New Mexico Part 1: The Lighter Side of Purgatory

The 300 year old San Felipe de Neri Cathedral, Albuquerque.

I'm back folks. Unexpected requests for me to resume writing my Great American Saga gave me the much needed kick up the arse. I aim to be writing about Canada by the time I'm 25. Now, where were we?

I spent most of my time in New Mexico sick as a second stage syphilitic skank in the noonday sun thanks to the torments of Las Vegas, and the pain of hindsight hurts me still. Why the hell didn't I say screw Vegas altogether and go straight to New Mexico from Portland? Why didn't I charge my camera battery and take better photos of such a photogenic piece of country? Why didn't I go to Taos? I have so many regrets concerning this underrated, beautiful state and cannot wait to go back someday.

After waiting a queasy, storming hour for a cab to appear at the Albuquerque Greyhound station (always a good start), I checked into my room at the Hilton (that's not a euphemism, the hotel was on special). I awoke feeling repulsive. Not wanting to let this small bout of flu get the better of me, I pressed on with my mission to explore the architectural gems of Route 66 so I grabbed a cab going into the Old Town Plaza, which is close to the strip all the old hotels and diners are.

Oh wait, I'm sorry. Were. Albuquerque, I've got a bone to pick with you.

I had grand plans to stay in a place called the El Vado motel when I was first planning my trip, primarily because of its history as one of the classic motor courts during the Mother Highway's heyday. My slightly dated Lonely Planet told me it was possible to stay here, but I couldn't find a website. It turns out that the El Vado was purchased by some bastard developer who wanted to raze the hotel and build luxury townhouses on the site. If you take away the white dots of old motels then the area around the El Vado is, despite it being tourist central, pretty much an unattractive, strip-malled dust bowl and luxury townhouses would've looked ridiculous. In conclusion, developers are idiots. As a result of the ongoing tussle between those who wished to preserve history and those who are the personification of Satan's colonic emissions, when I visited Albuquerque most of the Route 66 motels were crumbling to pieces, boarded up behind wire fencing. I was heartbroken. The good news is, just under a year later moves were made to save the El Vado. I hope the other historic Route 66 buildings are blessed with a similar fate.

If the wanton destruction of history is Albuquerque's downfall, its weirdness will be its saving grace. Their museums are a great example. They've got an Atomic Museum (the building with the giant warhead out front), a Rattlesnake Museum (awesome, cheap and characterised by the tortoises in a tub out front) and weirdest of all, a Holocaust Museum (I'm sorry, but when I think of New Mexico, I don't think of Jews). The Plaza area (home to the Rattlesnake museum) is a shameless, touristy place but I loved it anyway. They have a bunch of rough cowboy types trolling about shooting (blanks) at each other. They have this wonderful ability to blend the (pardon the English/Religion Major expression here) sacred and profane (yeah, sorry, I can hardly forgive myself for saying that but there's really no better way of explaining it. It's a place designed for religious reflection and yet it's so...tacky). Best of all, they have an entire store devoted to chilli sauce.

Yes. Oh God yes.

I bought one marked 10 + (they started at 5 and ended at 10 +++). It took me six months and the bitterest part of the Canadian winter for me to work up the courage to actually try some. I now think I've scorched off half my tastebuds.

At this point of my trip I had no working tastebuds to speak of. Wandering around in the heat did not help my illness, so after killing some time checking out the rattlesnakes and turquoise jewellery hawkers, I dined at a New Mexican restaurant in order to try some of the local fare. Big mistake. I'd consumed barely a quarter of my lunch when my sickness grew upon me, so I promptly paid my check (the staff noticed that I looked like death warmed over and thus knocked the price of my food off the bill. I tipped them the equivalent of my meal because I'm not a heinous bitch) and scarpered off, trying to will the horrific cramps away whilst waiting for my wonderful lady taxi driver (for some reason the name Rosie springs to mind). If you get on well with your cabbie when travelling around the smaller cities of America, always get their personal number. They'll reward your business with a bit of local history and, when you're about to puke in their cab, a bloody fast trip back to your hotel.

And that's right about the time that I projectile vomited. Joy.

After a night in with pay-per-view movies and room service, I woke up feeling decent enough to wander about the city again although this time I decided on eating my meals in places that didn't smother everything in green chile. I can't help but think now that I would've gotten more out of the city if I'd planned ahead. Albuquerque isn't really meant for aimless wandering unlike its richer cousin Santa Fe, but at the same time you cannot accuse it of being boring. I've got another American trip itinerary brewing in my mind in which I do Albuquerque & New Mexico justice and get a chance to do everything I missed out on this time like see the Balloon Fiesta, go up the Sandia Peak and find the 66 Diner.

Anyway, this blog isn't about what I didn't do. After my whirlwind tour of Albuquerque, I caught an evening bus to Santa Fe. The bus trip is only one hour, so it's not worth me doing a traditional note from the road post. I did end up chatting to a girl I met on the bus to Santa Fe who was originally from Denver, Colorado. She'd found the cost of living was becoming way too expensive (in Colorado?!) so she moved out of her apartment, married a Mexican and was in the process of shifting her stuff from home to her new ranch just south of the border where the cost of living was 1/3rd that of her former city, but her standard of living was, if anything, better. And Americans bag out Mexico because...why?