High Desert Lotus

When You Have to Travel for Work

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 24 May 2020 16:37:00 +0000

I am occasionally asked to travel for work. At my job we have a volunteer list and a double secret forced list. For some reason, one never knows where one falls on that list, even when you think you should know. Hmmm... Anyway, I digress.

Listen, I love to travel, but I usually like to choose the destination. But, if you're in the professional work world, I'm sure this has happened to you. One day you are told you are going to spend an all expense paid week in Hartford, Connecticut. What do you do? Well, you can't quit because then you would not be able to take that non-expensed trip to Paris. So, you suck it up and go. You go to Hartford on the morning that you are supposed to report. Thank heavens' that it is only about a two-hour drive from Boston (depending on the traffic).

You've probably guessed by now that the scenario I just described happened to me. Just last week! I went, I worked, I photographed, and I ate some really decent meals. While I don't really want to criticize Hartford, I would say that this not one of my favorite destinations. Urban blight and poverty have subsumed parts of the city. Even though I didn't always feel safe, I ventured out on the mean streets in my car with camera in bag. I didn't always feel comfortable enough get out and photograph in some of the more challenging areas, but I got some good shots in downtown Hartford. I also ventured out to Farmington to see historic sites dating back to the 1700s.

When I learned that I had to travel there for the week, I tried to prepare as best I could. I scoped out restaurants, and fun things I could do after 5:00 p.m. I only came up with dinner venues, but that's okay. (They sort of roll up the sidewalks in the downtown area.) It was only 5 days.

Anyone who knows Hartford will tell you that most of the nicer restaurants reside in West Hartford. I was amazed at the hard, bright-lined demarcation from Hartford to West Hartford. Passing through an impoverished area I saw women carrying their groceries down the street from the Family Dollar, police surrounding young boys, and daily survival, but when I crossed the magic line, I saw Whole Foods, Crate and Barrel and joggers in Lululemon spandex stopping at the Starbucks, or one of the many eateries for takeout. These markers exist in every large city, but they seem starker when you are not familiar with surroundings.

So, alas, I spent most of my free time in West Hartford. I sampled Tapas and sipped Rioja at Barcelona Bar, grazed on passable Thai food, and savored delectable Mexican food at Besito; washing it down with the best house margarita I've ever had. I wandered into Arugula, a Middle Eastern restaurant, only to decide on the highly recommended hipster restaurant, Vinted, where the servers were too sexy to offer me a good seat (That's how I ended up in the Mexican restaurant. I left after being told that the promised table was 'on waters.' What? Is that on trend? After dinner water? Too pretentious for me, in that town, so I voted with my feet!) I rounded out the week at a quaint Italian restaurant, Treva, where I feasted to on succulent scallops and polenta as smooth as mashed potatoes. West Hartford's restaurant scene is quite diverse. I saw two Japanese restaurants, Irish pubs, a steakhouse and a Spanish taco joint.

Someone told me that the captives from the Amistad had lived in Farmington during the trial and the period before their repatriation. Later, this town would become a "stop" on the Underground Railroad, where many of the abolitionist families hosted runaway slaves. In my research (Internet), I learned that the famous prep school, Miss Porter's was there, as well as other sites relating to the Amistad captives and their abolitionist hosts. Farmington is about a twenty minute drive from Hartford. At rush hour, up l-84 it may take a little longer. Entering the scenic road you get a sense of how affluent this area really is. It made West Hartford look like the banlieues of Paris. Wow. How the 1%'ers do live.

It was a nice diversion and somewhere I didn't feel I'd be mugged. I didn't check the crime statistics, but the vibe I felt at times matched the bleak and dreary weather. The weather wasn't the culprit because the sun did shine for one half of one day. The buildings are very old and well-kept. Miss Porter's school was exactly what I expected. Quaint, prim and proper. The meticulously groomed grounds were huge, and still pretty lush on the day before spring. Jacqueline Onassis went there. If I had a daughter and an extra $55,000/yr., I'd be tempted.

The meat of the Amistad historical tour was inaccessible because they were on property privée. I called ahead to Miss Porter's and to ensure that my after hours visit wouldn't ruffle feathers. I was welcomed to visit, and the woman at the Stanley Whitman house even left me fliers. I enjoyed photographing the colonial buildings and wondered how the Amistad captives moved around this town and what they felt. Google maps is a great way to locate all of the venues. They're all pretty close together.

Back in Hartford, I visited the house of Samuel Clemens, who was better known as Mark Twain. It was closed before I left work at 5:00, so I walked the grounds. Impressive architecture, beautiful grounds next door to the Beecher-Stowe house. The surrounding apartment houses in the neighborhood were named after Mark Twain.

The capitol building is absolutely gorgeous with its gilded dome and impressive Eastlake Movement architecture. I visited the inside years ago when a colleague out of the blue suggested we go and visit the then governor. We went over, but he was out of the office. I remember being gobsmacked at the suggestion, and even further amazed when we were actually standing in his office. He was an old friend of my colleague, so it wasn't unusual for him. Me, on the other hand could not march over to the State House in Boston and ask to see the governor, my old friend.

After a long five days, my time was over there. Thank goodness for small miracles. It wasn't that bad, but I wouldn't really want to repeat it any time soon. I did get to catch up with an old friend, but aside from venturing out to Farmington, that was the highlight of the trip.

I suppose the takeaway is to try to scope out some interesting activities, do your homework on restaurants, and if you are a coffee drinker, on coffee shops. I think the people in the Hartford branch don't drink coffee, because no-one seemed to know or care where the nearest Starbucks was, or even where was an indy coffee house. Notice I skipped mentioning lunch? I was mildly pleased about dinner and was happy to gain some time to "sleep in" since my commute was whittled to about eight minutes. Try to make the most of your temporary assignment to wherever. With Netflix, the internet, and cell phones, life is much easier on the road. Try not to alter your daily workout too much since you're eating more caloric meals. And please do try to meet people, although it's hard on a Tuesday night in a Thai restaurant, and I didn't (except for that photography group I crashed on their night crawl), but try all the same. One of the mantras of a workout DVD that I do is, "You can do anything for 60 seconds." Well, you can do anything for one week. It sucks, but if travel is a part of your work life, enjoy the food, enjoy the hotel and enjoy being away from your normal work location!

Update!

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 07 Aug 2016 13:17:00 +0000

Just learned that TripAdvisor published my edited review yesterday. Hmmm🤔. The timing is interesting.

The Review that Trip Advisor Refuses to Publish

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Wed, 03 Aug 2016 14:42:00 +0000

I'm not usually a review writer, and I realize how unfair it is for me to rely on reviews on TripAdvisor, AirBNB (which I always leave a review), and Yelp without ever contributing. So, I vowed to contribute more. I wrote the following review shortly after I return from my visit to Paris. I duly submitted it to TripAdvisor. It took a couple of weeks for me to get the email copied below that asked that I not use profanity. I purposefully used asterisks to denote the profanity that was showered upon us. My use of coded profanity was not to titillate, but merely to report what happened. Nonetheless, TripAdvisor gently asked for a revision. Since I wanted this review published, for the greater good, I complied and edited out the asterisked words. I believe I referred to the words generally as expletives. ⏳is what is happening now. It's now August... Not confident that they will publish it. Is it that TripAdvisor doesn't publish negative reviews? What's the issue? Shouldn't people know? This review is not embellished. It is what happened. There were maybe two other tables occupied when we were there. So, it wasn't even busy when we allegedly made the proprietor "work." They are also witnesses.

Here's a few thoughts/entreaties to Mr. Fulvio. Maybe publish a menu so you don't have to "work" to read the menu to each customer. Perhaps take some classes on mindfulness, with an emphasis on being kind to your neighbor, even in the face of adversity. Also, don't chase your customers down the street yelling expletives at them. Incredibly aggressive. That might possibly send a chill down the spines of your other customers who may step out of line. Just suggestions.

Thus, since TripAdvisor is hedging, I decided to publish it here, along with TripAdvisor's email to me. By the way, Yelp published the review, but relegated it to the depths of "We Don't Know You/Can't Vouch for You" because you have only written one review. Okay, I get it. Finally, I received an email from TripAdvisor to say that my reviews have been read by 573 people in 7 days! Go figure.

Full disclosure: the review was edited for typos and grammar. Other than that, it's what was submitted to TripAdvisor.

Dear TripAdvisor Member,

Thank you for taking the time to write a review of FULVIO on TripAdvisor.

We value your contribution, and would like to be able to post it to our website. However, we are unable to publish your review because it violated the following guideline(s):

*Family-friendly

No profanity, threats, prejudiced comments, hate speech, sexually explicit language or other content that is not appropriate for our community.

NOTE: We do not publish explicit or implied profanity. This includes acronyms which contain intended profanity and profanity that has been masked using symbols.

If you'd be willing to edit and resubmit your review, we'd really appreciate it, and so will your fellow travelers! Your original review is included below so you can easily copy and paste it into the review form and make the necessary edits. You may view a comprehensive list of our guidelines here:http://www.tripadvisor.com/help/our_guidelines_for_traveler_reviews

Best regards,

TripAdvisor Support Team

------original review-------

Subject: FULVIO

Location: Paris, Ile-de-France, France, Europe

Title: Incredibly Rude Proprietor

ID#: 390993647

We visited this restaurant on 4 July 2016, based on some of the positive reviews posted on Yelp. What a disgusting experience because the proprietor, who some have described as delightful, was the most narcissistic, rude, and aggressive person with whom I've ever come in contact. The chalkboard menu was largely illegible, and needed to be deciphered. Without pleasantries, the proprietor came over our table with the blackboard, and very aggressively asked whether we wanted to share an appetizer. When my French friend responded to him in French to ask a question, he immediately responded to her rudely in French, and then in English, that he would explain the menu. There were probably close to 30 items on the menu that he read through in lightening speed, and at the end, we were expected to spit out an order. When I said we needed a moment to digest the menu, we received an exasperated shrug.

At this point, my friend and I, weary of the poor behavior and attitude, decided to leave and spend our time in a less aggressive environment.

As we exited the restaurant, the proprietor berated us with expletives in French, and then I guess for my benefit, called us f****** a********, stupid, and f****** dumb. Happy Independence Day!

He followed us halfway down the street yelling at us, telling us that his reading of the menu was work for him. What aggressive and self-demeaning behavior towards two women. Wow. All because we exercised our right not to spend money in a restaurant where we felt unwelcome? If I had been any of the diners there witnessing that, I would have surely left. Why would anyone want to eat there with such potential erratic behavior?

Happy to report that we found a beautiful little Italian Restaurant called Le Petit Italien, also in the Marais, right behind Place des Voges. Friendly service and delightful food. I will definitely return there.

The takeaway: avoid Fulvio unless you like a slice of vitriol with your antipasto.

