Art and Architecture

Cross-Country Trip, Day 6

Santa Fe, New Mexico

The day started at Annapurna Cafe, which serves organic food based on an Ayurvedic philosophy.  I've avoided discussing my meals on this blog because none of them have been particularly memorable (except for the Green Goddess salad in Sedona which I should have taken a picture of but I was so hungry that I tucked into it as soon as it arrived).  But today's breakfast was worth discussing.

First, the process.  The owners of the cafe are Indian (dot, not a feather), and I got to practice a little of my barely adequate Hindi.  Second, the philosophy.  The food is based on Ayurvedic concepts so no carbonated beverages are served and everything is vegetarian, vegan or gluten-free.  In fact, it might be the only Ayurvedic restaurant in the country (except for their Albuquerque location).  I especially loved this quote on the table marker.

 Finally, the food.   I had fresh tulsi ginger tea and tofu scramble accompanied by a dosa and a curried vegetable of black-eye peas and kale.

I complimented the owner on the food, which was fresh and flavorful. He disappeared into a room and soon the beautiful strains of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi's voice singing bhajans filled the brightly colored cafe.  For a few minutes, I forgot I was in Santa Fe.  It felt as though we were back in Kerala again.   The only difference was that after finishing this meal, I felt light and clean.       

Next stop was the Audubon Center of Santa Fe.  We expected to see a lot of birds, but it was just a trail in the woods with a lot of birdsong.    We saw a lot of glistening pink rocks that could have been rose quartz, and also a lot of black rocks.  I have no idea what they are and I'm too lazy to look it up.  

We spent the afternoon wandering through the art galleries on Canyon Road.  Santa Fe has a ton of beautiful little adobe houses which have been turned into art galleries and most of them are concentrated in a particular area.  Some of the works are truly stunning.  I managed to sneak these pics. 

And this one, my personal favorite:

     

Animal motifs figure prominently in Southwest art.  A lot of the works are of horses, bears, mules and deer, and many of the sculptures are life-sized.  Art inspires and nourishes and Marina was moved to take pictures and think about all the pieces that she would create once we have our ranch back in LA.   

In Sedona, I met with an artist who lives on the property where we stayed and he showed me his studio.  He works with metals, wood, and paints, and it was fascinating to see the process by which raw materials are put together to create something that did not exist before.  I spend too much time in the world of words (and on the Internet!) and I fantasized about the day when I had my own private skylit studio where I could experiment with rocks and clay and metal and all these wonderful resources that have texture and life outside my head.  (Chances are I'd lose patience after five minutes and walk over to Marina's private skylight studio, hand her the mangled thing I'd made a mess of and ask her to make something of it.)     

The art and architecture in Santa Fe is very similar to Mexico.  There's the adobe, of course, but also lots of bright colors and desert themes, like this little cafe we popped into for a drink. 

  

A common feature outside the adobe homes is a banco, a bench built of concrete right into the wall like this. 

This one was outside the Adobe Gallery, where we met a mesmerizing man named Todd.   

The gallery has an extensive collection of Southwest and Native American art, including half a wall of Kachina dolls and some stunning pottery.  Todd was a soft-spoken man with clear gray-green eyes who explained that the Kachina are spirit beings.  The Hopi girls are given two dolls each year and of all the pueblos (Native American communities of the Southwest), only the Hopi are allowed to give the dolls away.  As Todd explained how the Hopi boys donned the gear of the Kachina in adolescence and did ceremonial dances around the Kiva, I watched his hands flit to a painting on the wall in demonstration.  He rubbed his hands gently together and his tongue peeked out occasionally as he spoke.  We migrated gradually to the wall of pottery, and in response to Marina's question about kilns, he explained that there was no running water or electricity in some of the pueblos, which made their own kilns.  Some of the pottery on the wall was 100 years old.  He ushered us into another room full of exquisite pottery, and he showed us how to identify which pueblo a piece of pottery came from by the color of the clay.  He explained the detailed process by which each bowl was made.  

"You have to give them a lot of credit because it's very intricate work," Todd said.  "Do they have it in their blood?  Yes, but it's also practice, practice, practice," he said in his soft melodic voice. "Today we see these bowls as art, but they were actually created to be used.  Look, here's one the women used to carry water.  Now how do you think they carried the water?  In front of them like this?"  

"On their heads," we said like good students.  

"Yes, on their heads.  So they made the bowl with a slight indentation at the bottom like this."  He picked one up and showed us.  "And how did they train the girls?"

We shrugged.  I felt vaguely inferior for not knowing the answer.  

"With smaller bowls like these.  These are very rare," he said.  "Do you know why?"

Because all the others broke, we said, and I felt like a good little student again. 

