I had high hopes for New Mexico, officially the 25th state on my travels around the US, and it did not disappoint. The state boasts a distinctive look, great food and for my money the best state flag… so what’s not to like?
Welcome to New Mexico!
In Santa Fe, the buildings really are all this colour
We ate a lot of food like this
We flew in and out of Albuquerque but spent the majority of time in Santa Fe, which is smaller, more touristy and quite lovely to walk around. Thanks to the Spanish, the city is built around a central plaza and (gasp!) is not just a mindless grid of roads, although – in a sign that the tourism thing might have gone a bit far – approximately 95% of the shops are art galleries. We went on an eccentric walking tour with a guide whose train of thought was a little indirect, but he was very personable and took us to the ‘miraculous staircase’ at the Lotto Chapel. (Basically, the idea is that St. Joseph – yes, that Joseph, of Mary & Joseph – returned to Earth in order to finish off some building work in the 1870s.) And as a bonus, the walk back to our AirBnb was dark enough that we could see a fair number of stars at night.
The central plaza in Santa Fe
Note all of the chiles
Poking my head into a Pueblo home
The best part of our trip was our morning at the Bandelier National Monument, combining some light hiking with a bit of ladder climbing to look at Pueblo homes – between 400 and 900 years old! – carved into the side of the canyon.
Afterwards we drove to Los Alamos, home of the Manhattan Project to build the world’s first nuclear bomb, and visited the World’s Worst Museum about the whole thing. OK, maybe not the very worst, but the introductory video is mind-bogglingly badly pitched. One would have thought it would be possible to celebrate the scientific advancement of nuclear technology, acknowledge the obvious horror and devastation of its use on Japan, and then give different points of view on whether it was, on balance, a necessary evil.
Instead, I’m not even sure it would be obvious to a child that anyone does die when a nuclear bomb is dropped – there’s just a quick cut to US civilians dancing in the streets. To add insult to injury, the narrator bizarrely declares that “all” of the native people cleared off the land to make way for the Manhattan Project were “happy and willing to do so for the war effort”, as if they conducted a survey. I cannot comprehend why you would even bother lying about this. You’re not going to get a 100% approval rating for bringing in cake to work, so why say something so transparently unbelievable? Get a grip, Los Alamos.
At the Bandelier National Monument
Inside the Alcove House after many ladders
The t-shirt was a risk, but it paid off
We returned to Albuquerque from Santa Fe the same way we had came: by train. That’s right, an actual train slap bang in the middle of the sixth-least densely populated state, with $9 tickets you can buy on your phone, on a railway which has only been operating since 2006. If it can be done here, no one else has any excuse. By our final day we were pretty exhausted, so took a leisurely walk around the Old Town, sat and listened to a fetching rendition of The Winner Takes It All on some wind instruments (no sarcasm, it was pretty good) and sat in a diner watching a muted, subtitled episode of General Hospital. (We were perplexed by this show in so many ways, but most noteworthy is that zero scenes actually took place in or around a hospital of any sort.)
Albuquerque Old Town
The world’s creepiest petrol station
Halfway there! đ
Time for a mini post! A bite-sized, Trump-fingered hors d’oeuvre of a post which I’m writing, unless I’m repressing memories again, from the first motel I’ve ever stayed in. There’s nothing wrong with this motel, to be clear, unless I’m murdered after posting this. Murdered or not, I’m in Palo Alto this week for work before flying to New Mexico for the long Memorial Day weekend, so wanted to clear the blogging decks in advance of that trip.
Sunny blue skies, as yet murder-free motel
What I really wish I’d taken a photo of, but you’ll just have to imagine instead, is the stolen Google bike (in Google colours) lying discarded in some bushes by the pavement.
Back in Chicago, it came to my attention that I don’t think Chloe and Aaron have ever actually appeared here pictorially, so below is a particularly tense moment from a game of 6 Nimmt! (not a typo) which Katie dispatched for Randi’s birthday:
A clearly outrageous situation
Today’s frozen yoghurt flavour of choice: French vanilla
Last weekend we journeyed to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin with Rudy, Amanda and Melissa – the last of whom I first met in New York two years ago but has studiously avoided me in her subsequent trips to Chicago. No longer! We stayed in a quaint AirBnB, took walks around the lake (though not the full “21 mile perimeter” of which Rudy spoke), swung on swings, played an unwieldy game of giant Uno – shuffling was a challenge – and, most importantly, watched the Eurovision final on Saturday night. Most memorable was Rudy’s description of Portugal as he sung: “he looks, and sounds, like a Pixar animated short”. Then of course Portugal won, which pleased me in so much as the alternative was Bulgaria, but I still think Moldova were robbed. Again.