Our Nation's Capital

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 30 Aug 2015 19:01:00 +0000

I took a short trip to Alexandria, Virginia and Washington, DC for work last week. It had been a few years since I visited this nation's capital, and I want more!! The DC monuments and museums close down pretty early, and the 50 minute ride into DC didn't leave much time to explore. The hotel, Crowne Plaza, curiously (apparently no staff has taken this tour) recommended a rather no frills, "Sanford and Son" styled tour (as one of my colleagues remarked) where you're picked you up in a beat-up conversion van by a rather talkative gentleman, who drives you to the "coach," that really wasn't a coach. It looked something like this:

It was a mini-bus that had seen better days. The weather was quite warm and humid, and the air conditioner on-board felt more a swamp cooler cool than dry crisp, filtered air, that is so needed in the near 100% humidity. Our tour guide, Ali, was tall, dour, and taciturn until he began the introduction on what a fun-filled tour we were in store for. He didn't really speak until the wheels were rolling and he was driving. I rode along with 4 other colleagues, three of whom, I did not know, but by the end, felt like I had known them for at least a few weeks. Once we were underway, Ali would not shut up! His rapid fire regurgitation of the history of DC was at first, impressive, but soon the almost robotic sing-song drone left me just tuning him out. My colleagues confirmed that some of his facts were not accurate. I interrupted him in mid-sentence to ask a question, and like a recording, he picked up exactly where he left off. This was a hop on, hop off tour of sorts. But soon, we found ourselves synchronizing our watches to Ali's so that we could be back at the bus by his proscribed departure time. It was little scary... As all good tactical teams are formed, an official time keeper emerged in our group, as well as an orienteering advisor/enforcer, when there were multiple monuments to visit. We literally were giving each other two-minute warnings when we lingered too long. This was more of a boot camp tour, where the object was to burn as many calories as possible. So much for a relaxing evening. It reminded me of supermarket sweep when you're trying to get to the register. We were running through sites like it was the end of the world to get our photos taken and history lessons learned in the time Ali allowed. Ali would be a good drill sergeant. He even us told the order in which to visit the Korean, Vietnam, and Lincoln Memorials in the 23 minutes he allowed. When someone tried to deviate, we quickly reminded each other that, "Ali said..." Amazing how much power he had gained within 15 minutes of meeting us. Did I mention we were in DC in August? Steamy! Good thing we had that quick margarita before we were picked up.

Even though Ali's tour wasn't the best, it was a really fun time. What do you want for $39? A taxi ride would have cost more! With all its deficiencies, Ali's directives, which I obviously made sound much more dramatic than it really was, well, not really, it made us all belly laugh and bond at every monument. It was a good time, and while I wouldn't recommend this tour to anyone, I would recommend taking a night tour, even if you've already visited these monuments during the day. The lighting on some of the monuments makes it challenging for iPhone photography, but I brought along my smaller, trusty and phenomenal Canon G16, and was able to get some good night shots. Nighttime in DC is amazing!! Imagine Arlington cemetery with only the van lights casting subdued illumination. Magic!

The monuments are amazingly pristine and well-visited at night. The marble at the Jefferson memorial (apparently has its own history) is gorgeous. Like the moon, the Washington Monument is beautifully ever-present in the background. The Iwo Jima site really shows the artist's mastery of detail. It was powerful. The Korean and Vietnam memorials were somber and funereal. The names. The cast images at the Korean memorial were eerily real. It was dark, and my camera's flash illumination reminded me of the battleground. In that instant, a soldier in combat appeared right as he would have in the rapid flash of battle.

I came away really loving my whirlwind visit to DC. The city seems very different from the last time I visited, and it makes me want to return to see the DC slow side. Another evening, I went to the U Street district to meet a friend for dinner at Dukem, an Ethiopian restaurant. I loved the food and the vibe of the neighborhood. People seem friendly and willing to stop and give you directions.

There's simply not enough time on a business trip!!

Personally, I think every American school child should have an opportunity to visit our country's capital, gratis. The area is so rich with history!! The Smithsonian, the monuments, and the White House are amazing places to visit. How can one know what it means to be an American, if one doesn't understand our government, how it works, and what it looks like. When I say visit, I don't mean a somewhat superficial photo-taking tour, but an in-depth visit to Congress, the White House, the Supreme Court. Every child should go.

I know that I have been an advocate for going West, but DC is definitely must-see destination that is easily accessible. Flying into Reagan National is a breeze, and the subway is clean, safe, and efficient. For older visitors, the restaurant and nightlife scene is great. I'm thinking a short trip is in order in the coming months.

Remember, that DC is as sexy at night as Paris!

Happy Spring! Or, Ode to a Daffodil

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 05 Apr 2015 21:43:00 +0000

This is what I hope to see once the snow melts and and the ground warms. My beautiful daffodils and tulips.

Daffodil, O Daffodil

Where art thou?

Beneath the layers of snow and ice

below shallow dirt that has lain fallow

for eight months or more

To love thee is to know you do not stay

Your petals en Jaune et Blanche

No Haiku can do thee justice

Thy beauty is beyond compare

Your glory is fleeting

but a reminder of how precious and brief

life is.

San Antonio, Texas

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 01 Mar 2015 18:22:00 +0000

From the Alamo to the Missions of San Antonio. San Antone. I've read some blogs that say that you’re a tourist if you call it San Antone. They called it San Antone in the TV western, Rawhide, so if it’s good enough for Mr. Favor, it’s good enough for me.

I have mixed feelings about San Antone. The River Walk is lively and bright, but for me, it was too much of a tourist trap. It was hard to tell if any of the restaurants were good. I stopped for Tex-Mex, and it was mediocre. It left such an impression; I forgot the name of the restaurant. Venture off the trail, and you’re in the land of meth-heads. It was really disquieting when you’re just trying to find and buy some skim milk from the local CVS. Wandering around the mean streets of downtown San Antone like Navarro, Commerce and West Market, you may stumble upon the prostrated bodies of the addicted. Barefoot and glassy-eyed, my greeters were barely aware that they were conscious. I felt that running the gauntlet wasn’t worth being able to eat cereal in my hotel room. I wondered why the hotel didn’t warn me, especially when the bellman knew I was going out alone. It also left me wondering what the downtown area would be like if the River Walk didn’t exist.

It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and the streets were full. There’s safety in numbers, I suppose. I managed to find the Alamo and the cavalcade of souvenir shops on the Alamo plaza without much effort. The Alamo was smaller than imagined, but everyone had warned me. It’s nighttime illumination made the white stone glow. The endless stream of selfies or couples posing on its patio made for an interesting people watching experience. Unfortunately, my trip was too short to include a tour of the Alamo, but seeing the outside of the structure was just as fulfilling.

The highlight of my stay was my tour of the other four Franciscan missions around town. However, my tour began at the Alamo, not really known for being a mission. The Alamo, or the Mission San Antonio de Valero was the first mission established in 1718 on the San Antonio River following the establishment of Mission San Francisco de Solano near the Rio Grande River in 1700. The purpose was to convert and assimilate the Coahuiltecan Indians. The mission at its present location was built in 1744. The mission provided protection and community for the converted, but by 1793, the Indian populations had been so reduced that the mission became a secular institution in the community. From 1794-1821, the Alamo was a military garrison held by the Spanish, which was locally called the Pueblo de la Compañía del Alamo.

The four other missions that I visited were like Phoenix rising from the ashes of some sketchy neighborhoods and urban/suburban sprawl. Mission San Juan Capistrano, Mission Nuestra Senoria de la Purisma Concepcion de Acuna, Mission San Francisco Espada, and Mission San Jose y San Miguel de Aguayo are beautiful 18th Century missions designed by the Spanish and laboriously built by the local Indians. The history of each mission is similar to the beginnings of the Alamo, so there is no need to regurgitate it here. The National Park Service has a great website full of resources for learning the history of the mission system.

The National Park Service employees are eager to tell you the history of the mission where they work. There was a pride behind their words that was borne out of the beautiful artistry and masonry that was flawlessly executed by the Indians who constructed these behemoths. From what I’ve researched, the privileged few who were allowed live within the mission walls helped develop self-sustainable organized communities, which contributed to the formation of the city that exists today.

As I drove around San Antonio trying to squeeze in a visit to each mission before heading to Austin, I realized that in the 18^th century, these missions were worlds apart when they contemporaneously existed. While only 9 miles separates San Juan Capistrano to Mission Concepcion via the modern, paved Mission Road, I suspect that on foot or on horseback it probably took at least a half day to travel between these missions because of natural land barriers and other obstacles. I was able to enter each of the sanctuaries, with the exception of Mission Espada. The interior of San Juan Mission was small and rustic, but very beautiful, as were the others. When I travel to the Southwest, I love visiting old missions and churches. To me, that is where the soul of the community continues to reside, so many centuries later. I was happy to end my visit to San Antonio there.

In addition to the missions, I loved the Pearl Brewery district, and enjoyed Rosario’s Mexican Café y Cantina restaurant only minutes from the River Walk. I would have to pan (no pun intended) Mi Tierra Restaurant. Much too much hype--I was told that it was amazing in the experience and the food. Well, the décor was an amazing morass of kitsch and chaos, and it did look like it would be a fun dining experience. However, that all changed upon entering the dining room. It was, well, a bit messy. There’s nothing more appetizing than sitting next to un-bussed tables of dehydrating refried beans. The food also left a lot to be desired. I am a vegetarian who eats fish (no comments, please), and usually have no problem finding a great meal in a Mexican Restaurant. Mi Tierra’s vegetarian menu was uninteresting and unappealing. The waitress’ attempt to cobble a meal together was admirable, but resulted in cheese enchiladas topped with Velveeta substitute. With the exception of a small restaurant in Pearsall, Texas, I have not visited a Mexican restaurant that didn’t offer some sort of vegetarian bean. I nearly walked out in the middle of my meal, but didn’t have the time to go searching for a new place to eat. Rosario’s, on the other hand, was modern Mexican cuisine. Loved the service and loved my meal! The Margs were great!!

At Pearl Brewery, I ate at La Gloria, Il Sogno Osteria, and enjoyed coffee at Local. I nearly ate at Green, which is a vegetarian eatery, but loved La Gloria so much, I darted in there at the last minute. Local’s coffee was so awesome. Il Sogno…Mama Mia! It was one of the best upscale Italian restaurants that I had ever eaten! If I go back to San Antonio, I will spend more time in this area. The salvation of San Antonio, for me, was the Pearl Brewery district. Admittedly, I came to the area for work, so I had very little time to explore, but was able to see a lot, considering. Pearl Brewery is a funky, hipster retail and restaurant district that saved the day for me. If there are other areas of interest, share them with me!

Lastly, I went to Pearsall, Texas. Nothing to say except the cattle auction I went to was a little shocking. I’m surprised they allowed photos. That’s all I’ll say.

From what I experienced, San Antone seems to be a city in transition. That is a good thing. I hope there is more of the Pearl Brewery sort of transitioning in San Antonio. Generally, I oppose gentrification that displaces poor people, but from what I was told, these new hipster areas saved the city from urban blight. While the River Walk is a great idea and has certainly revitalized that area, it just wasn’t my thing, but it does appeal to most tourists. It’s easy and safe, but I only went once. I prefer to travel like a local. But that’s just me. Go and see for yourself, and then drive an hour to my fave, Austin!

To see photos, check out my website: www.highdesertlotus.com. Newest posts are under, "The American Southwest."

Addams Family Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Mon, 24 Nov 2014 02:04:00 +0000

I find this scene from Addams Family Values a light-hearted and hilarious First Thanksgiving myth-buster aside from King of the Hill's version in "Spin the Choice." AFV shines a light on stereotypes about both groups, and cleverly infuses anachronisms and history that are just plain wrong. But, that's just the point.

What's Thanksgiving?

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Mon, 24 Nov 2014 02:03:00 +0000

As you savor that last bite of pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving, here’s some food for thought that may cause, well, some indigestion. The first Thanksgiving? Where was it exactly? Plimoth Plantation? San Elizario? Where? In grammar school, most of us were taught that it was Plimoth, spelled Plymouth. But who decided that history? Where’s the paper trail? We’ve come to accept these truths, but really, whose truth is it? When I began writing this post, I decided not to address the hypocrisy of the Thanksgiving story, which conjures a bucolic scene of Pilgrims (colonists) and Indians joined together in a hearty meal that symbolized peace on earth and good will. This was going to be an East Coast-West Coast, well, Southwest discussion of whether Thanksgiving was first “celebrated” in Texas. But, the more I researched and thought about it, I just couldn’t ignore the myth that continues to be told this time of year. I feel compelled to delve into the myth that covers a campaign of genocide against this country’s first peoples.

Many historians agree that the source work for the Thanksgiving story was borne out of passages from letters of two contemporaries who were present at the feast. Edward Winslow’s letter to England and the writings of Governor William Bradford are referenced as the smoking gun for this pleasant meal amongst friends:

And God be praised we had a good increase . . .Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.