"That's right. So these and that smaller one over there are very unusual.  If you were going to start a collection, I would say to start with those."  

I didn't have the heart to tell him we weren't planning on starting a collection of Southwest pottery, nor that if we did, I would want the biggest baddest bowl there was, not some little bowl that was made just so a little girl in training could break it and no one would care.   

"I have to pick up a piece to see who signed it but back in the day," Todd said, "everyone knew whose bowl was whose.  If you brought one of the elder women in here, she wouldn't need to see the signature on the bottom, she could recognize it from the symbols.  Like these circles in this pot, which we don't see in any other piece."

"Do all of the patterns and etchings have meaning?" I asked. "Nothing was done simply for decorative use?"

"We like to think so, don't we?" Todd said in his soft voice.  "But maybe not.  Maybe some things were just decorative."    

He pointed out another bowl to us.  

"Now what shape do you see in this deer?  Can you see something special about this deer?"  

"There's an arrow," Marina and I said together. 

"An arrow, yes, that's right.  The arrow points to the heart, and the heart is the giver of life, so this bowl is meant to symbolize life."  

I didn't want to tell him that the arrow was actually pointing to the deer's ass because he truly was a marvel to listen to and I didn't want him to stop.  I could have listened to him all afternoon because he was passionate and knowledgeable.  He told us about pueblo feast days and ancient trade routes and cacao beans and all sorts of other things that he obviously cared deeply about and I wondered whether he had a Native American boyfriend.  Or did he have dinner alone in front of a TV?  Was he married? Did he have kids?  All these thoughts ran through my head as I listened to Todd and watched the deliberate way he spoke about all the things crowding the little gallery.   

We told him we would be back when we had our ranch, and he told us not to wait, to buy land soon, good deals could be had outside the town center.  American Airlines had a direct flight from LA to Santa Fe, he said, and as long as didn't wait till the last minute to buy our tickets, the fares were reasonable.  "I'll come and pick you up from the airport," he said, and he meant it.   

As we left, I thought about how Marina and I always managed to meet fascinating people in our travels, people who opened up to us.  I think it's because we're curious about people and their world and where they live and, we ask questions and we genuinely want to know.   Isn't this the whole point of traveling? 

Well, also to learn different construction techniques.  Unusual for her, Marina has taken a lot of pictures of the various adobe homes.  In the town center, a building was under construction and she stopped to stare at the workers plastering the walls.  Another man stood nearby, also staring at the workers.  Marina crossed the road and entered the gated construction site to ask the workers about their technique.  She came back and the man who had been standing nearby said, "What did they say the big screws were for?  I've been wondering myself."   

"It's to keep the old stucco from falling off.  Then they put the new stucco on.  And they'll put that wire mesh on to keep the new stucco from cracking." 

"I was wondering about the mesh," the man said. "I built my house and I didn't use it."  

"You have to use it to keep the stucco from cracking," Marina said. 

"OK, thanks.  Nice talking to you," the man said and moved on.   

Marina remained standing on the street, staring at the workers.  "Isn't it beautiful?" she whispered.  

I laughed and took a picture so I could show you what she was enraptured with. 

At this point, I've probably lost all my readers because I've totally missed the point of what a blog is.  It's supposed to be only one paragraph but I can't help myself!  We have all these wonderful experiences and I need to record them so that I remember three years (or three weeks later) what we experienced.  So my sincerest apologies to those of you expecting a paragraph or two who slog through to the end and click away in a daze.  Just a few photos now for some visual relief.    

The Communal Table

Cross-Country Trip, Day 5

Sedona to Santa Fe 

Today we hit the 1000 mile mark.  Here's some of the road we've traveled.

Has it really only been 5 days since we left our beloved Los Angeles?   Today was a driving day:  400 miles from Sedona to Santa Fe.  We got an early start (for us!) and left town by 9:30 after picking up salads for a picnic lunch.

There's a big Native American population in the Southwest and their cultures have been kitschified into souvenir shops every few years selling jewelry, pottery and rugs.   But on the road from Sedona to Flagstaff, we came across several Navajo women in a park, their open-air tables laden with turquoise-and-silver jewelry and various kinds of pottery that had all been signed by individual artists.  (As one of the vendors was explaining these ancient techniques and symbols to someone,  another vendor swiped a buyer's credit card with the little white Square reader plugged into the vendor's iPhone.)

That was the end of the line for authenticity.  We passed at least three "Indian Centers" between Flagstaff and Santa Fe with teepees and totem poles in the parking lots and periodic billboards which started miles before and promised all sorts of authentic products.

And why are they still calling themselves Indians?  They're Native Americans.  They should insist on being called that.  It's more accurate and dignified and it would save Indians from India answering a lot of stupid questions, like what tribe we're from.  I'm not kidding.  When I was a kid, I got asked that a lot when I said I was Indian. Now I say, "Indian.  Dot not a feather."  Or "Indian.  Call centers, not casinos."

