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. 

We do Santa Fe . . . kinda

Who doesn't love a "most", "longest", "smallest"; people and places vie for designations that make them stand out from the crowd.  In the case of Santa Fe, New Mexico, it's no contest: the oldest state capitol in these United States, and also the highest in elevation.  Founded astoundingly in 1610, it is perched at 7,199 feet elevation.  In addition, it is surely one of the most artsy cities around.

I challenge a parking meter . . .

After the señor & I completed what we could of cleaning out rodent infestations (the pack rat damage is a whole different - and pricey - ballgame which will be dealt with at home.), we ventured into Santa Fe's historic district.  Good luck finding a place to park!  Wandering up, down and all around on those tiny narrow streets, we finally spied someone preparing to pull out of one of those treasured spots.  We zipped right in behind her, and then began the fun with the parking meter.

Hmmm, we were not prepared with coins, so we attempted to use a credit card (this country girl had no idea parking meters accepted plastic!) to no avail.  It didn't like the first one - we could tell because nothing on its countenance lit up - so we offered it an alternative.  No dice there either.

We certainly weren't giving up on that hard-won parking place; I can play with the big dogs, so I pulled out my smart phone to utilize a parking app (there's an app for everything, you know) and commenced to punching in names, numbers, places - everything that app requested, I supplied.  Eventually, it managed to extract $4.30 from my account.  Success! or so I crowed, right up until my wet blanket pard informed me that the meter had not changed its mode from red to green.  Argh!  It won: it took my dough and left me in danger of being ticketed or towed if I dared walk away.

Numerous tries to retrieve something from that blasted app yielded nothing, but then I saw a meter maid of sorts trawling for violators, and encouraged Chris to beg their assistance.  In the end, it turns out the meter was busted and it was all for naught, but some app somewhere is $4.30 richer.  Great work if you can get it.

Between the rodents and the parking meter, we had only a half day to peruse the Santa Fe plaza, and we did a lot of perusing in that time.

The Plaza . . .

Designated as a National Historic Landmark, Santa Fe's Plaza was the terminus of the Camino Real, the road from Mexico City, and the 1821 western end of the Santa Fe Trail from Missouri.  Originally a military presidio, the need for defensive walls gave way to development in the city center - residences and commercial enterprises took their place.  The Plaza now is shaded by tall trees (sound familiar, Prescottonians?), a lovely promenade before and after wandering through the myriad shops, galleries and restaurants that are arrayed out in every direction from the heart of the city.

 

Adobe buildings are the name of the game here: they are impressive multi-story and squatty long low structures.  Many invite the visitor into interior mall-like atmospheres, and some like The Shed (where we had a super lunch) offer dining in dim interiors or in shaded courtyards. . .

 

 

 . . . and where the 100-year-old trumpet vines are gargantuan.

 It's a marvelous colorful maze with many Native American sellers displaying their wares on the sidewalks along the Palace of the Governors, Mexican arts & crafts being offered from serape-draped stalls, trinkets and curios for sale alongside valuable jewelry and artwork.

 

One store, while having nothing whatsoever to do with southwestern anything, was stunning and irresistible with its polychromatic display of lighting fixtures.

Every step around the downtown revealed additional serenes of beauty, intriguing passageways, unique architecture, and art of every ilk.

These columns were painted by acclaimed artist Yatika Starr Fields.

A college mate . . .

The funniest thing that happened to us was when we were inquiring about a set of vintage Indian jewelry.  We talked to a helpful young woman who could not answer our questions; however, she referred us to someone she was certain would be knowledgeable in the field.  Two doors down, she said, "there is an old man with white hair", and he knows everything about it.  Down we went, right into the shop of Mark Bahti, with whom Chris attended Prescott College!  Guess we're getting to that age . . .

A musician and his dog . . .

Street music is common on The Plaza, and some of it quite good.

For us, the history of the place permeates everything, although nowadays, Santa Fe is renowned for its art scene.  I couldn't even think about entering a gallery; they are so numerous as to be overwhelming.  And our short wander after being defeated by a parking meter did not allow time to visit museums nor for any of the historic churches.  Unlike normal folks, our original intent had been to explore the countryside of the region, with Santa Fe as an aside.  The time between jobs and gigs is insufficient for either, so a return is high on my priorities.

