WhXky3xA0AJh_3aHcdrXPISv3A-QPW5uJY5ZZD5aeExbCt73cdSawmKSZzFWdb2wAyWrrqF/s1600/CIMG0658.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHvWoT7QfLUCww0fR3nvmC3ZaOVbpWszeBd48rRwH1fvSJFfDEE90jenwXdv_HwmOjuus1WhXky3xA0AJh_3aHcdrXPISv3A-QPW5uJY5ZZD5aeExbCt73cdSawmKSZzFWdb2wAyWrrqF/s400/CIMG0658.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490965374811928626" /></a>Given that we’re both known for having a raging sweet tooth, our first stop was naturally <a href="http://fourseasicecream.com/">Four Seas Ice Cream</a>, known for its homemade Peppermint Stick ice cream. If you can think of something that tastes more like summer than this winsome pink scoop, I’d like to hear it. But trust me – you won’t. It was the most refreshing thing ever.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgRf8NiBIN8tPpjIGSsDlRCL2IfsFz_Kf_yF3fHR6rr9YlLZlu4ZnNJea9ABT5Y4DCOqnblyx3zriU6UL4TjuurQKL_vEMsy0Oboby-LFi9W0R8LxBO0P80AhhB94hhjK2uByM8msE6wq/s1600/CIMG0676.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgRf8NiBIN8tPpjIGSsDlRCL2IfsFz_Kf_yF3fHR6rr9YlLZlu4ZnNJea9ABT5Y4DCOqnblyx3zriU6UL4TjuurQKL_vEMsy0Oboby-LFi9W0R8LxBO0P80AhhB94hhjK2uByM8msE6wq/s400/CIMG0676.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490963497408557506" /></a>Unfortunately, it only made us hungrier, though. After dipping our toes into the surprisingly warm waters of the Nantucket Sound, we made our way around Lewis Bay to <a href="http://www.therawbar.com/index.html">The Raw Bar</a> (not the famed original location in Mashpee, but the Hyannis “Hyline Location,” referring to where you catch the high-speed ferry to Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard). Our mission: to consume what I’d read was “the best lob-stah roll on the Cape.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdszuECO0kynXWDFWD1hBY3XVACBRLx1vS7TFNEPo2l91OktK9EavrPdGYydTHrJkozovB1kYDlKxFGtTFRBHDuXV59aA2aAVBRhgSRjlM2d6ABxtUGytiBPSLPJXS2RHqBI3uY8dF_EnK/s1600/CIMG0667.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdszuECO0kynXWDFWD1hBY3XVACBRLx1vS7TFNEPo2l91OktK9EavrPdGYydTHrJkozovB1kYDlKxFGtTFRBHDuXV59aA2aAVBRhgSRjlM2d6ABxtUGytiBPSLPJXS2RHqBI3uY8dF_EnK/s400/CIMG0667.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490963505136436834" /></a>Now, everyone has an opinion on that, but the lobster roll here is known for two things: a ridiculous amount of fresh lobster meat and a hefty price ($25). I can confirm both. But as I’d come to find out, it’s also known for its “purist’s” presentation: the only ingredient beyond lobster and the roll? Mayo. That’s it.<br /><br />If you love the taste of lobster unadorned, this could be your dream meal. For me, though, it was incredibly bland. I mean, would a few fresh herbs mixed in with the mayo hurt? Or what about a little butter on the roll? (You see buttered rolls in other places, but “not on Cape Cod,” a local told me, indignant at the very suggestion.) I tried to feel nonchalant about disliking a signature item – but I was now a little desperate to try another.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8GvGIxucpBv30N_MqYwiE-yF7nC2h9wXWUcusgn1uPakMAIIZfn3-0qNkK8sXotqc75iR-gZGxajlX5-m8k2FoI2w8M5FlRKtDovbN9CTKwhNHo61Cu37ZorFMo9t1l2v4YjloNqIa0t/s1600/CIMG0785.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8GvGIxucpBv30N_MqYwiE-yF7nC2h9wXWUcusgn1uPakMAIIZfn3-0qNkK8sXotqc75iR-gZGxajlX5-m8k2FoI2w8M5FlRKtDovbN9CTKwhNHo61Cu37ZorFMo9t1l2v4YjloNqIa0t/s400/CIMG0785.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490963514342975282" /></a>Despite the rough start, it wasn’t long before I’d happily devoured some of the other favorite eats and drinks on the Cape. In touristy, gay-friendly Provincetown (aka “P-town”), prior to an unexpectedly hardcore bike ride through sand dunes, humid forests and cranberry bogs, we wolfed down all manner of lobster delights at the famous <a href="http://www.ptownlobsterpot.com/">Lobster Pot</a> at the wharf. Lobster bisque. Lobster ravioli. Lobster salad. All very tasty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zsmWZHaK-j0xnhMUVXSnXIMgM2b9uOZuRQQ7JAdl_26cphShfKMqR445R4HdtQuJBI_EHP1UhOI48keftvy9xKbbbH4rB1BwM2-DEUyOM_mTJlViIlQwzYESnjot5-2IRgA1vupXkyFw/s1600/CIMG0790.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zsmWZHaK-j0xnhMUVXSnXIMgM2b9uOZuRQQ7JAdl_26cphShfKMqR445R4HdtQuJBI_EHP1UhOI48keftvy9xKbbbH4rB1BwM2-DEUyOM_mTJlViIlQwzYESnjot5-2IRgA1vupXkyFw/s400/CIMG0790.