![]() The airy plateau around Taos is irresistible. The whole of the Pueblo is a beautiful place to linger – and so we did.Ĭool dudes chilling in the lunchtime heat, Arroyo Seco below, Taos maverick Inside, the shotgun marriage of Catholic and Native American idolatries is fascinating. We bought a traditionally fired pot shaped like a quail from a lone stall up by the graveyard after visiting St Jerome’s Chapel with its dazzling white gabled exterior. Taos Pueblo ceramic quails below the "new" church and original graveyard Most of its current inhabitants flog stuff to tourists, but there’s little hassle. Hence its UNESCO World Heritage Centre status. Continuously inhabited for 1,000 years, it’s the USA’s largest inhabited multi-storey adobe structure. Official population is 5,000, but young and old had flocked in their thousands from the surrounding countryside for the mariachi concerts and parades – and some seriously stodgy eats.īy day the town’s’s old centre is a civilised place to wander round with museums and a good bookshop, but the only must-see is the Taos Pueblo, four miles outside town. It was annual fiesta time in Taos, so the chi chi ranks of art galleries were taking a back seat to party time in the historic Plaza. Healthy eats at the Taos Fiesta below, young warriors in the next day parade The next night, fuelled by some stinging margaritas, we people-watched as a band called Felix y Los Gatos, up from Alburquerque, rocked the old hippy-rammed dancefloor. It’s also the name of the Historic Taos Inn’s courtyard bar. and then to bed in an wonkily authentic adobe room.Īdobe – sand, clay water, sticks – is the predominant building material and style. Sunset-watching from a hammock, sharing a fabulous Mexican takeaway before slugging beer round a campfire. We loved the warm informality of it all immediately. We checked in to the Old Taos Guesthouse, a couple of miles above town. Idyllic – Old Taos Guesthouse, with a hammock and folksy interior Hence the Shangri-La reputation – one consolidated by the backdrop grandeur of 12,000ft high mountains, home to the Taos Ski Resort. Until they bridged the Rio Grande Gorge in 1965 it was damned difficult to reach Taos. Would it live up to the hype or be unbearable? Today over 30 per cent of its 5,000 population are artists. For over a century the likes of Georgia O’Keeffe, Aldous Huxley, Carl Jung, our own DH Lawrence and all kinds of exiled European luminaries have holed up here. Springsteen’s Nevada never sounded so bittersweet.įrom here it’s a 100-mile mountain journey over to Taos, legendary artists’ and writers’ colony. This mid-afternoon salvation came in the High Country Diner, a lovingly preserved saloon with a jukebox loaded with classic Americana. We passed on the sweet stuff but devoured Odell craft ale from across the border in Colorado and, amazingly, the crispiest fish and chips I’ve had in years. We landed lucky in Chama, hill country outpost famed for its honey. Welcome to New Mexico.Įventually, after 250 miles of road-tripping, it’s high time to take a break. ![]() Then suddenly you are out again among picket-fenced grazing land and prosperous ranches. Farmington and Shiprock gridlock your brain with a bizarre combination of casinos and baptist churches, porn superstores and pawn shops. From the Four Corners where four States converge, this is Native American reservation territory. Great road trip watering hole in Chama, New Mexico ![]() You have a destination – in this case Taos, New Mexico – but for the moment you are lost in the unprecedented emptiness. The epic drives under huge skies, startlingly sapphire blue or all storm clouds billowing in from distant mesas, induce a zen-like combination of exhilaration and creeping weariness. Natural Born Killers, No Country For Old Men. Spreadeagled over the bonnet, cuffed and cautioned, maybe that was just the stuff of the movies. In 2,500 miles of road trip that was the only live cop we encountered. Alerted by a flashing truck coming the other way, we slowed down and proceeded in a stately fashion, as they say. The black pick-up perched off a lonely blacktop in the Carson National Forest was a real (disguised) speed trap. Only the locals (population at last count 171) know the moustachioed officer inside is a stuffed dummy, his vehicle a rusting wreck. It sure slows down traffic tempted to hurtle along that long, straight stretch. BACK in Torrey, Utah, there’s a sheriff’s car permanently stationed mid-way along Main Street.
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