Epic Trip Out West, Day Fifty-Four: Albuquerque

May 29th

My overall impression of New Mexico was that I have never paid enough attention to it. For some reason, in my head it was a desolate landscape of nothingness with a couple of cacti and cattle skulls. I’m not sure how this image ever came into my head, because New Mexico’s landscape often reminded me of home: craggy limestone cliffs pockmarked with caves, and rolling plain with clumps of trees to signal the presence of water. Of course, there was sand instead of grass, and aridness instead of humidity, but all in all it bore an inner life that I would like to explore more someday.

We rolled into Albuquerque’s historic district around one in the afternoon. The hot sun beat down on the adobe buildings, giving us the cue to dress like smart tourists: I pulled my hat down, slathered sunblock on my face, and wore a sarong over my shirt to cover my shoulders, which were lightly sunburned from half an hour of sunlight the day before. The next few hours we wandered around, sometimes together, sometimes apart. I ate ice cream (I counted it the three dollars as “splurge money” still left from a gift given to me in Utah), called my sister, and hung out in the town square marveling that there were deciduous trees and grass. The buildings were eclectic and old-looking in the most well-kept way possible, color-coordinated into a sweeping Southwest theme. I enjoyed details that kept showing up in the motif, such as bouquets of dry chili peppers hanging from doorways, and wooden and clay working in harmony to create the flat-roofed buildings. I talked to an artist who sat outside his store, bringing a prickly-pear cactus to life with acrylic on canvas. He was from Michigan, he said, but moved to New Mexico because it was the best place he’d found. “It’s the people,” he said. “The people here are great. I’ve never found anywhere like it.”

Musicians were also stationed throughout the area, and I listened to a group of Navajo flute players, who delighted me both with traditional songs and classical (such as “Time to Say Goodbye,” which made me cry). Then I found an accordionist sitting on the gazebo, talking to a group of about fifty nuns and postulants clustered around him on the stage. Then he began to play Amazing Grace, and all the sisters joined in. I promptly sat down on a nearby park bench and joined in the singing; I had missed church that morning, so it was a welcome blessing. Next they sang “When the Saints Go Marching In” and danced around the gazebo, hands held to the sky, some waving their wooden crosses in the air, some clapping with better rhythm than I have ever heard from a Catholic (or Lutheran or Presbyterian, for that matter). It was good to be reminded that nuns can have fun, too.

Around five, we drove to Nob Hill, a section of Route 66 that stays alive through tourism. We walked around and talked about politics and education and the war in Iraq and socialism and propaganda and a host of other subjects, weaving in and out of the southwest murals, kitschy shops, and restaurants converted from old gas stations and auto-repair centers. We paused to explore a dead motel, still garnished with metal and tile decorations, its doors boarded up with copper numbers hanging sadly on the wood. 

I bought Amanda supper one last time to thank her for her time, her company, her generosity, and the use of her RV, food, driving ability, and National Parks pass. Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to visit the Grand Canyon on this trip. We sat down at Orchid Thai Cuisine and ordered different kinds of curry, and when we had finished feasting on our respective dinners (mine included bamboo shoots, noodles and bell peppers in coconut milk with green curry), we headed back to the RV.

After much misdirection, nearly running out of gas, and making a few wrong turns, we ended up at the Greyhound station, which looked as deserted as a southern Arizona landscape. So it was that I was stressed when I gave Amanda one last hug and rushed out the door, only to find the station alive and well. I got my ticket, I boarded the bus, and I was off to Oklahoma City, leaving the Grand Canyon part of my Epic Trip behind me in the sand.

~Lisa Shafter

Money spent: $20.22 (supper)

Deficit: $153.31