Lake Geneva
Celebrating diversity
Rudy, Amanda, Melissa and Randi on a Culver’s stop
Melissa stayed a little longer with us in Chicago afterwards, which was lovely, and then on Wednesday it was Randi’s birthday! Apparently it was terribly gauche of us to eat out and order the same gnocchi with gorgonzola… but we enjoyed it đ
Nerdy statistical vignette:
The other day, at work, I had several rows of numbers in an Excel spreadsheet. They represented two ratios over multiple days. On every single day, ratio A was higher than ratio B. But when I added them all together over all days, ratio B was higher than ratio A. I was convinced I was doing something wrong, but eventually I went hunting round the office for a pair of statisticians, who gazed at my spreadsheet and declared I had stumbled across Simpson’s paradox in the wild. “It’s beautiful!” they said. Beautiful, but strange. If you’ve been looking for an excuse to read up on weird statistical quirks on Wikipedia, now is your chance.
Joke which I overheard and will now steal to balance out nerdy statistical vignette:
“I’m good friends with 25 letters of the alphabet, but I don’t know why…”
Rest of post:
After walking past the Kingston Mines blues club and saying “we should check that out sometime!” many times, Randi and I finally visited one Saturday night, and it was lovely. Also the drinks were surprisingly inexpensive, which is how I ended up drinking as much sangria as I did and having to compensate with cheesy chips. (They weren’t quite cheesy chips in the way Cat would understand, but close enough.) Later that weekend we played an extended game of ‘mega Carcassonne’ with Catherine and AJ, seeking an unfair advantage for ourselves by adding in as many expansions as we could. I doubt we’ll be invited back.
More Carcassonne! More!
Continuing the French theme, last week we went back to Improv Shakespeare with Ellen and Emilie and watched The Mariner’s Mistake unfold: a story of war between England and France’s rather sensitive and likeable King Philippe. Plus fighting cat soldiers. And then on Sunday, as you may have noticed, we watched all sorts of likeable French people in real life cheer in Paris as their successful election results were announced. Bon travail!
We also watched Howl’s Moving Castle (strong start, somewhat meandering middle, always beautiful to watch) and hosted two mini Eurovision parties for the semi finals. (A full Eurovision report from a cabin in Wisconsin should be expected from my next post.) Below is our second gathering… a shout out to Calvin and Emilie who helped us eat a lot of cheese and wine during the first one, including a baked Camembert which Cat would certainly have approved of…
A new generation of newly-minted Eurovision fans
Assuming my mum’s negatives were labelled correctly, this was me at thirteen
Today, this blog officially becomes a teenager. Happy thirteenth birthday, blog! No one will like you for a couple of years.
I’ve never thought about it this way before, but I guess we’re also getting close to the point where I’ll have been blogging for over half of my life. This messes with my internal chronology, as did discovering that the Lib Dem candidate for the Brent Central constituency – where I will soon have to cast a hastily arranged proxy vote for someone – is a mere 22 years old. That doesn’t seem acceptable. Or how about this: if Theresa May wins a thumping majority, I could be just shy of 33 before getting any chance to vote in a general election. At that point, stop counting.
Our Adler crew of victorious scavenger hunters
None of this ageing crisis applies to Doctor Who. Randi and I saw the first episode of the new series in the cinema and we both loved it so much. Bill is a wonderful new companion who instinctively makes me smile, Capaldi is warmer and friendlier and the whole thing feels fresh and exciting and adventurous. (This is not a reaction against the last series, which I also loved, but it certainly feels different.)
Last week we also had our third outing to Adler After Dark where we supported Catherine and AJ’s strenuous efforts to complete the scavenger hunt and win free drink vouchers. We also learnt about the hypothetical Planet Nine in a presentation which confirmed how ridiculous Pluto’s ‘planet’ status always was. I resent people who cheer for Pluto at astronomy presentations. I’m that person. (See how I’ve hardened over the years…)
Finally, we also saw Scapegoat at the Den Theatre. In the play, a trio of ‘Religious Freedom Caucus’ politicians face off against an old, established, liberal senator and his family. Also, the senator is secretly a Satanist. Also, his son has converted to Christianity after losing his wife. There are a lot of “also,” moments in this play in general, which was fun to watch (because, c’mon, it has whole scenes about Senate procedure!) but didn’t actually make a lot of sense. Most obviously, a constitutional amendment to force a national referendum on “any law affecting the rights of a minority” is a terrible idea, and someone should have told the playwright this.
The faces of pure joy
Looking at the wrong camera
Finally finally, above are the amazing Meepillows which Catherine and AJ went to extraordinary lengths to get for us! A very special day.
Linda Moffitt on Colombia: “Such a sweet memory of the four of you meeting up in Colombia!” Dec 2, 07:42