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490965384284379858" /></a>In Chatham, a charming, walkable village on the Lower Cape that was our misty home base for the weekend, the non-stop tour of Cape specialties included the stuffed quahog (a yummy clam appetizer baked with cheese on the shell) at <a href="http://www.rednun.com/">The Red Nun</a> (named after a type of channel marker, not a pious woman), the crab cakes, calamari and clam chowder at the boisterous <a href="http://www.thesquire.com/">Chatham Squire</a>, a local institution that’s one of the few places to stay open late, and a cold pint of <a href="http://www.capecodbeer.com/cape_cod_beer_brands.htm">Cape Cod Red Ale</a> and <a href="http://www.wachusettbrew.com/">Wachusett Blueberry Ale</a>, micro-brewed locally and in Western Mass, respectively.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98JzSsNLqHxvkkRToLw1kftSdxmIjeZXxedNa8y59NFbgBtqJDX4yFCj_3H79ifGv7irSKUwSsj9_WYkrlrLMHxKMi0pSjCXKEarYx_4dPT5q9X3yKlnr8sxjkYPp5B9WMuzZakzpXW8m/s1600/CIMG0707.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98JzSsNLqHxvkkRToLw1kftSdxmIjeZXxedNa8y59NFbgBtqJDX4yFCj_3H79ifGv7irSKUwSsj9_WYkrlrLMHxKMi0pSjCXKEarYx_4dPT5q9X3yKlnr8sxjkYPp5B9WMuzZakzpXW8m/s400/CIMG0707.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490965393749602146" /></a>The piece de resistance, however, was the Clam Pie at the unbearably cute <a href="http://marionspieshopofchatham.com/8101.html">Marion's Pie Shop</a>. This may not sound appetizing to you. It didn’t to me, either. But after ingesting way too much saltwater taffy (in flavors ranging from Beach Plum to Cranberry) from the <a href="http://www.candymanor.com/">Chatham Candy Manor</a>, I wanted something that wasn’t sweet. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pixHpTn-X0IxbGw1k2bcO29nPBmyM69RnKlHKbNk7HxcvxhsBfB30vmEqypbkj9N1sjJHMGYHx5gXfqqp5awZWBll5J9945D1rEOsKmHnD-YghU9A8dqvenFAQJ7bF8sNPf8-d_YRyLq/s1600/CIMG0895.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pixHpTn-X0IxbGw1k2bcO29nPBmyM69RnKlHKbNk7HxcvxhsBfB30vmEqypbkj9N1sjJHMGYHx5gXfqqp5awZWBll5J9945D1rEOsKmHnD-YghU9A8dqvenFAQJ7bF8sNPf8-d_YRyLq/s400/CIMG0895.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490969534708682274" /></a>Trying to look past the beguiling pastries and fruit pies, I asked Marion what pie put her on the map. “Clam pie,” she said. No hesitation. Huh. I bought one, figuring I’d bring it back on the plane for my seafood-loving partner, Kevin. And I got an Orange Citrus Roll, the largest I’d ever seen, to split with Laura. (Some things, especially a sweet tooth, never change.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-G8SzeZzQbi5sxfFXLiJgUkKE6V-PMW0KaM62HAFMQ-4NaH_G3zcoj5ObYUP8mgqvaDCfE2dgRmd2umDrUHvEpM7ejsGGrSsWGwTE0544QVMwigqznj0nTf2PUDMrnJ3JlpNQ_4DO0v_/s1600/CIMG0892.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-G8SzeZzQbi5sxfFXLiJgUkKE6V-PMW0KaM62HAFMQ-4NaH_G3zcoj5ObYUP8mgqvaDCfE2dgRmd2umDrUHvEpM7ejsGGrSsWGwTE0544QVMwigqznj0nTf2PUDMrnJ3JlpNQ_4DO0v_/s400/CIMG0892.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490965401697614722" /></a>Little did I know how good it would smell heating up that little six-inch Clam Pie in the oven – or how the thick, buttery crust would be among the best I’d ever tasted. As for the insides? Perfectly seasoned, nicely textured (no chewiness to the clams) and not a whiff of fishiness. For someone who only came to appreciate seafood in her late twenties thanks to an early hang-up about “fishiness,” I was beginning to truly believe Kevin when he said fishiness only happens when fish isn’t fresh. I tried more seafood dishes in a 48-period in Cape Cod than probably ever in my life, and not one of them was “fishy.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqKdoZ2kQIbzTgZTzwBfW9b4rTbIl2PP4jKPEXMEsTsmW3dfaKbWkJjCTQ13dMh7rqUph2ESJxo3iWr1PJOQ2OPHu_4QBz0qm2DqWXrOgi2KJ3uvMAvvW_0vGep_dBSLfa7VqmF0QJv3H/s1600/CIMG0842.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqKdoZ2kQIbzTgZTzwBfW9b4rTbIl2PP4jKPEXMEsTsmW3dfaKbWkJjCTQ13dMh7rqUph2ESJxo3iWr1PJOQ2OPHu_4QBz0qm2DqWXrOgi2KJ3uvMAvvW_0vGep_dBSLfa7VqmF0QJv3H/s400/CIMG0842.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490965411027658498" /></a>As if I need anything else to make the place seem dreamier. As a parting image, check out the little outdoor seating area in the back of our B&B when we arrived. The couple had two champagne flutes in hand, as if ready for their photo shoot. Life is just too good here. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTp4iuhGENhoLxg5LqRj8m5ahf9cnuhd7nqqzGVsS1oeRvBxSsQRF5iRu6ClQhH-umbyDWHQyOY1gKD8PeEHN_nOBiojhE3dhyYWk0dUW7XfPvuHta44zJ27-ZsktfqGI1n9CyQnBzwQaj/s1600/CIMG0687.