Take a Roadtrip.

The 4th of July is so perfectly timed-- a celebration of America right when the country is looking its best. We've got blue skies, full green forests, warm weather, and open highways just waiting to be traversed. So why not celebrate the country by getting out and admiring it on a road trip?

We celebrated my homeland just a little early, on our way out of the country late last month. Taking off from Albuquerque, NM, we headed to Los Angeles via Utah. With the detour, we treated ourselves to unbelievable landscapes, some glimpses of offbeat rural towns, and some very restful nights in the great outdoors. And along the way, I put together a few tips for letting go and enjoying the road.

1. Stop to photograph any cool signs you see. Who knows when you'll be taking this route again, so it's always worth taking a moment to stop and memorialize it. I made Bordeaux pull over in Cuba, NM to snap up this one.

2. Splurge on one good bottle of alcohol. Just make sure to enjoy it at the campsite, not while you're driving. To me, campfires and quiet desert nights just seem to set the perfect atmosphere for relaxing with a stiff drink. For a touch of Alcoholic Americana, we picked up a bottle of Knob Creek bourbon-- which, interestingly enough, tastes just like vanilla coke when splashed with a can of Blue Sky Cola.

3. Stop for a slice of pie. Support local cafes, where you'll usually get much better meals than at the chain diners or drive-thrus. We had a fantastic plate of green chile huevos rancheros at Cafe Eklectica in Moab (despite the unfortunate name).

4. Check messages. Zipping through small towns, you rarely get much of a chance to gain an in-depth look into local social life. But paying attention to small details, like general store message boards, can give you an instant glimpse into the lives of locals.

5. Have a bad meal every now and then. While there is some very good food to be enjoyed across the country, some trashy diner food can be a fun indulgence every now and then. Bad burgers and bad mexican are especially tasty.

6. For that matter, take some bad photos. The West seems to have been sculpted for photography, with it's dramatic forms, intense contrasts in light and shadow, and rich natural colors. But taking pictures too carefully in effort to conjure Ansel Adams can leave you with a very tame album. So point the camera wildly, snap away, and maybe you'll get some fun surprises.

7. Make sure to stop somewhere spectacular. We have a pretty unbelievable country, and it's a shame how many of us don't make the effort of really seeking out its best angles. Being from the Southwest, I'm pretty spoiled with unbelievable landscapes-- The Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Arches, and the pictured above Canyonlands are all within half a days drive from my parents doorstep-- but I hadn't seen any of them until the last few years.

8. Try out some facial hair. Or a new hairstyle, or some odd new clothes. You're going to be spending your days either alone or with total strangers, so it's the perfect time to try a new look.

9. Treat yourself to a pool at least once. I'm a fan of quiet isolation of tent camping in gorgeous national parks, but a big bright swimming pool can be a different way of celebrating the US of A. We swung by Las Vegas, where in the heat of summer a hotel room at a decent spot can cost you less than 3 ten dollar bills. Just remember that the Las Vegas shock takes an hour or so by the pool to wear off.

So that's all I came up with! Anyone else have some tips? Or suggestions of where to go? Or what to toast on the camp fire?

In the meantime, Happy 4th of July and enjoy the country while I'm gone!

Below the surface.

Images from the Albuquerque Aquarium.

about town/abq: Taqueria Mexico.

With all of the fantastic New Mexican food available in Albuquerque, it can be strangely easy not to go the trouble of seeking out any actual Mexican food. Thankfully, my attention was caught by the regular lines that formed outside of Taqueria Mexico, a tiny white shop tattooed with vibrant murals. It's location on Lomas, a street always pulsing with traffic in and out of dowtown, might not give it much atmosphere, but at least it makes it an easy stop for lunch.