Because of the great antiquity hereabouts, most original structures have given way to the weight of time or the changing whims of the populace.  One plaque conveys that well; it tells us that we are on the site of Santa Fe's first chapel.  It was so ancient that by 1714, it already been demolished, after having also been utilized as a defensive tower during the 1600s.

 

A river walk . . .

The Santa Fe River appropriately flows through the city, more of a stream than its name implies.  I wanted to walk along its course; however, there were sections that did not feel particularly safe to me.  I am surprised and appalled at the huge amount of gang tagging I see throughout the town, and there were groups of folks along the river who sent my alarm bells to jangling.

Not to be deterred, though, we found other sections that were lovely, and enjoyed an interesting and delightful walk - surprisingly birdless.  There were a number of seemingly homeless folks along the way, most of whom I greeted and exchanged "g'days".  I heard one laughing after we passed as he said something about someone who actually talks to me.  Not his usual experience, evidently.

We picked up tidbits of history from signage as we went.  One, pictured below, especially caught my attention.  It tells about four women of the religious group, Sisters of Loretto, arriving in this area after traveling from Kentucky in 1852, a time that would have presented incredible difficulties and dangers for them.  They established the first school for young women in New Mexico Territory - brave women!

On its way to empty into the Rio Grande, the Santa Fe's flow is being used in innovative ways through the city, as with the Alameda stormwater rain garden that we read about.

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Prior to 1813, there were only two bridges over the river; all other crossings were fords.  One of the early bridges was Brother's Lane.  It and the Defouri Bridge were constructed specifically for the passage of religious processions.  I intend to return to follow the path in the photo below.

 

The riverwalk park is no exception to Santa Fe's love of art: many sculptures adorn its banks.

When I saw this stunningly-hued plant, I had to help myself to a start.  Hope it's not invasive.

Birds . . .

Not to be forgotten are the numerous birds in our woodsy home away from home.  We have hung up a seed feeder and a nectar feeder.  At them and in the surrounding brush, we've identified juniper titmouse, canyon towhee, green-tailed towhee, American robin, chipping sparrow, American crow, raven, broad-tailed hummingbird, house sparrow, and I'm pretty sure I saw a mountain chickadee.

Cookin' with gas - not!

"Into each life some rain must fall," so wrote Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  Indeed, this morning as I sit in the sun tippy-tapping away, the señor has his head stuck into a low kitchen cupboard of the Wolf Pup employing the hand vac to clear out mouse messes.

That constituted our evening last upon arrival at a wooded RV park outside Santa Fe, New Mexico, and our morning today instead of exploring the countryside, as we had naively and hopefully anticipated.

A mousey invasion of the trailer is quite bad enough (they must not have been in here very long or the damage would have been far worse); however, the real kick in the derriére was discovering that pack rats had eaten (yes, eaten!) our propane lines in addition to various and sundry other electrical wires.  

The discovery was made upon arriving in our driveway to pack up for ten days out.  Desperation calls, leaving pathetic messages, waiting for call-backs to every mobile and stationary RV service firm I could locate resulted in two visits from hopeful worker gentlemen, neither of whom could help in the allotted time.

That leads us to our New Mexico early morning rising to remove everything from the cupboards, wash it all, scrub cupboards, dispose of rodents (hopefully) and get ourselves resituated.  The gas lines are a shambles and some sensor wire were evidently quite tasty also, but the good news is that the trailer lights and brakes are in working order.  We will not have a furnace nor a stove for the duration, but we can survive it.  It's kinda awful having the cost and/or time involved in the repairs when we return, but for now, we will continue as planned, although with a bit less time for playing and a bit more time for cleaning - none of it world-ending.

Two of the very-much-in-demand over-booked repair dudes heeded my cries for a miracle, albeit without a solution.

 

 I crawled under the trailer for a quick shot of the gas line remains . . .

. . . and an enthusiastic but in the end non-helpful repair dude spent some time communing with the señor on the underside of the trailer . . .