Edward Winslow, Mourt’s Relation: D.B. Heath, ed. Applewood Books. Cambridge, 1986. p 82

They began now to gather in the small harvest they had, and to fit up their houses and dwellings against winter, being all well recovered in health and strength and had all things in good plenty. For as some were thus employed in affairs abroad, others were exercised in fishing, about cod and bass and other fish of which they took good store, of which every family had their portion. All the summer there was no want; and now began to come in store of fowl, as winter approached, of which is place did abound when they came first (but afterward decreased by degrees). And besides waterfowl there was great store of wild turkeys, of which they took many, besides venison, etc. Besides, they had about a peck a meal a week to a person, or now since harvest, Indian corn to that proportion. Which made many afterwards write so largely of their plenty here to their friends in England, which were not feigned but true reports.

William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation: S.E. Morison, ed.

Knopf. N.Y., 1952. p 90

I have read and reread these passages and have trouble reading into them, the story of brotherhood and good will toward the Indians. The good increase, or harvest that is referred to was due to Squanto, a former kidnapped member of the Wampanoag tribe, who served as a translator and guide to the colonists on how to plant and maintain crops on the fertile land. Most historians agree that the exercise of arms was the shooting of guns in celebration, much like people do on New Year’s in some parts of the U.S. The colonists were shooting to celebrate a bountiful harvest that would sustain them through winter. Prior to this day in 1621, Massasoit, the Wampanoag chief had entered a mutual treaty of protection and land sharing, so when the Wampanoags heard the gunfire, Massasoit assembled 90 men to investigate and render aid, if necessary. I have found no writings that indicate that Indian women and children were at this gathering. It is clear from the passage that there was not enough food for everyone, so the Wampanoags went out and killed game and presented it to Governor Bradford as a gift. Wampanoag historians say that the Indians camped nearby, and likely never sat and ate with the Pilgrims. It doesn’t sound like they were invited guests. “…many of the Indians came amongst us.” It stands to reason, if relations were so harmonious, the writer would have said that they invited them to share in their good fortune, right? The continuation of the passage indicates that a tolerant relationship existed at some point.

We have found the Indians very faithful in their covenant of peace with us; very loving and ready to pleasure us: we often go to them, and they come to us; some of us have been fifty miles by land in the country with them; the occasions and relations whereof you shall understand by our general and more full declaration of such things as are worth the noting, yea, it hath pleased God so to possess the Indians with a fear of us, and love unto us, that not only the greatest king amongst them called Massasoit, but also all the princes and peoples round about us, have either made suit unto us, or been glad of any occasion to make peace with us, so that seven of them at once have sent their messengers to us to that end, yea, an Fle at sea, which we never saw hath also together with the former yielded willingly to be under the protection, and subjects to our sovereign Lord King James, so that there is now great peace amongst the Indians themselves, which was not formerly, neither would have been but for us; and we for our parts walk as peaceably and safely in the wood, as in the highways in England, we entertain them familiarly in our houses, and they as friendly bestowing their venison on us. They are a people without any religion, or knowledge of any God, yet very trusty, quick of apprehension, ripe- witted, just, the men and women go naked, only a skin about their middles; for the temper of the air, here it agreeth well with that in England, and if there be any difference at all, this is somewhat hotter in summer, some think it to be colder in winter, but I cannot out of experience so say; the air is very clear and not foggy, as hath been reported.

Edward Winslow, Mourt’s Relation

While the colonists seemed to make nice, the writer’s attitude toward the Indians is stunningly paternalistic and condescending. Governor Bradford’s own words are even more instructive of the attitudes toward the Indians, just months before.

“All this while the Indians came skulking about them, and would sometimes show themselves aloof off, but when any approached near them, they would run away; and once they stole away their tools where they had been at work and were gone to dinner.”

He later talks about Sachem (Massasoit) and Squanto, who assisted the colony in planting, fishing trading, not with any thanks to Squanto or the Indians, but to God, and, rather with a sense of entitlement.

Squanto continued with them and was their interpreter and was a special instrument sent of God for their good beyond their expectation. He directed them how to set their corn, where to take fish, and to procure other commodities, and was also their pilot to bring them to unknown places for their profit, and never left them till he died.

William Bradford: History of Plymouth Plantation, c. 1650.

By some accounts the colonists were 50 in number, by others, 25. It is dubious that 90 Indian males would be welcomed for dinner with only enough fowl to last a week. Our collective amnesia or blindness, however, allows us only to remember a bucolic scene, which turned out to be the calm before the storm of genocide exacted upon the Indians across the colony and New England, just a few years later.

I even visited the Plimoth Plantation website to see what story the curators of this living museum tell of arguably, their most important day. It is revealing that the writer for the site tries hard not not perpetuate this myth. The site does not explicitly state that the Winslow or Bradford writings were the retelling of the first Thanksgiving, but instead, focus on the evolution of the holiday into what we know today. In fact, the website mentions that in the early 20^th century, a shift occurred in talking about the Pilgrims, and it became a teaching tool for good citizenry. The writer is careful to sidestep the topic, but the proverbial, “elephant in the room” is implicit in the article’s tone. I was most impressed with the children’s interactive feature that walks the amateur historian through audio recordings in the voices of the colonists and the Indians.

Accordingly, my reading of those passages revealed this: There was a harvest festival where food was divided among the colonists, and stored for the winter. In celebration, the colonists killed fowl and fired their guns, causing the Indians to respond to render possible aid. Once they arrived, they needed food, so they went out and killed deer and other game. They presented their spoils in good will to the Governor, but it was used to feed everyone for three days. If there was a “feast” it seems that it came about organically, not as a planned event with invitations conveyed to the Indian families. The Wampanoag accounts reveal that the Indians didn’t live close by (in a passage referring to Massasoit, Bradford indicated that he lived 40 miles away. There was another Indian settlement 20 miles away), so the Indian men would have needed to eat and rest after their journey. From Bradford’s writings in History of Plimoth Plantation, we do know that the colonists were never entirely comfortable among the Indians, so the iconic painting of a female colonist serving an Indian man is pure fancy of the artist, J.L.G. Ferris.

But why do some cling to this myth? Do you think that Mr. Bradford’s and Mr. Winslow’s accounts support such a view? Are the colonists really conveying any sense of friendship with the Wampanoags? Were their words a forewarning of how people diffent from themselves would be encountered and tolerated? Weren’t these religious people, the separatists? Later, in History of Plymouth Plantation, Bradford mentioned the return of the stolen tools along with other gifts from the Indians. Was it an afterthought, or less important than reporting the “theft?”

While a relative peace lasted for between the Wampanoags and the Bradford Colony, other Indian bands did not enjoy the same treatment. In fact, 17 years later, “the governor of Bay Colony declared a day of thanksgiving for the safe return of those who had been dispatched and participated in the annihilation of over 700 men, women and children.” According to Professor William B. Newell, formerly of the University of Connecticut, “a massacre of men, women and children was perpetrated by the colonists during the Pequot holy days when they assembled in the long house. Gathered in this place of meeting, they were attacked by mercenaries and English and Dutch. The Indians were ordered from the building and as they came forth were shot down, the rest were burned alive in the building. The very next day the governor declared a Thanksgiving Day." The Pequotwar.org website reports a similar history of what befell the Pequots.

In the last hours of moonlight, May 26, 1637, English Puritans, with Mohegan and Narragansett allies, surround the fortified Pequot village at Missituck (Mystic). Within an hour, 400-700 men, women, and children are put to the sword or burned to death as the English torch the village. Unfamiliar with war targeted at civilians, for the first time Native Tribes experience the total devastating effects of warfare practiced by Europeans. The Mystic massacre turned the tide against the Pequots and broke the tribe's resistance. Many Pequots in other villages escape and hide among other tribes. After the massacre, Governor John Winthrop proclaimed the first official "Day of Thanksgiving" in 1637 to celebrate the return of men that had gone to Mystic, Connecticut to fight against the Pequot.

Chilling.

On the bright side, there is an alternative story of Thanksgiving being floated. It is the story of San Elizario, Texas in 1598, some 23 years before the Plimouth shindig. It actually had nothing to do with Indians, good will or peace on earth. It was about conquest, and claiming land for the Spanish Crown. Don Juan de Onate, the Spanish Conquistador, marched into the area with 500 Mexican and Spanish colonists, their livestock and supplies, stretching over a mile wide. The exhausted colonists enjoyed a repast of fowl, fruit and water on April 28, 1598, after Onate took possession of the territory for King Phillip of Spain. He requested the Catholic friars to say a high mass of Thanksgiving, which was a special Catholic worship service.[1] They left the area the next day to press on to present-day Santa Fe. Although they called it El Paso del Norte, the area was divided by the Rio Grande River, where the southern bank would eventually remain in Mexico as Ciudad de Juarez, and the northern bank would become present day El Paso, Texas after changing "many hands." The Spanish erected the Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe Mission on the southern bank in 1659. In 1680, after the Pueblo Revolt, the village of El Paso became the Spanish seat of government when the Puebloans drove them from Santa Fe, New Mexico. In 1692, the Spanish seat returned to Santa Fe, after the Don Antonio Otermin reclaimed the territory in a bloody genocide of the Ysleta and Sandia Pueblo Indians.

El Paso was in New Mexico territory, and was the largest New Mexican Settlement until its cession to the United States in 1848. Then, it was declared part of the state of Texas in 1850. Straight forward enough? Well, this story is not without controversy. In January, 2014, the El Paso Times was reporting that the San Elizario Genealogy and Historical Society called this first Thanksgiving story into question. They claim it was the brainchild and marketing campaign of Sheldon Hall, a founder of the El Paso Mission Trail Association. For its successful promotion, the campaign apparently translated into funding from the state government. If that is so, why does the San Elizario Genealogy and Historical Society website, at this writing, still provide a page for the “1^st Thanksgiving and Don Juan de Onate?”

What we do know is that the account that Onate entered El Paso and took the soil for the crown is true. Does it really matter if we call the feast after that Thanksgiving? Both events represent an invasion of the territory. Ironically, both events represent the eventual genocide of the American Indian. Read your history on what led to the Pueblo revolt to know how many Puebloans were lost to the conquistadors through enslavement and murder. What flies in the face of reason is the false notion that the meals that were shared, were with people the colonists considered equals and, for the purpose of spreading good will. History simply doesn’t support this view, as heartwarming as it may be.

Some in academia, like sociologist and professor, Dan Brook believe that we should reflect on what we are really celebrating. ”We do not have to feel guilty, but we do need to feel something. At the very least, we need to reflect on how and what we feel. We should also review our history and what it means to us and others, while we must rethink our adopted traditions, including our Thanksgiving High Holy Day.” (Celebrating Genocide, Dan Brook, Counterpunch, November 26, 2002). Professor Robert Jensen from the University of Texas at Austin has suggested that the holiday be replaced with a national day of atonement.

I propose that while we’re giving thanks with our families and friends this Thursday, we should genuinely reflect on these initial contacts, and all who suffered in its wake. The bondage, sexual exploitation, removal, starvation, disease and genocide should never be forgotten, nor celebrated. The story of the colonists is not a fairy tale where we all live happily ever after. For the Indians, Africans, and the women who resisted subjugation and were branded witches it was a story of sorrow and disquiet. It is important to remember that the “discovery” of America; the landing on these shores by the explorers, the colonists, both Pilgrim and Puritans, the specters of manifest destiny, and westward expansion exacted a heavy toll on everyone in its path, especially the Indians. The Wampanoags and other native peoples mourn on the fourth Thursday in November every year at Plymouth. Why don’t we? When will we collectively mourn the sins of the colonists and the founding fathers instead of making up a cartoonish holiday to make it all feel right? When will it feel okay to tell the truth about our history? When will the victors stop arguing that these events happened a long time ago, so they shouldn’t have to feel anything about what their ancestors did? Does the passage of time erase our history? Should history be written in disappearing ink? It has been said that we are doomed to repeat history if we never acknowledge the sins of the past, yet we are outraged and sometimes moved to action when we see a story on the evening news about pit bulls forced to fight. Yes, of course, we should abhor animal cruelty, but we should also be moved by the effect of a legacy of colonization, subjugation and the forced removal of people in the quest for independence and democracy. Especially when the effects continue to manifest today. The truth of these interactions in 1621 should be acknowledged, shared, and lamented around the roast turkey, along with our individual blessings. Let’s embrace this proposal and not yawn. (The vanquished are still here, and in this moment are throwing off the cloak of defeat). Perhaps then, the animus, suspicion and injury can gradually remove, and a healing history can be written in indelible ink.