We were lucky enough to arrive just as a table was being cleared. As soon as we sat down, more diners arrived, and were forced to wait standing between the formica tables and the lunch counter. The place was so small that our table was not that far from the kitchen-- the smell of which led me to order three tacos: 1 chicken, 1 carne asada, and 1 carne adovada. They arrived spilling out of their soft corn tortillas, with wedges of lime and a fiery dish of salsa on the side. The chicken was ok-- what was I thinking ordering a chicken taco?-- but the carne asada and adovada were delicious. The asada was perfectly grilled, and still juicy; the pork in the adovado was nicely coated in rich chile sauce. It was really too much food-- I ate it all, of course-- but next time I think two tacos would be a well sized order (especially with a glass of cinnamony horchata on the side).

There are a few New Mexican items on the menu, but keep it simple, stick to the tacos, and you'll have a fantastic meal.

Downtown in Las Vegas (NM).

About 70 years before Las Vegas, Nevada was founded, there was Las Vegas, NM. If you didn't previously know that there is a Las Vegas in New Mexico, you can be excused-- there are a few good reasons. 1) There's not really a whole lot going on there- and -2) The town is a little creepy. On our visit there seemed to be a lot of mentally unstable people lurking around downtown (we almost thought we were going to get knifed at one point). But it is still a rather beautiful town. So if you decide to stop in, be sure to visit the old town plaza, which is surrounded by some incredibly well preserved historic buildings-- like the above-right Plaza Hotel, established 1881. The square offers a near perfect picture of a frontier American town in the late 1800s. Just watch your back.

On the road in NM.

We've actually been spending most of our time in New Mexico since we returned to the US-- my home-state just hasn't made it onto the blog recently because I'm super bad at remembering to take my camera with me when I go out. The only times I've really remembered to take any photos were on two road-trips-- one to the north-east, the other to the north-west. While the two trips focused on very different spots, the highlight of both were very tasty meals flavored with New Mexico chile.

Our first daytrip took us to the town of Las Vegas, NM. Despite the really incredible Victorian architecture in the city's historic downtown, the city had a rather depressing feeling about it. Luckily, we had a good lunch while we were stopped there. We dropped by Charlie's Spic & Span Bakery and Cafe, which unlike the rest of the town, was filled with people. We had massive breakfast plates for lunch-- I got the carne adovada, pork stewed in red chile, which were topped with an over easy egg. It all went perfectly with Charlie's freshly baked tortillas (we could hear them slapping out the tortilla dough behind us while we ate).

Our next daytrip was to the hotsprings in Jemez. Trips to Jemez were a regular part of my childhood, not for the hotsprings, but because the pine forests up there are a great place for picnics. On the way, we'd usually make a stop at a beautiful red-cliffed spot where women from the reservation would sell fry bread, loaves of bread baked in hornos, or cinnamon dusted cookies. Luckily my nostalgia linked up with Bordeaux's stomach, so we could both agree to make a stop. We opted for an 'indian taco', the somewhat silly name for a dish that I won't pretend not to love. Puffy frybread is topped with ground meat, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and, per our selection, green chile. It was surprisingly spicy, but practically worth the trip alone.

Milton's on Central.

The film industry coming to Albuquerque has had strange effects on the city. Parking lots tented up and streets blocked off for shoots. Celebrity sightings in coffeeshops. And offbeat locales suddenly becoming movie sets. Like Milton's Family Restaurant. I had passed the diner often while cruising pass on Central; almost tempted in as I glanced up at its retro '50s signage, but put off by its dim interior and greasy windows. Apparently I wasn't the only one drawn to it, though-- it's interior, unchanged for decades, has made it the perfect set for period films. So with a little motivation from Hollywood, I finally made it in.

We arrived after 7, the cold air already dark with the early sunset of winter. The film industry hasn't drawn any crowds-- the parking lot out back was empty, the diner's interior somehow even emptier. Nor has it left the place with any added gloss-- the mood inside was sombre, with a vague odor that makes you decide to keep it safe when it comes time to order. We passed the college students finishing their meal, the wiry men sipping coffee, and grabbed a discreet booth in the back.

