Travelblog

Disclaimer: Sections of this blog were written at different times, an all uploaded when wi-fi became available. (Which, so far, is surprisingly often, considering the generally barren nature of the area we're transversing.)

On with the blog:

4:15am is a hell of a time to have your alarm go off. But when you’re booked on a 6am flight, it’s necessary. One thing about cabbies at that hour, I’ve noticed, is that they’re exceptionally punctual, early even. All I had to do was slip into some pants and go the bathroom before my requested 4:30am ride and he was still there before I was done. The one really good thing about flying that early is that you have an entire airport virtually to yourself.
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So, as I'm sitting here at an unadvertised, but not unscheduled, layover at Pittsburgh International Airport I have a few thoughts from early in my vacation.

I figured out while standing in line at Au Bon Pain next to a woman who was a slightly more attractive, but immensely more pissed off, Sandra Bernahrdt, that this seems to be a very inconvienent airport. It's in the details. The Au Bon Pan didn't have napkins. There seems to be nowhere to sit other than at the gates or at the restaraunts. There's a relatively big concourse with no benches or chairs whatsoever. And even the seating at the gates is uncomfortably cramped. Even the toilet paper rolls in the bathroom are difficult to use. And the trash barrels are so hardcore feng shui that you can't see them. The military doesn't have camouflage this good.

People here seem more subtly rude than in Boston. No less rude, just less obviously. Although I imagine that, since Steelers fans seem so intense, that at any minute someone's going to start yelling and waving a yellow towel in my face.

But at least there's wi-fi.
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Concourse B at the Denver airport smells almost entirely of Auntie Anne’s pretzels. No matter where you go, despite the fact that I didn’t see one Auntie Anne’s, I smeleed it. Howver my rush prevented the signal from making it totally from my nose to my stomach by way of my wallet. See I had left my flight, looking for my connection, there was a problem. Looking at the flight boards there was no connection for Albuquerque. Anywhere. So I decide to go back to the gate I came from and ask the airline rep. But she had left. So I decide to go find the USAirways counter. There doesn’t appear to be one. Oh, but wait, an Information Booth. Oh, but no one’s there. Meanwhile, tick…tock…tick…tock. 20 minutes until my flight boards. Panic is starting to set in before I calm myself. “You rock at traveling!” I tell myself. “This airport is your bitch! Work it out.” So I dig into my bag and get the original email confirmation. Hmmm, the flight number doesn’t match up with that on the boarding pass. But, upon further review, neither does the airline. Apparently USAirways was farming out some flights to United. Which is in a different concourse in Denver airport. Concourse B. Eventually I find my gate and all is well.
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Albuquerque airport greets you with the sounds of mariachi. As in a full mariachi band. Awesome! Immediately we proceed to old town (read: tourist area) for lunch, a bit of window shopping, and a 300 year old church with this scary statue of a fellow who looks like he should be in a Vincent Price movie more than a house of the lord.

On the road, we go to Santa Fe, which is remarkable to me only from the musical Rent. According to Rent, there are a lot of good restaurants in Santa Fe. I wouldn’t know; we weren’t there long enough to eat. We were there, however, long enough for an excellent margarita with a disappointing beer chaser.

Then back on the road to Taos. Or more appropriately, back on the road to….Taos? How do we get there? That’s the question. Maps appear to be no help as street signs are few and far between. Really few. Really far between. There was a little losing of the way. Now New Mexico has some really pretty scenery. I mean real pretty. Stuff I’ve never seen before (which is largely the reason I came on this trip.) But for all that, there’s also a inordinate number of yards containing either rusted out hulks of cars that haven’t been driven since the 40’s or broken down gas pumps. The types of things that put me in the mind of The Hills Have Eyes or Wolf Creek or the Vanishing. Places from which I fear we will not be returning. But all turned out well as we are rolling safely into Taos now. The (hopefully) last and (hopefully) least challenge is to find our hotel. Let’s hope and pray for smoothness, a happy ending.
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Taos is a town that, if attacked by vampires, would fall in 2, maybe 3 days. First off, it’s small. There’s not a lot to Taos. Secondly, there are more art galleries per square foot than there are people, most of which look like they’re owned and run by aging hippies. Who we all know are pretty much all but useless in the fight against vampires.

“Hey, why don’t we talk this out over some chai. Sure you can kiss my neck. OUCH!”

But aside from that, Taos is nice. (To visit, not to live). It reminded me a lot of North Conway, NH, but with adobe and southwestern architecture. There was a surprisingly upscale restaurant where I got a nice free range chicken breast, (which tasted much like regular chicken only not as good.) Our hotel room would have made the best apartment, complete with a spiral staircase, hot tub (Gonna make you wet! Gonna make you sweat!), and the best front porch ever.

Today we walked around the Taos plaza (read: tourist area) and saw an authentic Indian pueblo of the Tiwa tribe, complete with authentic gift shops and an authentic casino right down the road.

Currently we’re on the road to Farmington, which is roughly between Taos an the Grand Canyon. That’s basically the rest of our day.
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Traversing downtown Farmington, it's a scene you can see anywhere in America. It is a town slowly dying. It seems there are as many storefronts closed as open, and it's largely devoid of life. It's a depressing reminder that small town life is slowly going bye-bye. Not that I'm particularly small town type of guy, but it's a part of America that always felt crucial to me.

At least there were people at the 3 Rivers Brewery because otherwise, who would have served me home-crafted beers and steak? No one.

Tomorrow we hop in the car for an eight hour jaunt to the Grand Canyon. That's pretty much our day. Of note, we'll be driving through Shiprock, NM, which is largely featured in the Tony Hillerman novels that my dad likes to read.
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P.S. If interested, see all photos of the vacation here