Santa Fe

Judy. For as long as they’ve been towns, St. Augustine, Florida, and Santa Fe, New Mexico, have vied for the title of “Oldest European City in the US.” Is the oldest church in Santa Fe or St. Augustine? What about the oldest house? The Spaniards settled both. Frankly, I don’t care. Both are charming in their own way, and completely different. But I have to say, I prefer Santa Fe. 

Santa Fe has a mystical air about it. Almost everyone I know has been here, and those who haven’t want to come. And one should. The deep red and green mountains surrounding it seem to wrap the city, and within a few miles on one side mesas, arroyos, and canyons dot the landscape, while on the other side, the mountains and ski area boast aspens and lodgepole pines. It’s inexplicable, the feeling one gets in the countryside here. 

Fall is coming to the mountains

The city itself has grown out since we were last here forty years ago, but the city fathers have made sure that the old part of the town has retained its charm. For blocks around the square, buildings are low and made of adobe-like materials or are in the “territorial style.” The Basilica of St. Francis (built by Archbishop Lamy in 1886) still overlooks Santa Fe, although Loretto Chapel (which he had built for the Sisters who came to teach) with its “miraculous staircase”, and the oldest church, San Miguel, originally built in 1610, are close by. 

Basilica of St. Francis

         

Loretto Chapel

"Miraculous" stairway in Loretto Chapel

San Miguel, originally built in 1610.  Original base and stairs can be seen.

The La Fonda Hotel blends right in. Privately owned, its history can be traced back 400 years, according to the website, but the present building was opened in 1922. It is filled with hundreds of pieces of art, many of which were recently added. 

Historic La Fonda

Tourists shop for Native American jewelry at Palace of the Govs.

 

The main square is full of tourists and artists. I think the Native Americans have sold their jewelry on the porch of the Palace of the Governors since the town was established. Art galleries and museums are everywhere, and music is ever present. 

Colorful wolf outside a gallery

Forty years ago Ted and I were here during the annual Music Festival. Wandering down a hall, we stopped by an open door to hear a lecture. When it was over, out walked the speaker. Aaron Copeland. Stravinsky conducted in the Basilica, and the Santa Fe Opera is known world-wide. Numerous artists have come to paint in the light and open air, most notably, I suppose, Georgia O’Keeffe. Yet somehow it feels homey and accepting. 

Green Plaza in the middle of the Old Town

Rich tourists fill the expensive clothing shops and turquoise jewelry stores, while we peons look in the windows. Honestly, though, I’ve never been treated rudely when I walked in any of them. On any given weekend, there are artists markets everywhere, and the Tuesday and Saturday markets at the Rail Yard are filled with fresh produce and artistic endeavors. 

Yes, there are the overpriced t-shirt shops. And, as much as I love turquoise, there’s just too much—too many squash blossom necklaces and wrist cuffs. Many shops just carry vintage jewelry, since the turquoise mines here have been cleaned out, leaving only chalky bits. I see Mexican clothing I purchased in Oaxaca at reasonable cost selling at outrageous prices here. Ristras, strings of red chili peppers, are everywhere, almost ad nauseum, and the unhoused are on streets and in parks. There seem to be hundreds of art galleries in the city and along Canyon Road, and after awhile, wonderful as they are, my eyes begin to cross. And, to be frank, the roads are wretched. Someone needs to do some serious repaving.

But this insanity and plethora of tourists somehow fade into the background when exploring art and history museums, or driving out of town to look at petroglyphs or cliff dwellings, or even just wandering the square to buy a coffee. 

Our patio

Our condo is two blocks from the main square. The complex almost resembles a pueblo, with apartments slammed up against each other, but with private patios and winding sidewalks. The bells of St. Francis are just far enough away to be pleasant. We walk to the Presbyterian Church for the TGIF classical concerts, and to the Episcopal Church of the Holy Faith for Sunday services. Good restaurants are close by, and the green chili salsa is killer in all of them. 

Our next-door neighbors, Patrick and James, are full of “must experience” places, although I think they assume we have more money than we do. Our old friend Jeff from Albuquerque comes up on the weekends and takes us to do more of the things we enjoy and can afford. Our Airbnb hosts, Amanda and Orlando, met us at the Homecoming football game at the New Mexico School for the Deaf, where Orlando works as an interpreter, so we find lots to do. 

Cheerleaders at NMSD do their stuff

It’s not perfect. It’s a tourist town and proud of it. But there is also art, and music. Standing on our patio and seeing the golden aspen pouring down the green mountains, or turning the opposite way and seeing the deep red of the desert is welcoming. And somewhat comforting.

Hills near the city

And I see why Georgia O’Keeffe stayed.