Reflect on this Turkey Day!

References not listed above:

For those who want to underscore the fact that these references are largely from the internet, yes, you are correct. This is not abstract for a thesis; it’s not even a book report. It’s a blog post composed largely of my opinion, so on this subject, I didn’t feel compelled to read a bunch of books that perpetuate the myth. That list is reported below. Reading the original source work by Winslow and Bradford was probably all that I needed to consult. How instructive those entries are! Some of the articles and sources reflect a Native American perspective as well as some open-minded academicians who have researched this subject. I hope that if you, reader, do not begin a dialogue on this issue with me, you will with your friends and family, especially your children. It’s time to hear all voices so that we can reconstruct our fractured history.

Texas Beyond History. www.texasandhistory.com

San Elizario Genealogical Society and Historical Society. http://www.epcounty.com/sanelizariomuseum/history_thanksgiving.htm

Plimoth Plantation website. http://www.plimoth.org/learn/MRL/read/thanksgiving-history; http://www.plimoth.org/learn/MRL/interact/thanksgiving-interactive-you-are-historian

“The Wampanoag Side of the First Thanksgiving Story” http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com/2011/11/22/wampanoag-side-first-thanksgiving-story-64076

Exploring the Economics of the First Thanksgiving: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/business-july-dec13-plantation_11-28/

http://www.americanindiansinchildrensliterature.blogspot.com/2014/11/oyates-list-of-thanksgiving-books-to.html

http://www.nbcnews.com/id/10176871/ns/msnbc-the_ed_show/t/thanksgiving-day-time-mourn/#.VGzmMYceYZY

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nicole-breedlove/thanksgiving-pequot-massacre_b_4337722.html

http://books.google.com/books?id=lmQ_7BlpD-oC&pg=PA79&lpg=PA79&dq=William+B.+Newell,+a+Penobscot+Indian&source=bl&ots=Mmxp_1EKNT&sig=OUVrt22SO6_iHtiUxll3jtCK0yw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=4-VsVMCXPJS2yATdr4CwBw&ved=0CFEQ6AEwCA#v=onepage&q=William%20B.%20Newell%2C%20a%20Penobscot%20Indian&f=false

http://mith.umd.edu/eada/html/display.php?docs=bradford_history.xml&action=show

Mourt’s Relation

http://static.squarespace.com/static/50a02efce4b046b42952af27/t/50a8701fe4b08d1f2ced2ff4/1353216031950/MourtsRelation.pdf

Battlefields of the Pequot War. http://www.pequotwar.org

Source: Documents of Holland, 13 Volume Colonial Documentary History, letters and reports form colonial officials to their superiors and the King in England and the private papers of Sir William Johnson, British Indian agent for the New York colony for 30 years. Researched by William B. Newell (Penobscot Tribe) Former Chairman of the University of Connecticut Anthropology Department.

[1] Just as the religious celebration of the birth of Christ (Christmas) has been coopted into a secular, commercial holiday, the modern thanksgiving traditon has suffered the same fate by adoption of feel good Pilgrim story, celebrated through turkey, stuffing, and Black Friday. (A day of Thanksgiving in the Catholic tradition is a day of high praise to the Lord, God through celebration of the Eucharist; the Jewish tradition celebrate Sukkot. William Bradford, a hebraist studied these traditions extensively, and arguably incorporated them into the separatist religious traditions; the Church of England from which the Puritans separated, celebrate the Day of Thanksgiving for the Institution of the Holy Communion. Some of these traditions find roots in the pagan harvest festivals.)

Red Rock Ride

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 09 Nov 2014 21:50:00 +0000

Aptly named for the terra cotta hoodoos, cliffs, ridges and other rock formations, the Red Rock Ride (RRR) is a six-day trail ride that traverses large swaths of southern Utah and Northern Arizona. On the trail, we meandered through the canyons of Zion, Bryce, Paria and Casto. We moved through parts of the Dixie National Forest and ended the trek at the Grand Canyon by entering at its north rim. This trip is clearly the highlight of my riding life. I seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ride through these remote and historic canyons like so many pioneers, cowboys, and outlaws, more than two centuries ago. The ride was a gift and a blessing that I can thankfully recall when life becomes bland and mundane.

It has been difficult to write about this trip because it was so grand. Three years ago, I was lured to the West by whispers from Canyon de Chelly (CDC). It’s hard to explain the draw I felt to this region, but I heard, responded, and then satisfied an intense desire to ride there. The need to ride on the canyon floor and regard the canyon from below, in my smallest self, as the Diné (Navajo) had once done before the Long Walk became paramount.

In preparation, I took riding lessons and read a prolific number of historical accounts of the area. It was important to ride with a Diné guide who could provide valuable insight to what I was seeing. Shortly after our arrival on the floor, the clarity of the canyon coupled with the serene sounds of nature culled my sensibilities into an emotional release that was cathartic. As I sensed the presence of the innocents who were lost during the genocide of 1864, I was stilled by the words of my guide, Victoria, who said, as I stood weeping in front of the White House Ruins, “At least we got the canyon back.” In that moment, I was able to release myself from mourning to look at the positive legacy of the Dinétah.

So, I digressed into a post about the CDC to say that once I entered that canyon, I knew that one day I would continue my journey and visit other canyons in the region. The prospect of visiting Bryce and Paria were enough for me to sign up nearly 10 months in advance.

The RRR is the grand tour of trail rides. Each day I was exposed to a unique tableau of terrain, sky and weather. Two hundred years ago, presence in these canyons would have questioned daily survival. Every turn revealed a room greater than the last. It is possible to be simultaneously austere and ostentatious, as these canyons exhibit. As we trekked, at times, it felt like the canyon was endlessly replicating itself, like the house in Stephen King’s novel, Rose Red. In a way it does, through erosion and time. Throughout the day, it was amazing to see the colors transition from subdued terra cotta hues to vibrant shades of vermillion with the changing angle of the sun. The dry air, high altitude, and the dazzling sun can lull you into dehydration and altitude sickness. I wonder if the early pioneers witnessed beauty or felt despair.

I find the high desert mesmeric, intoxicating, and deliciously dangerous. There’s something awesome staring down from high at hoodoos, and sand bridges while simultaneously defying a fear of heights. It’s risky riding so high on animals that can spook at seemingly inaudible sounds or a flapping jacket. More perceptive than when practicing yoga, riding horses has taught me how to truly be present in the moment. My horse, Dandy was an amazing little roan quarter who had recently emigrated from Mexico. Even though he was a workhorse in his former self, he was gutsy, reliable, friendly, and safe. We bonded almost instantly (after he attempted to roll in the warm sand, seconds after the trail boss warned of such frolics). We developed a mutual trust; mastering the give and take required for a successful pairing. He carried me through those treacherous parts like a pure professional—he is a thinker and a problem solver, which I appreciated when the height became too dizzying.

The wranglers of this outfit are outstanding and deserve heart-felt thanks from all who ride with them. They are attentive, alert and were willing to help you in any way needed on the trail. They also made an effort to get to know each of us individually, while sharing parts of their lives. I was very impressed with the level of care and professionalism they expressed to our group of forty riders. The owners of the RRR, the Mangums, the Houstons, and their families understand the meaning of hospitality, and succeeded in making everyone feel welcome and appreciated. Their positivity opened a space where we could all interact, discuss the day’s ride, and in some cases, begin to create lasting friendships. The stories shared by Keela Mangum about her ancestors, the Mormon pioneers who first traversed the Paria Box and slot trails were remarkable, and added a nuanced and deeply personal perspective to our rides.

The Grand Canyon was one of the most astonishing canyons that we visited. Massive, intimidating, and a dozen other adjectives could not describe the immeasurable beauty one witnesses here. I followed the rim tour with our wrangler, Hank, and three others instead of the straight-legged switchback tour with the rest of the group. I enjoyed the vantage point of this trail on mules, as it was low stress, and offered spectacular views from 8,500 feet. We traveled through the forest along the Ken Patrick Trail, ending at Uncle Jim’s Point. Here, and on the drive into the park, we witnessed the remnants of the devastation resulting from the Park Service’s prescribed burn in 2000, which destroyed over 14,000 acres when it blew out of hand. As you’ll see from the photos this experience will not likely be forgotten.

What’s more to say? The ride was an amazing experience. Although I didn’t experience the same emotional connection to these canyons, as I did in Canyon de Chelly; it was neither a requirement, nor an expectation. I was pleased to see the natural wonders and beauty of the American Southwest manifested in the hoodoos and ridges of the canyon badlands.

Why Travel is Necessary

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 09 Nov 2014 17:30:00 +0000

I was finishing up a post on the Red Rock Ride, and this post/rant injected itself.

My travels in the American Southwest have introduced me to people of different faiths, ethnicities, races, and cultures who have a story to tell, and are willing to tell it, if you talk to them. The beauty in these encounters, for me, has been the raw truth of their experience. It becomes clear when you talk to people who have not forgotten, that history isn’t written by the vanquished, but by the victors. Sadly, relevant native voices were absent from my Red Rock Ride tour, but I did hear, ever so briefly, the familiar reference of the aggressive Indian who could not receive change. I would have like to have heard the Paiute perspective on westward expansion by the pioneers, and their own experiences in the canyons that we visited. Utah, named for the Ute Indians roughly means in several native languages people of the mountain or people who live up high. Ironically, the victors backhandedly revere their “brute” neighbors by naming cities, towns and even whole states after them. Funny that.

I recently read an article by Binyavanga Wainaina called, “How to Write About Africa.” This piece should serve as a benchmark for how we speak and write about other racial and ethnic groups, such as the American Indian, African-Americans, and even whole countries. You may have noticed that there is a definite institutionalized racism when reading about the American Indian. I have written before how certain Indian tribal names invoke fear and distrust, even today. Luckily, education on and off the reservation has helped produce, among others, historians, writers and artists who are using their talents to create a tapestry of a new history that is palatable to the victors, and regarded by their peers.

What I find amazing is that the way we think of, speak and write about people who are different from ourselves in the media, in literature and in everyday conversation hasn’t changed much in 200 years. Throwing off outmoded terms to describe people is not political correctness, but a measure of enlightenment, intelligence, and respect. Recently, I heard someone refer to an East Asian person as “Oriental.” I was flummoxed because this person is probably 40 years old, and lives in a major metropolitan area! When I suggested that the term oriental more appropriately refers to objects that relate to or come from the Orient, and to call a person Oriental is offensive, I was met with the political correctness argument, and/or, that his intent was not to offend. Sigh. It costs nothing to open your eyes and see the world around you. Read. Turn the channel away from those conservative pundits, and talk to people outside of your community. Watch a foreign film. (I know you don’t like the sub-titles). But, most importantly, travel! Learn about different cultures. Travel doesn’t require taking a second mortgage on your home, or crossing oceans. These cultures exist in your own country, sometimes just across town. Join an international Meetup group if you cannot afford to travel. Talk to people, no matter who they are.

In the wake of the Michael Brown shooting in Ferguson, Missouri and the countless other senseless killings of young African-American males in past months, to the Ebola crisis in West Africa, to the unrest in the Middle East and around the world we should all reflect: through what prism do we view these conflicts? How well-informed are we? Are we just grabbing sound bites that reinforce our own prejudices and notions? Where do we seek information? Hear another perspective. Start a helpful dialogue.

