To wait out the results of the bar exams, I went to America and stayed with my mom in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for about three months. I arrived through L.A., where I stayed a couple of days, before heading for Albuquerque, New Mexico, the nearest intercontinental airport to Santa Fe. Driving into New Mexico was a treat for me as it is unlike any other city in America.
According to Wikipedia (yes, Wikipedia), Santa Fe is the oldest capital city in the whole United States founded around 1050 by pueblo indians. The State was later colonized by Mexico and named Santa Fe New Mexico so that from the late 1600s until it joined the union in the late 19th century, Santa Fe was marred by various pueblo indian revolts.
Santa Fe's relatively rich history is obvious in its rather incongruous landscape. Driving into the city, I passed by snow-capped mountains standing above open and arid land. The houses are, I regret the cliche, a sight to behold. They were adobe houses that looked like pueblo dwellings, with its rooftop and walkways lined with a number of farolitos or paper lanterns.
The city, it seems, is very much concerned with aesthetics. Not just beauty, but the whole philosophy of beauty and art. The city took care of its artists and creates spaces for arts. I can almost imagine art works scattered around the city, waking up at night when the living residents are fast asleep, stretching a bit, and then walking around to mingle.
The people there were also pretty laid back. They take the time to look around, they sit down on park benches to have a rest, took their coffee properly, in proper cups and saucers, while seated, instead of on the go.
The food scene in Santa Fe is also interesting as it is a city that sits in between cultures. There is a decent sampling of the regular variety--American, Italian, Greek, Japanese and Chinese-- and a very good representation for Texas Barbecue and authentic Mexican food. By authentic Mexican I mean that they do not serve tacos... they serve sopapillas and enchiladas and tamales, made from real corn husks.
I don't really remember much of the details of my three-month long stay in New Mexico but I remember the highlights...the reason why I would want to visit again one day.
Upon arriving in New Mexico, the first thing I did was to learn the bus routes. My sisters had arrived before I did but they did not think of learning the bus routes. Santa Fe does not have intercity mass transit trains, although it is famous for its intercontinental trains. The bus routes and bus schedules are pretty straightforward and reliable. The intervals are written on the bus schedule which you can get from bus stops and from the bus drivers. Also, the bus drivers are generally friendly and willing to help you get around, unless, of course, they are not that conversant in English. On my first week, my sisters and I tried various bus routes, particularly those to the library, mall and cinema where we spent a lot of our time just to get off our asses.
We spent a lot of time in the Santa Fe Public Library. I borrowed quite a number of books and bought old library books on sale, to while away the time.Occasionally, we'd go out to visit a place of interest, or a casino, or a mall outside the city. But generally, we were confined to our house (I was particularly confined to the couch).
On my second week, because the weather was as nice as it could get in December, I decided to walk through Canyon Road, an uphill street in downtown Santa Fe with hundreds of art galleries housing various types of art. Canyon road is, likely, the most intriguing street I've ever been. There, the houses stood alongside galleries, or were galleries themselves. Even the driveways were quirky. Many open spaces were littered with garden art, and artists at work.
Some galleries housed serious paintings (okay... "fine art" but I have objections to the terminology), others, native american art. My favorites were the ones housing contemporary art as almost of them were rather whimsical. I remember one painting (unfortunately, I failed to take note of the gallery and the artist, although it was probably Chalk Farm Gallery), where there was a painting of a man, or a silhouette of a man, peeping through a doorway slightly left a jar. Through the sliver of an opening, the man could see the moon and the stars which pretty much summed up my melancholy over knowing how huge the whole universe is and how I will never be able to see it in its entirety. Because I was unemployed at the time, I did not think of buying it. But if I find it, now, I would probably try and find a way to buy it.
We also went to Canyon Road on Christmas eve, which, incidentally, was the night we found out my grandma was dying. Every Christmas eve, Canyon road is dressed up with farolitos lining the whole stretch. Residents and tourists walked around in their heavy coats and boots, with their dogs. Some galleries were kind enough to set up bonfires so the people won't freeze to death while walking or offer hot drinks. The center of the festivities was Cafe des Artistes, an artists' cafe where most people stayed a bit to have some coffee and watch live entertainment from a guy with a guitar, who decided to set-up right in front of the cafe and play some music.
On Christmas day (which was December 26 in the Philippines), my grandma passed away. As tickets in December are twice more expensive on any other month, my mom was the only one who could come home. My sisters and I were left to the care of my mom's friends, Tita Aida and Uncle Jim, who were kind enough to entertain us in the two weeks my mom was away.
Uncle Jim, who dabbled in photography and video editing as a hobby, was scheduled to interview a glass blower in Tesuque, and invited us to tag along. By then I was no longer new to the Santa Fe art scene. Still, it amazed me to see how art was literally littered all over the city, and how most gardens did not just have the typical benches and trees but also had art installations, as though it was compulsory. Tesuque Glassworks, is fronted by an "open art gallery" with quirky contemporary sculptures.
After walking around for a bit, we were invited into the glass blowing factory. Until then I hadn't realized how intricate the work was (in fact, I didn't know that they actually needed to blow the glass). The guy who was working on something then was a bit of a rock star, blasting 80's rock music while working wearing shades, as opposed to goggles, and rejecting protective clothing. He talked to us while working, smiled for the camera and made it a point to entertain us with flashy glassblowing moves. Being glassblowing idiots, we were all sufficiently impressed.
Of all the places I've ever been, I would say that Santa Fe seemed the most... emotional. I mean that not in the sense that the city evoked all sorts of emotions from me, but in the sense that it seemed to me that it had emotions of its own. In Santa Fe, art had a life of its own. It had spaces to live and to endure, and were not grimly confined to museums as in Paris or London. There, you get to interact with art and artists freely and, in a way, the art gets to interact with the people just as freely.
