Madrid Revisited

After a hike in Tent Rocks National Monument Rebekah and I fool heartedly resort to a throwback paper map since GPS reception is sketchy and we have old school skills.  I had suggested lunch at The Hollar in Madrid, and the AAA fold out map made the ride seem so simple - and direct.  We leave Tent Rocks and laugh when passing through the fee gate, because there is no window at the exit side, obviously to save the gatekeeper from having to cursorily wave at exhausted hikers.

Indian Rte. 92 to NM22 where we breeze by NM16 which brought us in, and continue on the road that shares my lucky number.  Again, the speed limit is slow, but unbeknownst to us this would seem like the Indy 500 in a few short moments.  We cross over I25 and the road abruptly changes to dirt.  No, not exactly dirt.  More like rocks and gravel.  Surely this can't last long so we drive onward.  But is does last, and for the first time in quite a while I lament not having my Saturn Vue.  Circumstances and finances dictated a car switch with my youngest daughter and I now drive a newer Hyundai Elantra.  Not exactly a vehicle made for off-roading, or even rough roading.  My best guess would tell me we endured this bumpy ride for at least a dozen excruciatingly slow miles.

I used to live off a dirt road in Evergreen, Co. in the mid 80's.  I drove a zippy little Subaru hatchback with kick-ass four wheel drive.  Colorado still has plenty of dirt roads, but this New Mexico variety is one of the crappiest I've ever navigated.  I'm not exactly worried, but concerned.  Luckily the conversation speeds the ride along and before we know it Rebekah and I spy NM 14 - the road to Madrid.  Paved and perfect.  I'd be exaggerating if I said I wanted to get out of the car and kiss the blacktop, but it was close.

We are super hungry now, and I am also grateful I utilized the rustic loo before leaving Tent Rocks, because this ride took a while.  We round the curve into Madrid and park at The Hollar.  Our initial greeting is a woman hanging onto her car door, butt naked and relieving herself.  Welcome to Madrid!  Surely this place has bathrooms?  We decide to sit outside to take further advantage of this glorious January day.  There is a wood stove a few feet away on the patio and it keeps us warm, even as the sun decides to set as we finish up our meals of burgers, salad and fried green tomatoes with lavender Béchamel.  I'm vegetarian these days and love when I see veggie burgers as an option.  What I don't love is being told they are home made and it comes out perfectly machine formed.  That's a faux pas in my restaurant book.  If I had known it was commercially prepared I would have chosen a different option.  Nonetheless lupper (that's too late for lunch, too early for supper) was pretty darn good, and a much needed refuel after Nia and a hike.

There were a few other folks enjoying the last rays of winter warmth and sunshine in the outdoor seating area.  A bit of cigarette smoke wafted our way, and Rebekah commented how nice it is we have no smoking regulations in place in the Centennial state.  I wholeheartedly agree.  I don't need a side of second hand smoke with my meal.  Huddled around the wood stove were an interesting trio of pint pounders.  One of them suffered from serious indigestion and/or a deep lack of manners as his belching was prolific, loud and generally a disgusting cacophonous dinner accompaniment.  The woman vacillated between throaty laughter and weepy, whispering wails.  The third guy seemed quasi un-inebriated and was most assuredly the designated driver.  It is refreshing to see people drinking responsibly.

Our time in Madrid was coming to a close.  I reflected to my newfound friend that my first visit, about 10 days earlier had me comparing this town to Manitou Springs; artsy and tourist oriented.  Today's visit had me thinking it was more like the Idaho Springs of yester yore.  Rough around the edges, but still dependent upon locals and tourists alike to stay afloat.  I wonder how the chef/owner of The Hollar would approach such crass behavior on the patio.  That delicate balance of catering to the locals, but keeping tourists - and their dollars - coming back.

Rebekah goes to a crystal shop while I rearrange my car.  I have learned not to have anything in the passenger compartment of my car while parked in New Mexico's capitol city.  Daylight is waning and it will be easier to do this now, rather than later.  In the dark.  On the street.  By myself.  If I gave you a sense of discomfort, that is the truth of how I feel in Santa Fe.

I join my friend in the shop and the owner regales us with the tale of how his shop was recently broken into.  The intruders disabled the security cameras, broke into cases and stole years worth of handiwork.  We ask if his was the only shop broken into and it was not.  But he is convinced that his burglars are not the same thieves that carried out the other heist.  He perused Craig's List and tracked down a woman selling his wares in a casino parking lot.  I asked him if the Sheriff was the law enforcement handling his case and got an earful about how ineffective they are.  That the Sheriff did speak with the parking lot peddler and did nothing.

First impressions are not lasting impressions.  I've been to Santa Fe, ABQ and other cities in New Mexico a few times before.  This is the west and long car travel is second nature.  I was in SF with my middle daughter a few years back on our way to Phoenix for a wedding.  It seemed nice on that last foray.  Not so much this time around.  More than a few people have asked me if I am ready to move here.  Absolutely not.  Besides finding a pool, my Nia tribe, and a writing group, most of my interactions here have not been positive.  I would not be a good ambassador for "Visit Santa Fe".

Time to Write,

Jane