I have been fortunate to meet so many people from all walks of life, out in New Mexico, Arizona and Utah. I think it is a little easier because I am open to it, being on vacation and all, but I have witnessed others on vacation with no interest in interacting with the native peoples selling their wares on the Pueblo, or even with the locals in the area. Maybe it is because I desire and seek a certain level of truth that you cannot always read about, but must experience through interaction and a reasonable exchange of ideas. I am not special in this regard. For me, travel is more about meeting the locals, than it is about seeing a city’s monuments. In this space, I have tried to share some of my encounters, but they are often difficult to reduce to words. Upasatti (whom we met in Silver City Vibe) said it well, "There is no how . . . you just be."

I find it uncomfortable sometimes to speak to others who believe that being respectful, thoughtful, and enlightened exacts too large of a price for them, so instead they reduce these virtues to platitudes, rather than goals to strive for. From time to time, we all harbor prejudices and jump to conclusions because we are ill-informed, but a sentient person recognizes her weakness and moves closer to truth, rather than away from it.

So, travel.

Race Point

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Wed, 05 Nov 2014 03:30:00 +0000

The race: A fast-moving tidal current caused by a narrow or shallow channel. The area earned its name because of the strong cross currents that occur and prevail. Race Point is known for its fierce undertow and strong riptides. It is also known for its spectacular sand dunes, rugged beach, and deep blue water.

Visiting in mid-October has its advantages. I enjoyed the absence of crowds, warm weather, cool breezes, and an opportunity to see life on the shore, and in the sea. I longed for the serenity of a secluded beach, and had planned to read, relax, and do some more reading against a backdrop of the outermost point of Cape Cod. I desired to commune with the ocean--to stand on the shore like some ancient mariner’s wife, longing for the return of something, while simultaneously releasing anxiety and achieving Satya. I felt the salt-filled mist against my skin, and breathed the sea into my being. It was mystical and spiritual. Mesmerized by the constant of the breaking waves, I lay on the beach thinking, breathing, and anticipating the next break. One could rest in that space for hours, but the cool breeze gently roused me.

My photographs were taken over three days, where the temperature ranged from 40 to 75 degrees. Upon arrival, the weather was extremely warm, and sunny. The late afternoon brought a chilling sea breeze that corresponded with the rise in tide. The next day was cold, raw and wet; yet I still ventured out, however briefly, to experience the sea during a storm. It was really too much, as the rain pelted my skin like pebbles. In late afternoon, the storm ended, and it warmed considerably. Periodically, I witnessed lone gray seals buoyantly riding the waves parallel to the beach, like dogs paddling for a Frisbee or stick thrown from the shore. After converging into their pod, they paused their frolicking to dubiously observe us on the shore. It’s no wonder when some believe that the gray seals are a nuisance, and harmful to the local fishing industry. I was amused by them, and thankful that the law is on their side.

I stayed in the lighthouse keeper’s home that was built in 1876. The Italianate house was renovated in 1995; its interior was restored to 1950’s revival. It was comfortable and thoughtfully decorated, and I relished that I could view the ocean from my bedroom window. I unplugged and enjoyed the company of the other guests and the keepers. We amused ourselves with conversation, food, wine, and bonfires after sundown.

The lighthouse was first lit in 1816, and its first keeper was Joshua Dyer. I thought about the keeper and his family living in such inhospitable conditions as during a Nor’easter, or one of the many winter storms that afflict the area, and wondered why/how they did it. I understood what the summer experience might have been, but the isolation, especially in winter was heady. I’m sure it took a special temperament, a love of the sea, and a formidable woman to help sustain the family in such conditions. With few natural barriers to block the wind and the mist, it must have been, at times, unpleasant to live on the outermost point. I was, and am in awe of such vocations, especially the women who were keepers in their own right. Today, the keepers are volunteers of the American Lighthouse Foundation. During my visit, the keepers were affable, and brought vibrant energy to their duties. It was remarkable to learn that they could trace their roots to the Mayflower, or to early keepers of the light.

My mother taught me to love lighthouses. Raised in the land-locked mid-west, I tend to gravitate to that which is far from my own experience. I have developed a fondness for the light station at Race Point. The 25-foot views above the sea were dramatic, especially at sunset. You could also see the race from the tower, where the depths from the shelf drop more than 180 feet. While the light is no longer the sole navigational beacon for the point, it complements the modern mariner’s other navigational instruments. I predict that I will return physically to this space several more times, but for now, it is pleasing to know that it has attached itself to my third eye.

Upper Cape: Onset and Buzzard's Bay

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sat, 21 Jun 2014 01:56:00 +0000

I spent a delightful afternoon on the Upper Cape in the villages of Onset and Buzzard's Bay. These hamlets are off-the-tourist track, and serve year-round populations of 1,573 and 3,859, respectively. Quaint, working-class, and authentic. The Cape Verdean community help diversify these villages, and one senses a shared community, not of one's ethnicity, but as a Cape Codder. So many locals were proudly sporting some sort of Cape Cod T-shirt, with the ubiquitous Boston Red Sox ball cap. (I can't believe I mentioned the Sox in a blog--not a fan, but anyway).

The Cape Cod Canal and it's elevator train bridge provided entertainment for all of us in the recreation area when the bridge lowered and a slow moving freight train crept through. There are several good restaurants in the area, selling the usual Cape Cod fare of fried clams (with bellies) to lobster rolls to linguine with clams. Today, I ate Thai from Krua Thai. The made-to-order food was quite good, but slightly on the greasy side. Mark Anthony's is good for fish and chips, pizza and other comfort beach side food. I bought a can of ginger beer from a convenience store, don't usually see this in the local Stop & Shop. Gosling's. Quite good.

I needed a restful day, and a hop-skip-and-a-jump away, I was smelling the saltwater and occasionally finding sand near my toes. I couldn't include the video of the bridge lowering and the train crossing even though it was awesome when everyone stood up to watch the entire episode. (It's only a minute-and-a-half, but it's not uploading). In the video you could hear the train, and excited children (of all ages) as the train approached!

You can check out my photos on:

http://highdesertlotus.net/upper-cape-cod-onset--buzzards-bay

Greetings from Albuquerque, New Mexico!

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Thu, 19 Jun 2014 03:02:00 +0000

One-day visit to Albuquerque just to rest and regroup after my long ride in Southern Utah. Thought it would be fun to do my own Breaking Bad tour, and miraculously, most of the locations were near my hotel in the Uptown area. It was pretty cool to see Walt and Skyler's house and Jesse and Jane's tweaker palace, in a not so nice area. No one really gave me a second look when I was photographing these spots, guess they're just used to it. Tuco's place is this really cool coffee house with great coffee, and resident philosophers complaining about the man and commercialism. There were some interesting characters walking around, eventually becoming belligerent, but the coffee is worth the risk. The coffee house is called Java City. I saw that there are some organized Br Bad tours, but why spend the money? Use Google, IMDB (which, by-the-way, lists out the street addresses for the major sites), and your GPS (Google Maps), and you're on your way! Very easy, and also a great way to see the city. I went to the wrong address to see Saul's office, so pay attention to streets vs. terraces. It was a fun way to spend a hot, sticky Albuquerque morning. I have never liked a show enough to ever do a tour of any sort, but since Br Ba is the best TV drama ever, one is naturally drawn to anything Heisenberg. Incidentally, Guerilla Graphix has great T-shirts, postcards, and aprons if you're looking for Br Ba memorabilia. They're located Old Town, and are total nerds, like me, about this show.

After the tour, I visited the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center for the remainder of the morning. Each of the 19 remaining pueblos is represented throughout the museum. Maria Martinez' pottery making is captured in a documentary film in the basement. The documentary was incredibly detailed footage of her pottery making starting with her and her son gathering the clay and sand in the desert to, well...okay, I left when she was on the potter's wheel, so I didn't see the finished product. (Film was a little too long). Well, there are beautiful artifacts and artwork in the museum, but honestly, I was a little bored. There was way too much to read, and some of the exhibits weren't all that interesting (like the one on the Indian school). Sorry. Maybe I just caught a bad exhibition period. It's worth a look, but don't expect an exhibit like you would see in Santa Fe.

After the pueblo museum, I went to Sophia's New Mexican Restaurant. There is a restaurant in the Pueblo museum, and I nearly ate there, but I couldn't stop thinking about the fish tacos at Sophia's. It's a hole-in-the wall, but the food is amazing. Fresh fish tacos are delicious. The staff is friendly and welcoming, and there are two eating areas, inside and out on the patio. Depending on the heat, you choose. I took a nice long break there, and no one rushed me out.

Then, I ended up in the Old Town for the remainder of the afternoon. I walked around, shopped, went inside San Felipe de Neri Church, and tried to stay in the shade. It was close to 100ºF--In early June!

Afterwards, I went to the new Target Uptown. It's huge and a great place to replenish sun block and other necessities, and ice, for the cooler where I was carrying water in the trunk. I always buy a cooler and fill it with water when driving through the desert or even up north. It's a good way to stay hydrated in dry climate, and in the higher elevations. Beware of becoming dehydrated in the higher elevations. It's not a good look!

So to sum it up, I like the ABQ! It was the perfect backdrop for Br Ba, and the perfect gateway for points north, south, east and west in New Mexico. I find the people to be friendly enough. It is a pretty big city, so people aren't as friendly as in Santa Fe or other little towns in northern New Mexico. There are a lot of good restaurants, and I did start this New Mexican vacation at Las Cuates on Menual. Not sure why my GPS took me to Lomas last fall, but the location on Menual is definitely better. Love the Chile rellenos with green chile!!

Parting advice: visit the ABQ, slow down and relax.

HDL

Alamogordo 88310 (White Sands National Monument)

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 11 May 2014 22:47:00 +0000

A veritable playground!! Climbing the gypsum dunes, sliding down on plastic sleds, driving the 16-mile dune drive, and seeing nothing but white sand all around you is the perfect destination on a calm, warm, early March morning. The temperature was nearing the high 60s and the sun was high. I imagine the summer is very hot and not so appealing for strenuous activity or hiking through the hot gypsum. It's the beach without the ocean. This is a great area to camp, trailer-in horses, or to just spend a few hours climbing and sledding on the dunes. What is cool was that most of the people sledding were adults!! I didn't have time for sledding, but it is a beautiful place to sit and reflect for a while.

White Sands National Monument is seemingly boundless, but it is 275 square miles of white gypsum bounded by two sets of missile ranges of the same name, Lake Lucero, the San Andres mountains and Holloman Air Force Base. The monument is approximately, 100 miles from El Paso, 16 miles from Alamogordo, and 52 miles from Las Cruces. The rangers sponsor full moon hikes and sunset tours-- the web page is comprehensive on activities and on park alerts, closures, etc. You should always check the website before trekking over because the missile range activities apparently take precedence over tourism, and road closures can apparently last hours or or even days.

The next time I'm in the area, I plan to do a full moon tour. The mostly nocturnal animals in the park venture out, and the glistening gypsum under a full moon promises to be a natural tranquilizer for another day trekking around the Land of Enchantment. I hear that Ruidoso is nice to visit and only 65 miles away!