We passed through the Petrified Forest and the Painted Desert and the part of me that wants to make sure I've covered all the bases and seen everything and done everything there is to do wanted to drive in so I could check it off my mental list but we decided it was more important to get to Santa Fe in time to enjoy a full evening than to do the 56-mile roundtrip detour into the forest.

"Doesn't look like much of a forest," Marina said.

"Well, it's been petrified.  So I guess the trees are all dead."

And with that, we pulled back onto the highway and kept on driving.

We had our salads at a picnic bench in a Shell gas station with an enormous parking lot.  The main building was larger than any other gas station I've seen and stocked to the rafters with Native American souvenirs.   Soothing flute music wafted through, making the place feel sacred, instead of a gas station in the middle of nowhere off an interstate highway.  The walls of the women's room were lined with photographs of these Navajo women.

I didn't check, but I'm guessing the men's room had similar photos of Navajo men.  I was glad that the Navajo were profitting from their culture, but unfortunately, most of the souvenirs looked and felt like they were made in China.  I hoped that the owners of the gas station were Navajo and I wondered if they went home at the end of the day and laughed at the gullible idiots buying this stuff:  "Revenge is sweet. Ha!" 

They did have some lovely posters, though.

And this one is my personal favorite.

We arrived in Santa Fe while it was still light and managed to walk into town and admire the architecture and quaint shops.  

It looks like there are a lot (and I mean, A LOT) of shops selling stuff like this. 

Pretty, but having just oohed and aahed over all this back in Sedona, I'm overdosing a bit so it remains to be seen whether we go off the beaten path tomorrow.

The best part of the day was dinner.  Marina is English, and she does like her tipple, especially at the end of a long day of driving, but most vegan restaurants don't serve alcohol (why is this, people?  Spring for the damn liquor license already!  Do you think all vegans are health-conscious granola nuts?  We are not, and some of us struggle daily with how to be fashionable, vegan and slightly buzzed all at the same time.)  So we ended up at a place called Cafe Pasqual's, which had something to make us both happy.

Cafe Pasqual's

It looks and feels like a Mexican birthday party exploded inside.

Cafe Pasqual's

The place was packed and we opted to wait for two seats at the communal table.  I've only ever shared a table with strangers at a theme park or a food court, and "Is this seat taken?" is just about the only conversation we have.   But it's hard to ignore people sitting right next to you while you're all waiting for food or watching each other eat and drink.   We struck up a conversation with the couple next to us, who engaged the mother and daughter next to them, who brought into the conversation the couple next to them and pretty soon we were all chatting amiably over wine and dinner as if we were at a friend's dinner table.   Isn't this why we travel?  To meet new people and discover new ways of doing things?  To see the familiar in a new way and to see new things (and people) in a familiar way?

One couple was from Frisco, Colorado.  They had both grown up in Oklahoma and dated in college 40 years ago.  When the man's wife passed away, he looked up the woman on Facebook.  Her husband had passed away and she was living in Hong Kong.  A year ago, she moved back and they were in Santa Fe to buy silver wedding bands which they were going to design themselves.  If that story doesn't make you go "Awww,", you're a cold-hearted beady-eyed person who's probably lived in Manhattan too long. 

The mother (Gail) in the mother and daughter team had lived in Kansas her whole life until 11 months ago, when she moved to Steamboat Springs, Colorado.  Her daughter (Julie) lives in Chicago and they were both traveling down through Austin and eventually to New Orleans, where the sister is graduating from Tulane U next week.  Julie and several others had  encouraged Gail to start a blog but she offered the excuse I have heard from so many women: "I just don't think anyon'es going to be interested in what I have to say."  I told her she should write for herself and not for others.  (Not that I follow that advice.  As I go through each day on this trip, I am only thinking of you, dear reader, and what you might find interesting.  And then I disregard that and write what I want to.)  

Julie, Gail, Marina and I agreed that even the smartest women sometimes think no one is interested in what they have to say and the dumbest men all think the whole world is interested in what they have to say.   Why is it that men have so much confidence and women so little?   

Another couple wandered in from New York and yet another couple (we stayed chatting through at least 3 different seatings!) met up here from Albuquerque (woman) and Colorado (man).   Eventually, an older couple showed up, the man from Vouvray in France and the woman from Arkansas or Kansas, I forget which.    

Not a local among the lot, but what was fascinating was how easy it was to talk to all these people, how well-traveled and intelligent they all were.  The table was like a magnet and it was extraordinary how every single person had something interesting to contribute.   Fascinating too was how transient our society has become.  This is old news but sitting at a table like that and hearing all the stories of moving across states and continents, I was reminded that the story of immigration and reinventing oneself isn't limited to those who move across international borders.  There's a lot of migration happening right here in America.   