The menu pages stuck-- together, to the table, to our fingers-- so we ordered quickly. A cheeseburger for me-- safe, right?-- with green chili. Bordeaux ordered a milkshake, but the waitress's face gathered up in look of worry. 'You know, before you order, it's just me working the counter tonight, so I can make it for you, but it's gonna be awhile. I just don't want you getting your hopes up, then having to wait, is all.' He ordered a glass of water instead, and she nodded gratefully. She brought our drinks, chilling in the type of goldenrod glasses that probably haven't been made since the early '80s, then disappeared.

We weren't in a hurry-- I don't know why we would have come here if we had-- so we settled in, to observe our setting. It was easy to see how it would be a great movie set, with its flagstone walls, and brown-and-orange vinyl booths. A set of black and white photos of the store's founders hung above the coffee machine, the glass in the picture frames grimy with half a century's accrued grease. The only thing that seemed to have changed in the space were the cheap foil decorations that criss-crossed from window to wall. A passer-by with a loaded camper's backpack drew our attention outside; across the road, a yoga class was just beginning. The yogi and his disciples would disappear over the course of our meal, obscure behind the veil of fogged-up windows.

Our plates arrived at the table, heavy with mounds of food. The burger was actually delicious, really. Well charred meat, strips of smoky green chili, and crisp rings of white onion. But the visit wasn't really about the food, was it?

Meal finished, we took the paper check to the register, where we found no one waiting for us. We looked out through double glass doors, where we saw our waitress-- her sweater gathered tight around her, puffs of smoke alternating with gasps of cold air escaping from her mouth. She came back in, rubbing her arms as she slipped behind the register, and greeting us with a faint smile. We handed over some bills and coins, and slipped a tip in next to the register.

Lights of Madrid, NM.

We've really been trying to make the most of Christmas this year: searching out good recipes for baking, making our own Christmas cards, and browsing at local shops. We've also been able to take part in a few local events. This past weekend, we traveled north through sparse hills and shadowy valleys, to the town of Madrid. We arrived at dusk, just as the light was beginning to bleed light pink and pale violet, just in time to watch the town's strings of lights flicker on.

Madrid isn't a town, exactly. It had occupied a bustling career as a coal mining center in the 1850s, and was even one of the first places in New Mexico to receive electricity. After falling into derelict as a ghost town, it was revived as a community for artists, who now operate a string of quiet galleries, shops, and cafes. Every year in December, the town is decorated in strings of Christmas lights, and weekend openhouses are hosted for visitors.

We went up there this year to view the lights, enjoy a warm latte, and do some shopping ... well, maybe not the shopping. I have to admit that the style of artwork popular in Madrid isn't really my thing. The town looked rather charming though, and had a truly welcoming atmosphere. The shop owners were friendly and inviting, and many even offered cold-weather treats, like peppermint cookies, handmade toffee, and warm mulled cider. One artist even had a fire ready, with marshmallows for roasting.

Brrr.

We've had a few light flakes over the past week, but yesterday morning it started snowing, and didn't stop until long after dark. The white stuff piled up over the day, leaving my neighborhood piled with a powdery three inches! I'm guessing readers from colder climates are probably rolling their eyes, but after a year without seasons, it felt great to be back in the cold.

We spent most of the day warm inside, but we did venture out for a walk-- a few blocks over and across the park to the drugstore, where we gathered ingredients for Bordeaux to make candy cane hot chocolate. Yum. Pictured above is Bordeaux in the park, enjoying his first snow fall.

And today? Mostly melted, turning to slush. Oh well...

Lucky Boy.

It's hard not to like Lucky Boy at least a little. The name that sounds like a brand of soy sauce. The sun-bleached pastel pink and yellow of the exterior, the dated neon sign. The interior that looks like it hasn't changed in 30 years-- probably hasn't-- with avocado green tables in the booths, and faux wood-grain walls. And the concept, a mix of Chinese-American chop suey standards and American fast food, is neither 'authentic cuisine', cutting edge fusion. Maybe that's what makes it fun, though. You can order a chili burger with a side of fried rice, a sweet and sour combo, or the unusual 'egg foo young burger', pictured below-- and don't forget to get a vanilla milkshake or a rootbeer on the side.