According to Wikipedia (yes, Wikipedia), Santa Fe is the oldest capital city in the whole United States founded around 1050 by pueblo indians. The State was later colonized by Mexico and named Santa Fe New Mexico so that from the late 1600s until it joined the union in the late 19th century, Santa Fe was marred by various pueblo indian revolts.
Santa Fe's relatively rich history is obvious in its rather incongruous landscape. Driving into the city, I passed by snow-capped mountains standing above open and arid land. The houses are, I regret the cliche, a sight to behold. They were adobe houses that looked like pueblo dwellings, with its rooftop and walkways lined with a number of farolitos or paper lanterns.
The city, it seems, is very much concerned with aesthetics. Not just beauty, but the whole philosophy of beauty and art. The city took care of its artists and creates spaces for arts. I can almost imagine art works scattered around the city, waking up at night when the living residents are fast asleep, stretching a bit, and then walking around to mingle.
The people there were also pretty laid back. They take the time to look around, they sit down on park benches to have a rest, took their coffee properly, in proper cups and saucers, while seated, instead of on the go.
The food scene in Santa Fe is also interesting as it is a city that sits in between cultures. There is a decent sampling of the regular variety--American, Italian, Greek, Japanese and Chinese-- and a very good representation for Texas Barbecue and authentic Mexican food. By authentic Mexican I mean that they do not serve tacos... they serve sopapillas and enchiladas and tamales, made from real corn husks.
I don't really remember much of the details of my three-month long stay in New Mexico but I remember the highlights...the reason why I would want to visit again one day.
Upon arriving in New Mexico, the first thing I did was to learn the bus routes. My sisters had arrived before I did but they did not think of learning the bus routes. Santa Fe does not have intercity mass transit trains, although it is famous for its intercontinental trains. The bus routes and bus schedules are pretty straightforward and reliable. The intervals are written on the bus schedule which you can get from bus stops and from the bus drivers. Also, the bus drivers are generally friendly and willing to help you get around, unless, of course, they are not that conversant in English. On my first week, my sisters and I tried various bus routes, particularly those to the library, mall and cinema where we spent a lot of our time just to get off our asses.
We spent a lot of time in the Santa Fe Public Library. I borrowed quite a number of books and bought old library books on sale, to while away the time.Occasionally, we'd go out to visit a place of interest, or a casino, or a mall outside the city. But generally, we were confined to our house (I was particularly confined to the couch).
On my second week, because the weather was as nice as it could get in December, I decided to walk through Canyon Road, an uphill street in downtown Santa Fe with hundreds of art galleries housing various types of art. Canyon road is, likely, the most intriguing street I've ever been. There, the houses stood alongside galleries, or were galleries themselves. Even the driveways were quirky. Many open spaces were littered with garden art, and artists at work.
Some galleries housed serious paintings (okay... "fine art" but I have objections to the terminology), others, native american art. My favorites were the ones housing contemporary art as almost of them were rather whimsical. I remember one painting (unfortunately, I failed to take note of the gallery and the artist, although it was probably Chalk Farm Gallery), where there was a painting of a man, or a silhouette of a man, peeping through a doorway slightly left a jar. Through the sliver of an opening, the man could see the moon and the stars which pretty much summed up my melancholy over knowing how huge the whole universe is and how I will never be able to see it in its entirety. Because I was unemployed at the time, I did not think of buying it. But if I find it, now, I would probably try and find a way to buy it.
We also went to Canyon Road on Christmas eve, which, incidentally, was the night we found out my grandma was dying. Every Christmas eve, Canyon road is dressed up with farolitos lining the whole stretch. Residents and tourists walked around in their heavy coats and boots, with their dogs. Some galleries were kind enough to set up bonfires so the people won't freeze to death while walking or offer hot drinks. The center of the festivities was Cafe des Artistes, an artists' cafe where most people stayed a bit to have some coffee and watch live entertainment from a guy with a guitar, who decided to set-up right in front of the cafe and play some music.
On Christmas day (which was December 26 in the Philippines), my grandma passed away. As tickets in December are twice more expensive on any other month, my mom was the only one who could come home. My sisters and I were left to the care of my mom's friends, Tita Aida and Uncle Jim, who were kind enough to entertain us in the two weeks my mom was away.
Uncle Jim, who dabbled in photography and video editing as a hobby, was scheduled to interview a glass blower in Tesuque, and invited us to tag along. By then I was no longer new to the Santa Fe art scene. Still, it amazed me to see how art was literally littered all over the city, and how most gardens did not just have the typical benches and trees but also had art installations, as though it was compulsory. Tesuque Glassworks, is fronted by an "open art gallery" with quirky contemporary sculptures.
After walking around for a bit, we were invited into the glass blowing factory. Until then I hadn't realized how intricate the work was (in fact, I didn't know that they actually needed to blow the glass). The guy who was working on something then was a bit of a rock star, blasting 80's rock music while working wearing shades, as opposed to goggles, and rejecting protective clothing. He talked to us while working, smiled for the camera and made it a point to entertain us with flashy glassblowing moves. Being glassblowing idiots, we were all sufficiently impressed.
Of all the places I've ever been, I would say that Santa Fe seemed the most... emotional. I mean that not in the sense that the city evoked all sorts of emotions from me, but in the sense that it seemed to me that it had emotions of its own. In Santa Fe, art had a life of its own. It had spaces to live and to endure, and were not grimly confined to museums as in Paris or London. There, you get to interact with art and artists freely and, in a way, the art gets to interact with the people just as freely.
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