Santa Fe, New Mexico/Los Angeles, CA
When I read the announcement that Garrison Keillor was bringing a 50th anniversary performance of A Prairie Home Companion to Santa Fe Opera, I jumped at the tickets. I suppose it is a credit to my eclecticism that I wanted to be in the audience for APHC as well as in the audience for The Who's Song is Over tour date at The Hollywood Bowl. Both this month.
I would say it was 75% interest in APHC as it was my third time seeing it live. And since the mid-eighties I had been listening to the shows on Saturday evenings at 6:00 PM on KPPC out of Pasadena until Garrison Keillor parted company, so to speak, with NPR. To paraphrase George Harrison in A Hard Day's Night: A Prairie Home Companion has loomed large in my legend. It was such a constant through my life for so many decades. I don't think Joel and I would have attended Paul Simon's Farewell Tour concert at The Hollywood Bowl, had my interest in him not been renewed by hearing him as a guest on APHC. And that turned out to be one of the best concerts I have ever attended (even topping The Beatles in 1964!).
The other 25% was about the town and venue. I have long been interested in the Santa Fe Opera venue after having heard so much about it. It has been described as magical. And, returning to Santa Fe for the first time in over twenty-five years would be interesting. The last time I was there was for a long-ago birthday. And it was so cold, I mean, cold, that I declared I would never spend another birthday anywhere but Hawaii. The following year, at the late, great Kona Village Resort, I met Sandra, the patron saint of my blog and life. We went to KVR every October, meeting Sandra and John there and celebrating my following ten birthdays until the resort was taken out by the 2011 tsunami after the massive earthquake in Japan.
We flew to Albuquerque on Friday. Easy flight; nightmare rental car experience (long line, one agent). Finally, we got on the road to Santa Fe, arriving at the condo we had rented in the late afternoon. You can never exactly tell from the photos, so I was overjoyed to find the condo was so stellar! Security building with underground parking and walking distance from the Plaza. And it was gorgeous. We settled in and then headed over to the hotel La Fonda where we ordered beers, chips and guacamole. We hadn't had much breakfast nor any lunch, so this was too light of a repast. And there wasn't any draft beer on the menu. But, there was a terrific view of the city from the rooftop bar, so we muddled through. That is until the rain started. Unlike Southern California, rain comes in fast and turns hard quickly. We moved to a covered area and ended up having an interesting and rewarding conversation with a local couple, who recommended several restaurants in town. Shortly after, the bar management announced they were closing, as a thunderstorm was six minutes away. Eventually, the rain lightened up, somewhat, so we made an umbrella-less run for the car.
Still hungry, we showered and headed out to dinner. We happened to park near Cafe Pasquale, which I remembered from my previous trip. We put our name in and headed across the street to a hotel bar. I find that travel days are often stressful, so the scotch I had at the bar aided my coping mechanism. One complaint: A chilled glass? Joel had a rare second beer and soon we were back at Cafe Pasquale. I remembered from that previous trip having breakfast and lunch there. And I also remember an inability to get black tea. It was all herbal. Never a good sign. Joel looked at the menu and declared that he wasn't interested in New Mexican cuisine. Like I needed to know this. He shuns anything that is described as cuisine, but especially Mexican, new or old, as he abhors the audacity of those who will fuck with the food of his forebears. Let's just order appetizers and see how it goes, I suggested. I thought the sopes were good, but he did not. We each ate half of one Oaxacan tamales and left the other one which was, in a word, odd. We are used to Oaxacan food from the festivals we have attended, as well as from a Oaxacan restaurant in LA. This was not that. We bailed.
By bedtime, we had each had two beers/whiskey, some crappy store-bought chips and guacamole at La Fonda, a couple of sopes and half a tamale. But we were exhausted, so we went to bed. The following morning we were up early from both hunger and the one-hour time change, so I ushered him to a local diner, Tia Sophia, for an early breakfast. Joel ordered huevos rancheros, Christmas style (red and green chile sauces) and was thoroughly happy. That day we drove out to Los Alamos and went to the museum there which is predominantly about the Manhattan Project. On the way back we stopped at Tusuque, and at the market restaurant, Joel happily ate pozole. All was right with the world.
We ate at the bar of one of the restaurants the couple at La Fonda had recommended and had our first sopapillas of the trip. If you have been following along here, you will know that one of my favorite things on this planet is dough thrown into hot fat. I am not a doughnut eater, however. But once a year, near New Year's, we eat beignets at The Farmers Market, and every Memorial Day I indulge in loukoumades at the annual Greek Festival. Sopapillas fit right into my gleeful appreciation of fried dough.
The following day, after blue corn and piñon pancakes, we poked around the shops on the Plaza and went leisurely through the New Mexico History Museum. We ate an early dinner at the other restaurant that the couple had recommended, which had even better sopapillas, and headed out to Santa Fe Opera. First impression: It is stunning. Unlike The Hollywood Bowl, it is covered, yet open around all sides. Jumping on those tickets got us orchestra seats in the fifth row. Pretty soon Garrison Keillor strolled onto stage singing Hello Love. Most everyone there (except Joel) felt the nostalgia for that song and the show to follow. Fortunately, Joel loved it. I had feared Oaxacan tamale, the stage version. But no, it turned out to be one of those stellar nights. A great show. 65* with a full moon. Magical, indeed.
The following day we flew home from Albuquerque. Trip completed. But resonance remains. I always come home from trips with a sense of renewed energy and direction. It is the rare trip when I come home thinking I want to live in the place I have just left. But I loved Santa Fe. Much more than on that first frigid trip. There was no entitled driving behavior. Everyone drove courteously. People were friendly, polite, and replied You're welcome, in response to thank you. There were volunteers picking up trash, and we saw exactly four homeless persons. I think living where I do, I had forgotten that there are oases out there where civilization has not marched ahead to rudeness, entitlement, and an inability to meet rent. I have been thinking about this ever since our return. Do I want to live here, or somewhere civilized like Santa Fe? Life is a series of possibilities and choices. As long as I stay where I am, it's a choice. And maybe not a good one.