We left the restaurant laughing and marveling at the evening.   A couple stood outside looking at the menu.   We encouraged them to go in and sit at the communal table. 

The red blush of fine wine and good conversation

Rock 'n' Roll Quiz

Cross-Country Trip, Day 4

Sedona, Day 2

We started our first (and last) full day in Sedona with a 3.7 mile hike.  There are lots of hiking trails to choose from and we picked the one right outside our back door.   The trail was narrow, the earth red and the views spectacular.

The earth and rocks here are a beautiful deep red from the iron oxide and they produce a deep feeling of happiness.  Oh, sorry, no, that was the ice cream.  (Kidding.  I don't eat ice cream anymore.) 

After the walk, we made our way into town and wandered around Tlaquepaque, a little shopping village with archways, stone streets, and plazas that are reminiscent of old Europe.  

We meandered into the art galleries and gift shops to admire beautiful sculptures of bronze, wood and clay, most of which I didn't photograph because (a) it wasn't allowed and (b) I was too busy looking at it.   Here's one I managed to get:

Native Women in Clay

I don't how these wonderful artists pay the rent because I didn't see anyone buying anything except in the gift shops selling practical items like these signs.

We ended up at the Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park where Buddhist monks were chanting and conducting evening prayers, and Marina decided to build her own mini-stupa.

She became obsessed and couldn't stop building them and every time I turned around, she was building another one.   

One of Marina's many stupas

 
Our final stop of the day was the ChocolaTree for a cup of the nano-green tea and some more cardamom rose chocolate.  The silver-haired man behind the register recognized us from the previous night.  He poured the tea and put the tiny little cardamom rose chocolates in a waxed bag.  He offered us a free chocolate if we could guess the name of the band playing the song on the radio.  It was a familiar one from the '60s, used in a lot of movies.

"I'll give you a hint," he said.  It's the only rock and roll band with the same name as a chocolate."  Hershey's?  Mars?  M&M?  Milky Way?

The song continued, we sang the chorus ("me and you and you and me, no matter how they toss the dice, it had to be, the only one for me is you and you for me, so happy together, so happy together, how is the weather, so happy together") and still the name wouldn't come.

"They had a lot of hits after this," the man said.  We went through every '60s band we could think of: the Monkees, the Mamas and the Papas, the Carpenters, but none of them were chocolates.

He put another piece of chocolate on the counter.  It was the same size and shape as a Reese's peanut butter cup but made, he said, from the "finest cacao in the world."  The only ingredients were cacao, almonds and agave.  We decided to take two, and they sat on the counter waiting for us to guess the band's name.  Finally, we gave up.

"The Turtles," he said.

The Turtles?  We would have been there all night.

Then another classic rock'n'roll song started playing, and he said, "I like you guys so I'm going to give you another chance."

"Pink Floyd," I said.

"No, it's the Rolling Stones," Marina said.

"Correct," the man said.  "But name the drummer."

"Brian Jones," Marina said.  "He was one of the original members."

"Yes, but he wasn't the drummer."

"Let's see, there were three original members," Marina said.  "Mick, Keith and Brian.  Who was the fourth?"

"No idea," I said.

A line had started to form and he helped the customer behind us.  When he disappeared behind a back counter, Marina turned to me and said, "Quick, look it up on your phone."

"I'm not doing that! That's cheating!  Plus what if he comes back and sees me doing it?"  Two seconds later, the man reappeared.

"Bill!  It's Bill something," Marina said.  "His last name starts with W.  Bill Wyman."

The man behind the counter smiled knowingly.  I started to wonder if there was some sort of spiritual meaning to this exercise or whether this was the way white people bonded.  We were still standing at the counter with the chocolate in front of us and I just wanted us to pay for it and leave.

"You're on the right track," he said.  "It starts with W."

"White.  Wyeth. Wightman. Wyatt."

"How much is the chocolate?  Can you just ring us up?"  I said.

"You're getting confused by the first name. It's not Bill."

"It's not?  It's not Bill Wyatt?"

The man dispensed various liquids into a blender for the customers behind us.  "I'm going to give it to you because you're so close.  It's Charlie Watts."

"That's close to Bill Wyatt?" I said.

He shrugged, rang up $3 for one of the cacao cups and gave us the other for free.  That's right.  $3 for a chocolate the size of a single Reese's cup.  The chocolate was strong and bitter, and I'm glad we only had to pay for one.  

As we got into the truck, Marina said, "What does turtle have to do with chocolate?"

Sunset in Sedona

Mural outside ChocolaTree