Lucky Boy-- Located on the corner of Constitution and Carlisle, in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Pink Pan Dulce.

I don't know if it would work as a party food, but I imagine a big table piled with this Mexican sweet bread would look pretty fantastic. I guess you could dye the topping in another hue, but it would be difficult to beat this electric pink.

Exotic/Mundane.

HSCBC has an advertising campaign called 'point of view', where they compare two things, and show how they can be differently understood according to their cultural context. Images of sumo wrestling and muay thai alternate the words 'violence' and 'art', showing how a little shift in geography can mean a total shift of mind.

I was thinking of this idea a lot in my final days of travel, as I realized how Southeast Asia had become so mundane to me. Two years ago, the towering temples of Bangkok had seemed completely exotic-- yet after my year and a half of residence, they had become quite ordinary. Contrarily, the adobe houses and big blue skies of New Mexico had once been quite commonplace for me, but had since become rather romantic in my mind. At the point where I could pass by a gorgeous glittering wat without raising an eye, I knew it was time to leave Thailand. I wanted to be able to reinvest Asia with a little bit of the exotic I had lost.

I know there's a lot to be said against the exotic. It's a distancing device, a potential method of primitivization, it's the opiate of the tourist. But I have to say that a lot of what keeps me connected to the world is the draw of the exotic. Is there a way to construct the exotic so that it doesn't rest on out of date tropes and patronizing ideas of a disconnected world? What does the exotic mean nowadays, and should we still be opposed to it?

Eggnog Cookies and a Celeb Sighting at the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll.

Christmas last year in Bangkok was an odd experience-- lots of lights, Christmas music, and homemade treats, but it all felt strangely disconnected in the tropical clime. So this year, we planned our return to my hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico with the holidays specifically in mind. So far, it's been great-- we were greeted upon arrival with a chill in the air, my sister has helped Bordeaux with some holiday treat making, and we've even gotten to join in some local festivities.

Last Thursday, we took part in the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll. Nob Hill is Albuquerque's hippest neighborhood, a stretch of Central Road lined with cafes, salons, and boutique shops. For the event, the street was closed down, and pedestrians were free to browse in shops, sample street-stand treats, and enjoy roving musicians (pictured above: mariachis in Santa hats, of course).

After squeezing through the crowds in a few shops we ducked into the Flying Star Cafe, for a rich glass of hot chocolate and a giant eggnog cookie. Coming in from the cold, the decadent treat was the perfect cap to the evening. We also got a little bonus celebrity sighting: Ewan McGregor looking very handsome one table over-- thanks to New Mexico's burgeoning role as a low cost filming locale.

Blue doors of Taos.

I sometimes wonder how I would write my blog if I didn't live in Bangkok. Would I be able to search out good street-food in Cape Town? And what would a 'Colors of Los Angeles' series look like? But I'm sure wherever I live I'll find things that inspire me. Even the home state that I left behind is rather exotic. Every time I tell someone that I'm from New Mexico, they tell me what a beautiful state it is- even if they've never visited. And it really is. When I was in New Mexico in May and June, I got to revisit some of the more interesting locales in the state. One of the highlights was a visit to the Taos Pueblo, where I took these photographs. I'm drawn to certain colors, so many of photographs from the visit centered around the contrast of these blue-green doors against the ochre of the adobe.

The pale blue color around doors is a New Mexican tradition, brought by the Spanish, originating in the Middle East, India, or further abroad. It's meant to keep the home free of malignant spirits; if nothing else, the milky hues provide the eyes with a cooling respite from the earthen adobe walls.

Let it snow.

Growing up in New Mexico, I was accustomed to celebrating Christmas without any snow. Though it was always cold by late December, snow usually fell only a few times a year, rarely stuck, and melted quickly once it had settled on the ground; basically, statistics were against me having a white Christmas. The few rare holidays where we did actually have snow were thus all the more memorable.

