Ojo Caliente Hot Springs

I came, I saw, I mudded . . .

Ojo Caliente has been on my radar for quite a spell - it had been closed and then it was being renovated, and now it is open for business once again.  Through centuries, the thermal mineral water has been utilized by native peoples and Spanish colonists, being developed in different ways over time.

The current renovation is not quite complete, although all seven pools are open, as are the RV park, casitas and mission style/Spanish revival hotel that is on the historic register, and a nice restaurant/wine bar.

We soaked in every pool with their varying temperatures, mineral contents and scenic surroundings, and we even mudded, a first!  For those of us who have never mudded, the process was clearly spelled out.  There were plenty there who were happy to offer advice for the fun, as in adding multiple layers after "baking".  

I went all out, and the señor was induced to semi-try it, at least.  The liquefied mud burbles out of a set of faucets in the middle of a shallow basin, from which one plasters oneself should one be so inclined.  Although we didn't get much sun to bake in, we did lounge around until we were "set up".  Never pass up an opportunity, I say, even one as bizarre as mudding.

The surrounding scenery is impressively scenic, as scenery should be, and makes a scenic backdrop for the scenic resort and pools.  Each one is different, supposedly with different mineral content, but that claim sets off my truth-alarm bells.  No matter: they are varied in temperature and settings, and I thought it was all just fine and dandy.

The whisper police . . .

In order to promote peace and tranquility, soakers are advised by signage to whisper; evidently, telling off-color jokes and braying like a donkey are considered gauche and not compatible with the desired Ojo Caliente atmosphere, which is all well and good.  It was when the most junior of employees (who else could be induced to do it) walked from pool to pool holding up his little "Whisper please" sign that I failed to hold back a healthy snort and guffaw (in a whisper, of course).

The photos were taken after a pounding rainstorm during which we took shelter in the one covered pool, but boy howdy, the rain on that fiberglass roof was deafening . . . and no one was displaying a whisper sign.

 

It was interesting to find these flowers naturalized around the grounds.  I first took them to be sunflowers, but they are not.  I have one at home that I was given as a root sprout during the Prescott garden tour.  I was certain I would remember its name, but alas, I do not, so maybe someone will help me out with that.  I only know it was something maximus, and it sure lives up too that descriptor.  I planted mine in a pot because I sensed it could be invasive (see below).  At the time of our departure from home, it was a single stalk, nine feet tall, with flowers bursting forth along its length.

All that soaking caused us to work up an appetite, so we indulged in some very fine blackened mahi mahi tacos accompanied by jicama slaw and mango salsa.

El Sanctuario de Chimayo . . . 

One place I had read about was on my "don't miss" list, El Santuario de Chimayo.  Although I would like to have had more time in the village of Chimayo, I was grateful to visit the small church, built about 1810.

The place has quite a storied background, conjured or embellished through the ages, and involves magical healing occurrences.  It is said that prior to the arrival of Spaniards in that area, there was a hot spring there that the Tewa peoples used for its healing properties.  After the spring dried up, the dirt at that spot was purported to promote healing.

There seems no doubt, at least to me, that the Chimayo area has a sacred energy.  We entered the main sanctuary, modest by many standards, but truly enchanting with its folk art painted panels and statuary.  After spending some time there, we went to the small attached chapel with its back room that was our destination.

In the dirt floor of that room is a hole with several trowels - the goal of the hundreds of thousands(!) who make the pilgrimage there every year.  Surprisingly, we were the only ones present at that time. Like so many before us through time, we scooped out a bit of the dirt to take away with us.  I intend to mix it with our son Darren's ashes to disburse at the Chino Valley Cemetery when we have his memorial stone placed there.

 

Several other churches reflect Chimayo's sacred energy.  None were open during our brief stop, but I took a few photos of exteriors.

I've been disappointed to see nary a single tarantula during Prescott's monsoon season, but one showed up for us at Chimayo.  He seemed to be on a mission of his own as he trundled purposefully along.

 

 

Wandering storms continued all around and over us as we explored that countryside.

 

Somehow in my last post, I neglected to mention our most frequent visitor and comic at the seed feeder - Woodhouse jays.  This feeder is inadequate to support their size, but that does not deter them one iota.  They fly in and clutch the small metal ring from which they flap and carry on trying to upright themselves enough to snatch a few seeds.  Occasionally, they manage to perch upright briefly.  As jays as wont to do, they of course accompany their visits with many raucous squawks and carryings on.  They and the juniper titmice take turns throughout the day.

And now we have had a ladderback woodpecker trying out the nectar feeder.