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTp4iuhGENhoLxg5LqRj8m5ahf9cnuhd7nqqzGVsS1oeRvBxSsQRF5iRu6ClQhH-umbyDWHQyOY1gKD8PeEHN_nOBiojhE3dhyYWk0dUW7XfPvuHta44zJ27-ZsktfqGI1n9CyQnBzwQaj/s400/CIMG0687.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490968470135651154" /></a>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070975245091749833.post-37430238427607816712010-05-25T16:24:00.000-06:002010-05-25T18:21:05.632-06:00Sane or Insane?Back in the fall, I put up an anonymous poll asking: “What do you think of Amy moving to New Mexico?” The verdict was 66% of you found my relocation “insane.” It was a bit shocking that so many of you think I’m completely cuckoo, but hey, I asked. <br /><br />Now that I’ve had time to look back at this life-changing decision, I thought I’d do my own analysis of the “saneness” of a geographic 180. I’m going to try to be as objective as possible (if it is possible). I’ll also try to answer those of you who’ve asked if I’ve had any “buyer’s remorse” or shall we say “mover’s remorse.” So here goes…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Arguably insane factors:</span><br />•Moving to a place where you know no one and have no family<br />•Going from a city of 11 million people to a hamlet of under 2,000<br />•Relocating to a different state that you’ve only visited four times<br />•Buying a house in this new place without living there first<br />•Choosing a town smaller than your hometown (which felt small) <br />•Leaving the world's best temperate climate for true winters<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Arguably sane factors:</span><br />•Doubling our living space without paying more per month<br />•Fulfilling the dream of home ownership where buying makes sense*<br />•Invigorating our personal growth with a conscious lifestyle change<br />•Moving to a lower cost-of-living area where we can save more money<br />•Following our gut instincts about what places inspire and soothe us<br />•Taking maximum advantage of the benefits of our flexible careers<br /><br />So what I see here is that this move was equal parts sane and insane. It’s a matter of perspective. Is it insane to want to both get more <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> save more? Is it insane to want the opposite of what you have? Is it insane to think you can make friends anywhere…at any age? Is it insane to crave space and tranquility after once dismissing it? Is it insane to want to buy a home but not stretch financially? Is it insane to seek to change yourself? Is it insane to just <span style="font-style:italic;">leap</span>?<br /><br />It may be. And it certainly would be – at different points in time. But for me, at this age and stage, it’s also the fullest realization of being a telecommuting freelancer. I’ve traded job security for the risks and uncertainties and financial fluctuations of “going it on my own.” But I’ve also bought myself the ability to live how and where I please…and now I’m finally capitalizing on that. It’s a way of paying myself back in intangibles that makes the equation fully add up. <br /><br />As for mover’s remorse, we were frustrated at being snowed in this winter…three separate times. I had “a moment” during the last major snowstorm. But that’s about it. Because I already feel at home. I’ve already made some new friends. I’ve already felt a change in myself. I’ve already gotten used to the quiet. (A car alarm in Santa Fe this weekend was like a traumatic flashback.) And I’ve already fallen in love with the simple life again – in a way I probably never could have if I hadn’t lived and breathed the excitement of the big city. <br /><br />Freedom means many different things, but to me, this is it. “You are free to move about the country,” as the Southwest Airlines slogan goes. It may sound insane (and it is, partially) to pick up and move somewhere you barely know, but I’ve never felt saner.<br /><br />*<span style="font-style:italic;">See the <span style="font-style:italic;">New York Times</span>' very helpful "<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/business/buy-rent-calculator.html.">Buy Versus Rent Calculator</a>" to determine where it's smart to buy...and where it's better to rent. Based on our previous rent and current mortgage, as well as assumptions of a 3% annual rent increase and a 1% annual home value appreciation, we will save $29,697 over six years by owning here, with an average savings of $4,950/year.</span>"Miss Wanderlust"http://www.blogger.com/profile/03916808413768551673noreply@blogger.com1