If you want to see more photos, don't forget to check my site at www.highdesertlotus.net

HDL

All photos and content are the property of © Helen Moore 2014

The Borderland: El Paso to Mesilla

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sat, 10 May 2014 17:11:00 +0000

The Borderland. It stretches from Brownsville, Texas to San Diego, California for over 1,900 miles. The terrain is arid, and uninhabitable--I visited the stretch from El Paso, a few miles from the border, then drove up to Alamogordo, and down through the Organs to Mesilla. A straight shot from El Paso to Mesilla would have taken up 43 short miles of this vast border space, but I took a circuitous and somewhat scenic route, the Old Road to Mesilla. When you visit Mesilla, you are more or less 100 miles from the border if you stay on I-10. The service road (NM-9) takes you close to the border and leads to Columbus, NM, but I'm not sure why anyone would want to take that ride through the desert, except if you're going to Palomas, Mexico. But I'm told it is ill advised. The Borderland is more than just an imaginary boundary. Indian reservations, ranchers and badlands are all present there. On the Mexican side, Cuidad de Juarez is heavily populated very close to the line. The Borderland (I'm talking El Paso to Mesilla) projects everything you can imagine about the Southwest: cowgirls and cowboys, ghost towns, adobe structures, pecan groves, vineyards, Catholic churches, scenic routes, the border fence and Ciudad de Juarez. The Borderland closest to the actual boundary is predictably dry, dusty, sunny, and desolate. A few miles in, It thrives if you're on the right side of the fence. Peering across the Rio Grande dry riverbed into Juarez was a sobering experience. In the area where I stood, less than 100 yards away, the poverty grips you. It's like looking into a View Master, but the reels were made by Uncle Fester, and not by Disney. The partitioning of El Paso del Norte in 1848 (vis-à-vis the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo) leaves no question who received the short end of that stick. I saw areas where months ago narco-traffckers murdered innocents and fellow traffickers in Juarez and across the border. I saw an area of Juarez where young Mexican women were dumped after being disappeared and murdered. The bleached desert exposes une pâleur de tristesse.

The border fence itself is brown and massive. It was as long as the eye could see in either direction. I was impressed by its size and fortitude. It stands silently, re-emphasizing its purpose-yet the ones so desperate, so determined, manage to get to the other side, only to wind up on more desolate deserted soil. But for them, it's American soil. One gets a sense of why people come when staring across the way into Juarez. One gets a sense of why the El Paso del Norte is so enviable. Which ever side of the spectrum you may fall on the issue, the fence will remain and the agents who protect it deserve our respect and support, as their jobs are tedious and extremely dangerous. I left the area with new comprehension and respect for all of the participants in this 21st century border war.

For another perspective, NPR recently did a whole series on the border, which is worth listening to. http://www.npr.org/series/291397809/borderland-dispatches-from-the-u-s-mexico-boundary

Changing gears, since I didn't mean to go down such a dark path, but as a visitor to the Borderland, I sensed the border is something that becomes a part of your psyche, but also something that you can ignore and dismiss, if you live north of it. There were repeated warnings not to cross it, but it otherwise doesn't directly affect the lives of the average

American living in the Borderland.

In La Union, New Mexico, the wine flows at the southwest New Mexico vineyard of La Viña. Tastings/flights are inexpensive, and their estate-bottled varietals are succulent and refreshing. I loved the Viognier and Tempranillo. There are nearly a dozen other vineyards in that area to sample great New Mexican wine. Old Mesilla is always a treat. This time I ate at the Double Eagle. Great margaritas, but I must say I prefer the food at La Posta. The art galleries and curio shops offer authentic New Mexican art, jewelry and other trinkets. I was a little perplexed by the Nambé store. I expected to see crafts from the Nambé Pueblo, but instead, I saw über-designed alloyed cookware and utensils, apparently having nothing to do with the Nambé Indians. The prices would make you shudder! Anyway, I even found a wonderful yoga centric store just off the plaza. This is an easy area to pass an afternoon. Brunch is great at La Savoy de Mesilla. Upscale and delicious.

Cowboy Days at the Farm and Ranch Museum was mildly entertaining, but the cool weather and the winds made for a less than enthusiastic turnout. The Organs are aptly named and quietly loom in the rearview, seemingly ever-present on the east side of Las Cruces. Orogrande was a bizarre little area. A tiny strip of land halfway between El Paso and Alamogordo used to be a booming mining town in Otero County that eventually went bust. Its former name was Jarilla Junction. For me, it was the perfect location for a Rob Zombie horror movie. Stopping at that abandoned gas station was enough for me. I kept expecting Captain Spaulding to show up offering me a tour of his Museum of Monsters & Madmen. Creepy. I didn't go off-road to see the old mines, but not sure that would be that interesting.

Back on the west side of El Paso, there are some great restaurants like Ripe and SuZu, an Asian-Mexican Fusion restaurant. I also learned the Texas one-step and line dancing at Little Bit of Texas. When in Rome...

White Sands was a blast! (No pun intended.) And is my next post!

Regards,

HDL

Traveling the High Road to Taos (While Discovering Northern NewMexico's Missions and Churches)

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Tue, 12 Nov 2013 16:14:00 +0000

The High Road to Taos leads the intrepid traveler through many historic and deeply culturally Hispanic villages in Northern New Mexico. Entering NM 503 from US 285/84, you meander through arid juniper and pinon spotted hills that spill directly into the village of Chimayó. Chimayó appears lush with Cottonwoods and its desert grasses. Here, a pilgrimage and heritage site, the Santuario de Chimayó is found. The church was completed in 1816 on earth that is believed to possess curative powers. Pilgrims make the journey to pray and experience the miraculous powers from the healing dirt from the floor of a side chapel. As I entered the small main chapel, I sensed a positive, calm and meditative presence. Some of the vistitors were meditating in alternative styles, and others deep in Christian prayer. It was a beautiful experience that I wish to repeat on another trip to this peaceful space. Nearby is the Capilla de Santo Nino de Atocha. It was closed when I visited, so I didn't have a chance to see the papier mâché Christ Child at the altar that was offered by Don Severino Medina, a founder of the chapel. I have included a photograph that I found from the chapel's website, as well as a Bulto of a pilgrim in the familiar folk art tradition. In addition to weaving, the hamlet produces a variety of red and green chiles. I bought red chile from the general store, El Portrero's (Vigil Store), which leaves a smooth, smoky richness on the palate. The proprietors were friendly and were happy to share their knowledge of the area. For lunch, I feasted on Chile Rellenos at the town favorite, Rancho de Chimayó Restaurant. The Margarita menu looked inviting, but since I was going to be traveling on new roads through the mountains, I didn't partake. The food was good, but didn't live up to the reviews I read across the web.

As I exited the Santuario, I turned right. All roads seem to lead to NM 76. Drivers beware. Your Google directions may say take NM76N, but at this point, NM 76 is heading west, and is marked as NM 76W. Take the turn right toward Cordova to stay on the High Road. Cordova stands at an elevation of about 8,400 feet. I stopped at the scenic overlook, but didn't have time for the town. I must return because my goal was to arrive at Chacon before dark, and it was already 3:00 p.m. Night was falling at about 6:30. I've read there is an old church in this woodworking town, and a couple of wood carver's shops to enjoy.

Next is Truchas. Truchas, is the town that you run into where NM 76 takes a sharp left (that was not clearly marked--make sure you turn at the mural). I ended up driving straight into town, but missed the church and other points of interest because I was trying figure out what happened to NM 76. The road apparently dead ends on a dirt road, but I turned around before I reached it. The town displays monochromatic wood framed and adobe buildings circa 1850. Truchas is apparently so untouched, it was the site for the filming of the Milagro Beanfield War (an interesting movie, by the way). I could not find the left turn, now a right turn, to stay on NM 76. There are no signs going south, and perhaps I missed the one going north, but just make sure you turn at the mural. I ended up driving all the way back to the Cordova overlook to turn around because some little jerk got on my bumper out of Truchas and wouldn't let up. Oh, and there's nowhere to turnaround unless you want to get a headlong view of the valley. By-the-way, Truchas Peak, in the Sangre de Cristo range rises to well over 13,000 feet north of East of Truchas. While not really visible in my fog then, my calmer memory of the mountain views were spectacular. After a minor meltdown, and calls to my friends, I took a chance and turned at the mural. Still no signs indicating you are on NM 76. In fact, the only way I knew I was possibly heading in the right direction was because my friends mentioned Chamisal. Driving through the Ponderosa forest in the Carson National Forest was not comforting until I reached the hamlet of Las Trampas. Finally, I saw the junction sign for NM 75. (Note to NM State Government: If you promote a road as a scenic byway, at least put up some signs reassuring out-of-towners that they are on the right track. There aren't a whole lot of people to stop and ask, cell phone service is non-existent, which means that GPS dependent on data signals don't work. Please mark the turn-off, and at least one sign to indicate, "Yes, you have reconnected to NM 76," to gently lead us. Note to Travelers: If you don't want to feel like the Spanish missionary priests wandering through unknown territory (pictured below), print out your directions!) With all that said, I am eager to travel this road again, and really take my time to stop in these delightful hamlets.

After stopping briefly in Las Trampas, I continued through Chamisal and turned right onto NM 75 through the lush meadows of the outskirts of Penasco and Vadito. When you hit the junction of NM 518, you turn left (north) for Taos. (This is clearly marked). You'll find the San Francisco de Asis Mission in Ranchos de Taos, 4 miles from the Taos center. In Taos proper, you'll see Our Lady of Guadalupe church, and on the Pueblo, of course, you'll find the San Geronimo Mission. The present San Geronimo Mission structure on the Taos Pueblo was constructed after the original church's destruction during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680. Later U.S. Soldiers destroyed the second structure after a revolt against the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (The one that made New Mexico a state). The final structure built in 1850 still stands. The remains of the second structure still stands on the pueblo. Santa Fe has a number of interesting churches, but I included the Santuario de Guadalupe, and the the San Miguel Mission because of their dates of construction and adobe architecture.

My journey, however, led me to go south on NM 518 through the Carson National Forest winding through deeper meadows of Trés Ritos, and the Sipapu Ski resort. The Rio Pueblo runs alongside the road, and explains the heavily forested mountains and expanse of lush meadows throughout the valley. Cattle come down from up the mountain onto the road to graze in the lush green valley, so beware of large leaping sides of beef onto the road! Remember, cattle have the right-of-way!

The road climbs high above Angostura, and finally descends into the Chacon-Holman area. Northern New Mexico is fascinating. It's relative isolation has left many of the hamlets virtually untouched. I found two beautiful churches in Chacon and Cleveland, respectively, that are worth noting. The caretakers of the Capilla de San Antonio, formerly, San Antonio de Padua in Chacon added bell tower in later years. I gleaned this from an old book on Northern New Mexico churches. The adobe churches need periodic maintenance, so it appears that when tastes changed, so did the structure. San Antonio Church in Cleveland is an adobe structure with beautiful wood-working in front.

Read your history to get an understanding of the mission system in the Southwest, particularly, New Mexico, and visit these wonderful villages on the High Road. Mission churches abound throughout New Mexico. I have and will share more photos in other posts.

The High Road is the slower route to Taos or Las Vegas, but so well worth the drive.

See my photos at www.highdesertlotus.net

El Paso

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Wed, 09 Oct 2013 18:12:00 +0000

The Pass.

I went to El Paso for two weeks for work this past September. I welcomed the opportunity because of its proximity to my lovely, New Mexico. I must say, I really enjoyed being in this historic town, and found the people refreshingly friendly.

If you love authentic Mexican food, this is your place. The food is so very different from New Mexican, and light years away from Tex Mex. There are so many great, inexpensive restaurants, just do an online search. The three that stand out for me were: Moe's, very simple and unpretentious. Food comes alive on your palate. Closes early because it is in an desolate industrial area. Cuauhtemoc Cafe on Montana. Spanish is spoken first, good hearty portions for little money. I felt the healthiest eating here. Andale. I am forced to believe flashy, chain-appearing restaurant is authentic because nearly everyone there was of Mexican, Hispanic descent. The first time I ate there, the shrimp enchiladas were amazing. The margaritas, to die for. My second trip, not so much. Like my beloved Tex Mex resto, Border Cafe, it has its off-days. This is what I'm told about Andale. Hit or miss. Vegetarians be aware, (I learned the hard way) that most of the authentic restos use lard to fry their tortillas. I did not know it until my next to the last day there. It all caught up with me right before my flight. I also ate at a lovely Tapas restaurant, La Tabla. It is downtown in the gentrified district of Union Plaza. Very cool place where Oscar took amazing care of me. Tender succulent octopus, great salad. Cool, funky atmosphere, and I was there on a Tuesday! My other fave is Crave Kitchen. Wow--amazing pancakes and coffee. Mmm, Mmm, good.