Last year, we came absurdly close. I flew home from South Africa a week before Christmas: a long day and night of traveling that had began with an exhausting six hour delay at the Oliver Thambo airport in Johannesburg. After a rushed connection in Washington DC, I was almost stranded in Chicago with the news that the city of Albuquerque had been swallowed in a winter storm. Thankfully, our flight was granted clearance after only a two hour delay. I arrived in Albuquerque long after dark, to find my hometown blanketed in a sugary layer of pristine snow.

By the time Christmas arrived, however, most of the snow had melted- only shallow icy mounds remained, cowering in the shadows of houses and large trees. Christmas passed, and just before New Years another snow storm arrived- even bigger and more devastating than the first. Roads were blocked, businesses closed; I had never seen anything like it. Since our cars were encased in white cocoons on the driveway, we trudged out on foot, exploring the incredible white landscape of the city transformed.

Christmas in New Mexico.

I spoke to my parents this morning; apparently they're getting a snowy winter in Albuquerque this year. Then, an hour later, I took the laundry downstairs, and found that two big packages from home had arrived, filled with Christmas presents. So my thoughts are on home now. Albuquerque, New Mexico is most beautiful in the summer, when the trees are full and green, and the vast blue days give way to sudden, dramatic thunderstorms. But Christmas-time also carries a certain charm. The weather is usually chilly if not snowy, with long freezing nights and bright days of biting cold sun. The city is at its most bare- leafless trees revealing sunbleached streets lined with modest pueblo-style homes. The cafes and boutique shops in Nob Hill provide a great walking street to pick up last minute presents, or to enjoy a Christmas cookie and a cup of coffee. Since my ideas of New Mexico at Christmas are obviously bundled up with a lot of childhood memories, I'm willing to admit I'm being nostalgic. But, in my defense, the city does have a number of local traditions for the holiday that make it special.

The most recognizable of these is the luminarias that appear everywhere around Christmas. Luminarias are brown paper bags, weighed down with sand and lit from inside with tiny votive candles. Toward the end of December, they appear along rooftops (which are traditionally flat, in New Mexico) all around town. Though they're just plain, everyday lunch-bags, they warm up with an unbelievable, orange glow when lit. Last year on Christmas eve, after a dinner of posole and enchiladas, we walked around Old Town. As a big tourist draw, it's always fully decked out for the holidays, and the huddled adobe buildings looked particularly charming in the glow of the luminarias. The massive snowstorm of the previous week had already melted away, and the air was feeling just as dry and crisp as the brown glowing paper itself.

New Mexico.

At the end of our long roadtrip was home for me, and a final American destination for Bordeaux. New Mexico.
Realizing this was a final chance for domesticity, Bordeaux and I spent much of our time hanging out at home; Bordeaux made dinner for my family, while I cleaned and organized my bedroom. We explored the city in small pieces, having dinner with my mom and sister downtown, and getting coffee among the various Satellite Coffees and Flying Stars. We tried nearly every coffee on menu at Satellite; I settled on the Turkish latte as my favorite, though with it's honey and cardamom flavor, it more closely resembles Bedouin Coffe. In the more than a week we spent there, our only real outing was to the Rio Grande Nature Center, where we were unable to find either beavers or toads at waters edge.
In our last weekend in the United States, we took a trip through Northern New Mexico with my family. We stopped for lunch in Santa Fe, where we waited in line for the amazing New Mexican food at Pascual's. After exploring the lobby at La Fonda, we looked through quirky shops around the Plaza, browsing among stationary and chocolates.
The main goal of our trip was Taos, where we stayed in a small house near the Plaza. We spent a day at Taos Pueblo, which is an odd attraction, seeing people in their homes.
I enjoyed my time in Taos and Santa Fe, and even began to question whether I would be able to live there. I realized that I wasn't drawn to a New Mexico that was familiar, but one that had been invented, built on romantic ideas of Catholic mysticism and Southwestern flavor. I wondered if they only way I could move back to New Mexico would be to reinvent it, to cast it as something exotic. And if so, if that was my connection to New Mexico, what does that say about myself?