It was by now time to check in at the American Artists
Gallery B&B, which is not in the most perfect location there
is, at the end of a dirt road off the main highway about a
mile and a quarter from town - it's eminently walkable, but
the scenery on the main highway is pretty yucky. Be that as
it may, the accommodations are attractive, the welcome
genuine, and the staff helpful. Charles, the proprietor, is
an amusing fellow and a great source of information and
local lore; he's a former manager and investor in La Fonda
in Santa Fe but is now probably working harder in what is
apparently a retirement job as the owner of a B&B. His wife
LeAn is also very personable. Rounding out the scene are an
assortment of help and gorgeous George the peacock, who took
a huge shine to Carol.

Our room was the smallest and cheapest available, not that
much bigger than a garden shed but with a biggish bathroom.
The bed was good; the fireplace - made by a local artist
who is apparently famous - was charming but had an imperfect
draw. Amenities in room: a clunky old gas heater that turned
out to be necessary, as we got down toward freezing in the
wee hours, a corkscrew, and a pair of wine glasses. Also
assorted old issues of New Mexico magazine, each of which
showed tantalizing views of wilderness wonders that we had
not heard of before - sort of guaranteeing a return visit
I guess. At the main house: a hot tub (turned off at 9 pm);
a guest fridge stocked with oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,
sun tea, and lemonade; a washer and dryer; and a freezer.

After discussion with Charles about where to eat, we decided
to take his strong recommendation of Orlando's, a rather
modest cantina north of town. I have this feeling that
Charles had been sort of grilling us regarding our food
attitudes, as this is not the sort of place that all guests
would go for (there's always Byzantium and Doc Martin's for
those). But as we clearly wanted local color, this was where
he sent us. We popped in at prime dinner hour, which meant a
wait; there's no room inside, but there is a campfire out
front with lots of plastic chairs - the camp circle was full
when we arrived, but people kindly expanded it a bit for us.
A slight bit of guilt when our two-top was called ahead of
the large parties who had been waiting by the fire longer,
as we found ourselves inside within 15 minutes. Almost as
soon as we were seated, we were evicted so our table could
be combined with another for one of the larger parties; we
were then given a more desirable one by the wall and an
order of chips and salsa for our trouble. The chips were
freshly fried; the salsa had lots of minced jalapenos.
Carol's Frito pie, ordered before the chips came, was a
most recherche version - instead of just being soupy ground
beef chili on chips, this came with machaca stew, beans,
a big old salad, and a scattering of chips on top. A huge
plate, and she loved it (I would have been happier with the
original version, low-class as my tastes are). My chile
cheeseburger and beer-battered fries was superb, the meat
"ground fresh today," a thick patty.

Dos Equis amber was yummy.

We split a flan - the desserts are made by Orlando's mother.
It was good.

Overnight it rained pretty hard, and the morning sky looked
a bit dubious, so we thought of a shopping day and so were
in no time pressure to get anyplace.

Charles and LeAn cook a renowned breakfast. Today's plate
(you get what comes) was bananas foster waffles (good
waffles, but I make a better bananas foster) with excellent
thick-cut smoked bacon and a nice fruit cup; the bev of the
day was a strawberry-banana smoothie. It was a filling and
enjoyable meal, but Charles had extra waffles and put
another quarter of one on my plate, so when I finished I
felt that I was about to explode.

We puttered around a bit, did the e-mail, checked in to our
next day's flight (23 1/2 hr ahead, and we were nonetheless
Group B), and then went back southward.