Okay, the people. Met lots of transplants, but all very cool and interesting. Okay, if I had to judge a people by their driving, I'd say run. Driving on I-10 is a speedy, tailgatey, not letting you over--over my dead body experience. Other than that, these Texans were lovely. And, I say this coming from Boston. Everyone had a smile and warm hello, where ever I went.

I stayed on the East Side, which to some is not the place to be, but I liked it. I was right next to I-10, the airport, and work. Lots of restaurants, of the chain variety, and lots of strip malls. The West Side is where most of my colleagues live, and it's nice. Some of the Kern Place and Stanton photos represent the architecture and nice, bucolic neighborhoods. But, that's all I saw. While the East Side is a little grittier, I didn't see a lot of run down areas, but it's hard to venture out every night after work.

I didn't do the Trans Mountain highway because of lack of time; I couldn't do the aerial tramway because it didn't open until noon on Saturday, and my flight was at two, but I did see Rim Road, and got a great look at the Franklin Mountains from New Mexico and the Texas side when I went to the State Line. Does anyone know who wrote on these mountains? What it says/means? And, who put up the star and the cross? No one I talked to seemed to know.

Okay, I saved the best for last. Juarez. Well, I was told don't go there. If I found myself on the road to Juarez, turn around, block traffic, do anything but cross the border. I took heed. I drove the border highway, but that's it. Bleak, bland, brown fence that apparently is easily scaled with a rope ladder, and dozens of Border Patrol agents keeping watch. I do love the Border Patrol, but thought the fence, a bridge too far. Oh, I almost forgot, I went to the Border Patrol Museum. Very cool place. No matter where you fall on the immigration issue, those agents risk their lives on a daily basis, and deserve a bit of gratitude from all of us.

One complaint that I'm sure most will agree. How is it, being in the cradle of the Southwest, home to the cowboy, that most of the "authentic" and famous boot lines are all made in China or India? I'm talking about Justin Boots, Tony Lama, etc. I refuse to buy western gear that was made in China. I went to the Saddle Blanket to pick up some trinkets, but most were made in India and China. I bought my cowboy hat from Cowtown, and it was made in the US, but wow, how did we get here? Unbelievable. I didn't go into Rocket Buster Boots, but they appear to be authentic, handmade right here in the good old US of A. Quite pricey, though.

Well, I have another post on some history of El Paso in the Mission Trail blog.

T or C?

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Thu, 03 Oct 2013 15:03:00 +0000

Truth or Consequences. This town is just off Interstate 25, almost exactly half-way between Las Cruces and Socorro. It would probably be by-passed if not for Elephant Butte and its own hot springs. Honestly, I'm not sure if most of the restaurants and its few shops were closed because of the town's flooding, or that the town is permanently sleepy.

I went for the hot spring spa experience. I stayed at Sierra Grande Lodge, where a free soak is included with each day of your stay. I planned the perfect spa weekend--soak, deep tissue massage, dinner, soak, relaxing sleep. I accomplished everything except the relaxing sleep. I was assigned to a first floor room, but it does not appear to matter what floor you stay on at this place, according to Trip Advisor. Anyway, at 3:00 a.m., some unknown employee started making noises. Dishes were clanking, carts were rolling down uncarpeted hallways, and what sounded like endless ice scooping finally sent me over the edge. Clad in my bathrobe, I went out to inquire, WTF? In a clueless manner, the woman offered to close off a door. No other staff were around, so I was forced to insist that she stop the noise because by then, it was 4:00 in the morning! Out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep again until I heard the noise again at 6:00. Long story, short, the lodge discounted my room by 50%, but lack of sleep impacted the rest of my weekend. Because of that, I wouldn't recommend staying here--oh, and the the breakfast was abysmal. To be the most expensive lodging in town, it does not live up to its serenely photographed website.

Luckily, I had pre-booked a soak at the Riverbend Hot Springs. While I didn't see the rooms, I am certain that I would have gotten a nice rest there. It's a cheery, friendly spa where an emphasis on a restful experience shines through. I was told that the rooms were recently renovated, and the private soaking rooms were great. Soaking while overlooking the Rio Grande and mountains was a blissful experience that salvaged an otherwise annoying experience.

I was left with the impression that this is a town where a lot of old hippies and drifters have come to settle. However, when I read the town's "things to do" book, it is presented itself much differently. The flooding must have been a factor. Don't get me wrong, everyone was nice, pleasant, and friendly. Not much shopping or cafe-sitting, though. (My exploration was limited to the main downtown area).

For dinner, I dined at BellaLuca Italian restaurant, that was very good. For breakfast, I ended up going out to the Passion Cafe for a very tasty breakfast sandwich and great coffee. Saturday night was the town's Art Walk evening, so I was able to visit a few galleries, where I was warmly welcomed.

To clarify, T or C was a bit more lively than my experience in Silver. I was in town for about 24 hours, and I think that was about right for this particular weekend. Even if my experience had been better at Sierra Lodge, I would probably still be left with the same impressions. Perhaps the previous day's flooding played a role in a lot of businesses being shut, and if I'm ever again in the area, I would stop in again for a weekend.
With all that said, do go to Tor C to enjoy a fabulous soak. There are several spas to choose from, so if you have the time, spa hop. Riverbend gets high praises from me, and if you have the heart, drive up to to the dam at Elephant Butte!!

All photos and content are the property of © Helen Moore 2014

Jack Johnson vs Jim Flynn (An Update to What Happened in This Vegas, Shouldn't Necessarily Stay There!)

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 04 Aug 2013 23:53:00 +0000

Loving my African-American History in New Mexico book! I have learned so much and I'm only half-way done.

Well, Las Vegas, Nevada is/was truly a copy cat of the true, original Las Vegas. In addition to being the adult playground for just about every western outlaw, Las Vegas, New Mexico held Marquee prize fights! Guess who fought there? Stumped? The inimitable, Jack Johnson. Jack Johnson was probably the greatest heavy weight boxer, ever, and he was African American. The fight took place on July 4, 1912, and his opponent was Jim Flynn. The fight was scheduled for 45 rounds! I don't know much about prize fighting, but that seems ridiculous compared with today's 15 round maximum.

Apparently, America couldn't handle a black man being the heavy weight champion, so they pitted several men known as a "White Hope" to unseat him. Remember the James Earl Jones movie? It was loosely based on Jack Johnson. What's important here is that Jack Johnson trained and lived in the area for a time, and he won the match in the 9th round. Mr. Johnson was written about extensively in the New Mexican press, and his share of the proceeds was $31,000, today's equivalent of approximately $750,000. Wow. Race relations in New Mexico seemed to have been at an even keel during this fight era, but the press wasn't always so kind. Great history for a town no one knows about! Here's the fight!

What Happened in this Vegas Shouldn't Necessarily Stay There!

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Mon, 15 Jul 2013 03:21:00 +0000

I've been to Las Vegas in Nevada, the Disney for adults, and now I've been to the original. Me, I prefer the original, Las Vegas, New Mexico.

Like an oak aged wine, the unmuted notes of an old western town prominently rested on the palate, playfully mingled with 21st century modernity. The deeper notes presented in Victorian and Queen Ann architecture, that finished with Craftsman, Post-Modern and Contemporary styles of the university that awakened my senses to see more of this unsung, historic town.

Las Vegas. Once, I asked someone was Las Vegas worth taking the trip, and was told, "Don't bother." I didn't. Even though my ignoring this town didn't settle well, a year later, I was fortunate enough to be passing through. I found a gem in the high plains!

Las Vegas is situated east of Santa Fe at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and at the edge of the Great Plains. The town was likely named for its geography and geology. The original Spanish name, Nuestra Señora de los Dolores de las Vegas Grandes, translates to Our Lady of the Sorrows of the Great Meadows. Thus, the region sits in a large meadow. In 1835, the Spanish settlers applied for a land grant from Mexico, and with this land cession, a town was born.

By the time the United States declared war on Mexico in 1846, the town had swelled to 1,500 people (mostly Spanish settlers). The Santa Fe Trail was in regular use, and the town boomed. In 1879, the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroads steamed into Las Vegas. By then, Las Vegas had become the largest city between Independence, Missouri, and San Francisco. For a time, between 1888 and 1979 there were two Las Vegases, East and West. West encompassed the Old Town and Plaza, and East Las Vegas was the "New Town," where the railroads landed. East coast influences reflected in attitude, politics, food, and architectural styles. Apparently resistance fomented into the town's division. It's probably fair to say that this was the beginning of the East Coast-West Coast rivalry. Later, the town declined with newer railroad lines, the Great Depression, and advent of the motorized car.

In its heyday, the late 1800's, Las Vegas was the place to be--if you were an outlaw. Billy the Kid, Jesse James, Doc Holliday and his girl, Big Nose Kate, and Wyatt Earp (some say law man, others say outlaw), and other desperadoes and outcasts either passed through or called it home for a while. One wonders what was the allure for these rough-shod outlaws? Maybe New Mexico has always been the Land of Enchantment! What's more, I learned that Las Vegas was rougher, tougher and more notorious than Dodge City! This is a history that we never learned in school. Why wasn't this rich history glamorized in Saturday morning Westerns? Or, in the Time-Life western books that my grandfather used to subscribe? Why did Dodge, Tombstone, Amarillo & Deadwood become so famous? (I don't know, but I plan to ask people the next time I visit). Apparently, crime was so bad that the "Vigilantes" took out an ad in the local newspaper, exhorting outlaws to ride out, or face execution. The outlaws took heed and broke camp, only to be replaced by cattle rustlers, the comparative white collar criminal of day. Finally, in the late 1870s, the people of Las Vegas finally got their wish of taking back their community. It seems to have taken. I haven't checked crime statistics, but I felt safe there.

Well, I gave you a condensed Anglo-Internet history to say this. This town is cool! You can almost close your eyes in that town square and see the way it was when Doc Holliday was challenging men to gunfights in the street. The Victorian and Italianate architecture is beautiful. The Old Town looks recently tuck-pointed, and everything was calm, and just, well done. Granted, I spent about an hour and a half in this town, but I loved it. It was more lively than Silver, and shops and restaurants were open! (That's a plus for any traveler). We stopped at an old drug store and soda shop,that is now the new drug store and ice cream shop. It was very cute, with lots of Coca Cola memorabilia, and an old pharmacy medicine cabinet with old medicine boxes and bottles, some that I recognized from my childhood.

When I return to the area this fall, I really want to take some time to see the town, maybe even stay at the Palace Hotel that was just gorgeous, inside and out. I bought lots o' silver there (not 925, but the silver used by the Diné and the Zuni) in the hotel's lobby. Everything was on sale and the artistry was beautiful.

I want to stroll around some of the neighborhoods of Craftsman homes and see the Highlands University Campus, which looks ultra modern in this throw back town. People seemed friendly enough. There was just enough going on to get a sense of how people live there. So, if you're looking at a guidebook, and wondering if it's worth the trip, it is. I believe a New Mexican told me to skip it, so happy I got there!

Even though the town was in sharp decline, it didn't go bust, like so many other towns after the boom. While I like ghost towns, I'd much rather visit a living, vibrant one. I With 13,000 people, I know I only scratched the surface. I love the small town feel and vibe. So, how much do you know about Las Vegas, New Mexico? If you just Google Las Vegas, you only get that city in the desert. I am amazed that people think I hopped over to Nevada when I say I went to Las Vegas. The next reaction is, "humph." They're probably thinking that it's not like the Vegas I know. Perhaps, the good people of Las Vegas, New Mexico like it that way. Did they coin the phrase, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?" Do Vegans (not the vegetarians) want their long and rich history known only to the few who want to know it? I think that what happened here should be told in our children's textbooks, and not left here for a precious few to discover.

