So, as I was saying before the move, we hoped to get to lower altitude and warmth. So we headed south on I-25 toward Santa Fe. When we got there we found that the altitude in Santa Fe was 7,000 feet. Raton Pass, which we had just left was over 7,000 feet. For all the difference we changed in altitude we could have used a ladder. But, we kept on going to Espanola, and the altitude dropped to about the same as Denver, CO (5,280 feet). Good! One aim accomplished.

We set up in our campground and met our new neighbors while doing so. Bob and Laura, no last name. I’m sure they have one, but we don’t know it. We said we planned to go to Taos Indian Pueblo the next day. So were they. The next day our new friends left early. We didn’t. We left a little later, but we both met the same fate.

Taos Pueblo is only one of the eight Pueblos in northern New Mexico. It seems that one is going in or out of a new Reservation all the time. Pueblo (“village” or “people” in Spanish) is the living community of Native Americans on the Reservation. They have such names as Tesuque, Pojoaque, Nambe, Santa Clara, O’ke (sometimes spelled OhKay), San Lldefonso, Picuris, and of course, Taos. It seems that each one has it’s own Casino. The Pueblos are a foreign world of sovereign nations with their own languages, traditions and customs. Taos is the oldest and has been continuously inhibited for centuries. The language of Taos is Tiwa. So you can see why we were eager to visit it.

We arrived at the Pueblo gate a little after 11:00 AM. We were met by a sign saying, “Pueblo Closed”. A young tribal member on a bicycle wearing an orange safety vest rolled up to our truck window. “The Pueblo is closed because we are preparing for a ceremony tomorrow. We will be open at 1:00 PM. You can come back then.” The ceremony to come was a celebration of the life of Geronimo. We had driven 50 miles to get here. We decided to wait. So, we turned around and went back to the town of Taos. There was an Arts and Crafts Fair going on in Kit Carson Park, so we paid it a visit. Enjoyed viewing some great local art…paintings, jewelry, wood carvings and various objects of local creation as well as visiting artist from around the South West.

We ran into our campground neighbors at the fair. They, too, were waiting around for the 1 o’clock hour to arrive. We were all in the same boat, so to speak. We found a place to eat at a local restaurant then headed back to the Pueblo. We were met by the same young man on the bicycle. “We’re not open yet, but you can park over here,” pointing to the parking area at the Visitor Center, “but stay in your vehicle until we open.” We parked and stayed put. Soon the parking area was full. Either the other people were not told to remain in their vehicle, or they didn’t listen. Everyone else was milling around outside. Since it was now 1 PM, we joined them.

We all started assembling at the window where we were to register for $10 each. If one wanted to take pictures, that was an additional charge of $5 for each camera, or cell phone capable of taking pictures. We happened to be third in line. Good show! We waited. Others began to gather and the line grew long. More vehicles were crowding in the area. That is when a jeep with flashing lights and siren showed up. It pulled up alongside the line up of visitors. A tribal policeman jumped out wearing a ball cap, t-shirt and jeans. He addressed the crowd in a loud voice. “Listen everyone. We are not registering here. You will have to get into your vehicles and go to the field down the road and park,” pointing in the direction from which we had just come, “you will be registered down there, and a shuttle will bring you back here.” Everyone began to hustle to there cars.

We were not so sure this was going to work for us. Everything seemed so disorganized that we decided to pass on the visit to the Pueblo. As we were driving out, some of the visitors were already walking back toward the Pueblo. No shuttle was in sight. As we passed the field where the parking was taking place, a sign was in the middle of the road, facing the new approaching visitors, that said, “$10 Parking,” Was this just a ploy to get additional fees for parking? We decided we would rather spend our time taking photos of the Sangre de Christo (Blood of Christ) Mountains and the Rio Grande River on the way back down the mountain. We stopped numerous time. You see here a picture of the Rio Grande (Big or Grand River) . It really doesn’t look so big, does it? That’s the way rivers go. Remember the Arkansas River in a previous blog?

The next day our campground neighbors were getting ready to leave for other parts. We discussed our experience at Taos. When they heard that we didn’t stay, they said we were smart. It was total chaos. There was no shuttle. No one at the “parking field” was registering visitors. When they got back to the pueblo, the registering center was still closed. They paid nothing to enter or park. They stayed a little while then left. So it goes!

We spent our last day in the area looking around the Art Galleries in Santa Fe. The next day, October 1st , we left for Albuquerque. It is only about a two hour trip, so we had a leisurely breakdown and drive. We arrived at our new campground, Enchanted Trails, about Noon. We set up in our new spot, had lunch and relaxed for the rest of the day.

The next day we ventured into the Petroglyph National Monument on the outskirts of Albuquerque. The Park has more than 20,000 images pecked in stone. Some are recognizable, as is the human form in the picture above, others are more mysterious. We climbed the hill in Boca Negra Canyon covered with black lava rocks on which the images were carved. Long ago people discovered that chipping away the rocks’ thin “desert varnish” (created by sunshine on the rocks for centuries) revealed a lighter gray beneath and left a lasting mark. Archeologists estimate that most of the images were made 400 to 700 years ago by the ancestors of today’s Native people. Some images may be 2,000 to 3,000 years old. It was a most interesting experience to be able to see them up close and even touch the images.

We spent most of the second day in Albuquerque visiting the Old Town section of the city. By the way, the city was named for the Duke of Alburquerque of Spain who financed exploration in the area. You may notice that the spelling includes an “r” between the “u” and first “q”. The spelling dropped the “r” over time. The city was founded in 1706 and follows the traditional Spanish pattern of a central plaza and church surrounded by homes and businesses. Today, the businesses are numerous art galleries and shops offering American Indian crafts and jewelry. The fabled Route 66 runs through Old Town.

For us, the highlight of the trip to Old Town was coming across the musicians, pictured above, playing in one of the plazas. We stopped to listen and enjoyed the music of guitar and pan flute. We noticed that they were selling CD’s of their music. We went up to check out the CD’s and then discovered that the musicians were from Ecuador, South America. Well, the rest of the conversation took place in Spanish. Some of you know that we lived and worked in Ecuador for a number of years. The musicians, Hernan (there is an accent mark over the “a”) and Arturo (Herman and Arthur, for those of you who don‘t know) are from Riobamba, a city in the area where we had lived. As the song goes, “It’s a small world after all.” We bought three of their CD’s and enjoyed them on the next leg of our journey.

It is now October 5th and we are in Caballo (Horse), New Mexico, about 175 miles south of Albuquerque. We’ll tell you about our experience in this area next time.