These histories seem to be limited to those intrepid New Mexico travelers who go off the beaten path to experience an alternative experience. But now, how many of us can travel so freely to learn our history? So, if you travel to Las Vegas, New Mexico, talk about the history, what you've seen and experienced, and see how long it takes for someone to ask which casino you stayed. Take a poll, ask if anyone knows where the other Las Vegas is.

If anyone can suggest some good historical narratives or books on this area, please share. I would love to read a full history that includes more than just the stereotypical references to the Indian population in the area. I would love to read about Indian contributions to the area, female contributions, and the African-American contribution. I found that much of the Internet history is sort of biased when it refers to Indian bands by tribal their names. When segments of history are dissected and removed to perpetuate certain stereotypes that play on and reinforce ignorance, it is offensive. These names are almost used pejoratively. The names I mean are Comanche and Apache. If we're honest, we might recognize what images are conjured. In some instances, these names and half truths are used to instigate a sense of righteousness that justifies the current power structure. For example, in one history, I read that the Old Town Square had only two entrances for fortification against Apache attacks. What are we left with from that statement? Attacks were so numerous and deadly, that the town had to mobilize and build a fort. What's the flip side of that history? We don't know because it wasn't told. Was this an oversight, or just unimportant? With all of the Buffalo Soldiers who were sent to fight the Indians and protect the towns' settlers, there wasn't one guy who moved in? Luckily, I'm reading a book on the Buffalo Soldiers, and I just ordered a book on African Americans in New Mexico, so I may be updating this post with some information that I glean about their contributions to this area.

I know I'm off on a tangent, and am aware that history is written by the victors, but it's a little off-putting and offensive to still not read the truth. I was at a memorial where someone talked about the decedent's quest and search for the truth. In the 21st century, you would think that these truths can be told now. Apparently not.

So, my deliberate exclusion of the native Indian from the brief history was a choice not to fan the flame of iniquity, especially, and in light of the new Lone Ranger film that so dishonors the Indian on so many levels. Indians were integral to the fabric of the Southwest, especially New Mexico. So, I choose to leave it at that. For now.

The wild west is fun, right? It's fun to imagine this lawless time in America. I suppose it's all relative, right? In a hundred years, people will be reading about the gangs of this century and wonder how people survived such violent surroundings. I wonder what ever happened to those Time-Life Old West books that I so avidly read and re-read? Well, now I can say that I've been to the Old West, and stood in the lobby of Vegas' most famous hotel. I'm sure if those walls could talk.... they would say, "What happens in Vegas..."

Silver City

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 03:23:00 +0000

I am a few days behind, in fact, I already left Silver City and New Mexico. Unfortunately, I've already returned from my glorious vacation. Well, this cute little town made me feel the old West. It looks like what you'd imagine in some old spaghetti western. The high sidewalks reminded me of the boardwalks that once kept boots out of the hot sand. The main drag's buildings stand across a wide avenue in a defiant stance that conjures images of a Mexican stand off. Or, I could easily imagine a duel in front of the Palace Hotel instead of the low riders zooming past.

The shops and most restaurants were closed when I arrived, as it was Monday and Memorial Day. It was like a ghost town, but it was awesome to just walk around and enjoy the silence. The sun was warm, and the air was dry. I did not know what an impact this sleepy town would have, but I felt at peace there. I met some interesting and insightful people just walking down it's desolate streets.

Silver, as the locals call it, has an interesting vibe. There is an activist spirit that is infused in every day speech that I don't find where I live. It's more than social consciousness; it's deeper and more passionate. It seemed real. I think it may have roots in the harshness of the earth that one here confronts daily. You are almost forced to stand for something in this part of New Mexico.

The ride to Silver from Santa Fe was so intense. It's a long ride, six hours to be exact. I didn't appreciate the beauty driving to Silver, but on the way back to Northern New Mexico, I found the drive to be gorgeous, and the desert allure that first drew me to this state flashed like neon. At first glance, as you whizz by at 75 or 80 mph, the straight open road appears to just rip through flat valleys. But, once you glance to your right or left, the vast valleys expose jagged, majestic black mountain vistas. The terrain just off the four lane highway is dry, dusty and monochromatic. The drought-ravaged earth reveals the scorch of the sun as dust devils spring and dance in the distance. The transportation signs reminding us that you can be consumed by a dust storm or enveloped by floods appear every few miles. My favorite is, "Dust storms may exist." (And so may the Easter bunny! What does this mean? Don't get me wrong, I found these signs necessary, but somewhat amusing having been in a dust storm in Arizona, where these warnings were few and far between). If you are the uninitiated, you might believe you are in a place that is ripe for disaster at any moment, but not even the robust wind currents and wind gusts that moved my car into the next lane did not make me waiver! I pressed on for the new experience---that stark desert had once again enchanted. I digress.

When nature challenges you, and is in your face like the high desert, you have to rethink your priorities. I was perpetually thirsty, but knew that a bottled drink was a 7-11 away. We all take these modern conveniences for granted, and expect them to be there. Always. But here, I could reflect and appreciate the realities of the environmental catastrophe that awaits my eastern city, and many other places, if we don't recognize the effects of our footprint on the environment. It's no anomaly that the east coast has been plagued with catastrophic tropical storms, hurricanes and blizzards. It's neither commonplace that the tornadoes of the Midwest are ripping through and leveling towns on an almost weekly basis. Nor is it acceptable that drought occurs in an already water-starved climate. The drought is as palpable as the poverty in the small hamlets that dot either side of I-25. What was encouraging was that I did not witness despair. Even when I visited Zuni Pueblo last year, one of the poorest pueblos in New Mexico, despair was not in the forefront of its people's psyche. There is beauty in the cleansing ritual of the desert--the scorching sun, and the dry, dry air.

I found beauty in the positive attitudes of the people I met. From my waiter at Shevek Restaurant (a slow food and green restaurant) to Upasatti, a spiritual brother whose quest to be present in the moment gave me much food for thought. Just be. Just do it. Be mindful. The anti-nuke activist turned solar electrician had a lot to share in a span of 10 minutes, about herself, the earth, Silver and its politics. In Silver, there was beauty in the free exercise of one's right to protest and fight for one's own ideals. On May 25th there was a protest of over 1,000,000 people worldwide and over 100 people in Silver that received no major media coverage. Why? Presumably because they took on chemical giant, Monsanto over genetically modified food and the requirement for GMO labeling. Even if you Google it, there is little information. The Occupy movement is is not dead in New Mexico. The activist spirit is strong in Silver in contrast to a more spiritual vibe in Santa Fe.

Under the artsy veneer in Silver you find a strong activist spirit present. The people I met were ready to engage in real conversations about real and pressing issues. Even though I missed the big blues festival by a day, and most everything was closed the day I arrived, this near ghost town left me wanting to look beneath the covers of this sleepy enclave in southwest corner of New Mexico.

I'm Here and Loving it!

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Mon, 27 May 2013 00:03:00 +0000

Okay, Las Cuates, not so good this time. I don't know if they closed the one I usually go to, but my GPS brought me to the one on Lomas...ok, but no cigar! It is freaking hot here, but I love it! The car thermometer registered 94 degrees!

Ok, a word to the wise, if you travel to the high desert, drink plenty of water. I am parched and congested. I now understand dry mouth. But what did I do? I had two glasses of Cava at my favorite tapas restaurant, La Boca in Santa Fe. This place is wonderful. So many interesting and delicious tapas. I've tasted the real thing in Spain, and this is very close! I was taken care of by Tristan at the bar, who was very personable and attentive. I chatted with a couple of people at the bar, which made the whole dining alone dinner experience bearable.

After dinner, I walked around the square and heard three female mariachis singing beautiful old traditional songs. I did't last long last night...jet lag and the high desert has exhausted me this trip. When you travel to nearly 7200 feet from sea level, you feel it. Stay hydrated! (I also find it helpful to use saline solution in my nostrils and sesame oil). As I walked around Santa Fe, I could feel my mouth and lips drying out, and a slight shortness of breath. After I returned to my room, I crashed. My advice, don't consume alcohol and get rest!

For a travel day, it was uneventful and lovely toward the end. I didn't take any pictures, but just to give you a sense of what I had for dinner...I enjoye a roasted beet salad with summer greens, goat cheese sprinkled with pepitas, and a slightly spicy drizzle, gambas al ajillo (shrimp with garlic), and a beautiful rosado Cava. Mmm. I love la Boca!

Preparing for New Mexico

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Fri, 24 May 2013 18:04:00 +0000

Hi All,

I'm heading to the ABQ! I really wanted to do the Breaking Bad tour, but maybe next time! How many of you were mildly annoyed by the mid-season break, and now we find out that it won't resume until August! That show is great and it's so cool how it's supporting character, New Mexico, is so understated. It subtly enchants us as it does in real life.

I'm planning a pretty active trip. Las Cruces. Silver City, Santa Fe, Deming, Chacon, and of course a few hours in the ABQ to sample good food from Las Cuates. I know some people don't like it because it is a a semi-chain restaurant, but their Chile Relleno has been delicious every time I've tried it. I'm open to suggestions for your favorite New Mexican fare. I'll eat more locally as I go, bit now it's tradition to start my NM adventure at Las Cuates.

I'm going to ride into the Gila with an Apache interpreter, ride with friends, hike, shop, cafe sit and hang out with the locals. I'll attempt to do an audio diary, and if I can, will blog and post photos from my IPad. Check back, and please do comment!

The focus is sharing travel stories, but we can talk about our personal journeys through life. You don't always have to buy a ticket to travel. So if you can't do your own travel, travel vicariously through me! I promise it will be fun!

Until the next post from the ABQ. Ciao!

HDL

Why Do We Travel?

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Mon, 20 May 2013 00:15:00 +0000

Why do we travel for pleasure? Let's face it, the actual activity of traveling to a destination can be loathsome, especially at the airport. Even after all that stress in the airport, we stuff ourselves into tiny seats, next to people we probably would never talk to or want to, for the next two, three, six hours or more, breathing the same recycled air! We eat all the wrong foods when we are traveling to our destinations, and usually arrive exhausted. Only to hear, "How was your flight?" People mean well, but don't you want to just say, "What do you think?" In reality, people only want to hear, "It was fine." or "Good."

But we've arrived at our destinations, and we can relax! Can't we? Oh no, you've got to arrange your transfers from the airport or rent a car. More fun, and we're now maybe six or seven hours into it.

We get the car and we're on our way. With all the technology out there, you could land almost anywhere in the United States, and be gently guided by our GPS to our hotels or bed and breakfast.

Now the stress is melting away...

With all that stress, I still say why do we do it? Because we love to experience new things! We want to learn about different cultures, see different architecture and observe and experience just a little bit how the locals live. We want to meet new people! We want to visit iconic places, not always just to say we did, but more to satisfy that craving to see what others have created and enjoyed. Other times, we go just to get away from our ho hum lives of work and family.

Are you a solo traveler? Or do you like to drag the family along? I once met a French woman who was married with children, but preferred to take at least one vacation solo. (No, she didn't have a secret lover). She said she came back refreshed and rejuvenated. (Really, she didn't!) I didn't much understand that at the time, but once you've had a few bad travel partners, you always want to fly solo. Depending on where you go, you meet so many nice people, you're really not alone that much, especially if they can meet you for dinner.

I've traveled all over Europe and Canada, recently returned from Costa Rica, and have fallen head over heels in love with our American Southwest. I have traveled extensively across these United States, but am stalled in the environs of the ABQ! It's hard to move on when there's so much to see!

Why do you travel? What's your favorite destination? What's your favorite travel activity? Whose your favorite travel buddy? Feel free to share some photo's of your favorite places to go.

High Desert Lotus

Welcome to My First Ever Blog Post!

noreply@blogger.com (High Desert Lotus) — Sun, 19 May 2013 02:03:00 +0000

What to write, what to write...Here's some travel advice. Never set up a blog after two glasses of champagne!