UA8024 IAD PVD 0815 0944 ERJ 4C

Boarding, I dono, as I arrived in the middle of it.
Quick, moderately loaded flight, most of which I slept
through. I did note that the pax who had been jubilant
about getting 1A, 2A, and 3A were somewhat less so when
told to go behind row 15 for weight and balance. My choice
of 4C looked pretty good. I snoozed well in 4C.

We got in pretty early, and I'd never seen the new WN
terminal at BWI, and I've seen PVD a zillion times, so
I scampered to the gate to see if I couldn't get on the
9:30. No gate agent. After that flight left, I waited 15
minutes to find out that as I had what the nasty lady said
was a "heavily discounted Internet fare" (the receipt said
$400 plus 68 in taxes, which is $25 more than the walkup
fare on DL/NW) I'd have to pay 130.00 (the difference from
full Y) to get on the 10:30! I said it probably wasn't
worth it. What I really wanted to say was, well, beyond
words. Others say that Southwest does well by them. This
airline has, on the contrary, consistently treated me
shabbily and actually refused to let me use travel credits
from a cancelled flight several times, until they expired.

I went to the nice quiet US Air end and fiddled with the
computer (began this report, actually) for 3 hours.

WN 141 PVD BWI 1405 1525 733 17A

I obediently queued up about ten deep in group B and had a
rather jolly chat with a retired archeologist who was quite
happy that I was going to Albuquerque and Santa Fe. We
started chatting by telling Southwest jokes, then airline
jokes, then railway jokes. And while we chatted, they called
group B, and all these young people crashed the line, damn
them. So I was lucky to get a window at all. Slept through
the flight; woke to a shrewish agent screaming, do you want
to get off the plane or don't you? This would have been a
bit of an embarrassment but for the fact that she had been
yelling at the people in row 5 or 6.

My sweetie was there at the gate to console me with kisses,
and we went off to Church's for a snack. Terminal A, though
airy and potentially okay, has been crapped up with lots of
cheap-... shops and junk restaurants. As the main reason I'd
wanted to get on the earlier flight was to see the new digs,
it wasn't such a big deal that I waited at Providence, where
there was a quiet place to tap away, rather than at this
waste-of-opportunity zoolike facility. Carol had the chicken
fingers, which tasted sour and were as nasty as the general
consensus about the place. On the other hand, two thighs
were moist, fresh, tasty. On the other other hand, a side of
okra was greasy, slimy, squishy, and altogether horrid.

WN2081 BWI ABQ 1645 1915 73G 7EF

We had just enough time to wash our hands and get in line
at the nether end of group A and B, respectively. Carol
went ahead to claim some spaces, and I enjoyed listening
to the interesting problems of people in the end of group
B and group C. One lady was adamant on getting on this
plane ahead of us, as she was group A. Problem was, of
course, that not only had she missed the A cattle call and
thus had no standing, but in addition to that, she held a
boarding pass for a Denver flight, and we were going to
Albuquerque. There were a bunch of Cs trying to crash the
line, and other phenomena, such as the guy who hoped that
we would go to Tucson first, as he was behind schedule.

Carol got a prime seat in row 7 and had put her tiny bag
in the overhead, so there was room for mine when I got
there, heh heh. Flight took off on time, bumpily, flew
fast, bumpily, and landed half an hour ahead, I was ready
to say bumpily, but actually the landing was very clean.

I had a Bourbon with a water back, paid for with coupons
provided by TransWorldOne. The FA had me repeat my order
and then have me describe what I meant. I guess he doesn't
sell much Bourbon.

The snack services are: peanuts and a box of Nabisco
products - peanut butter cheese crackers, Fig Newtons, and
low-fat Wheat Thins in the 100 Calorie pack (you get a small
handful of them; I remarked that you could get one of those
330 mL Guinness bottles and consume the same number of
Calories with much greater satisfaction).

Carol had made a reservation at the Econo Lodge Old Town,
which is actually right near Old Town and is quite pleasant
in a declasse way. The accommos are decent and clean, and
the staff are friendly. They recommended that we walk into
Old Town (about 4 to 6 blocks) and see what was open.

So we walked around sniffing the air until we came to the
Church Street Cafe, in one of the oldest buildings (a former
residence) in Albuquerque. It looked kind of dubious, but
we accosted some folks leaving, asking how it was. They said
it was terrific, and in fact their friends, who were locals,
had sent them there. Turns out we got there just in time:
the greeter informed us that they'd just closed (it was
around 9:30), but no problem.

The place was still hopping, but I did notice that most
folks were well into their meal by the time we were seated.

The usual chips and salsa were pretty decent, the latter
offering a pleasant tingle.

I ordered carne adovada, a respectable version, somewhat
mild, sided with rice (nasty) and spinach (underseasoned
but for some chopped jalapenos); Carol had the combination,
Christmas, with chile relleno, pork tamale, and a cheese
enchilada - these were of a decent standard, no surprises.

Carol downed a couple agave margaritas - these are made
not from tequila but from agave wine, which makes them
less lethal but with more of the agave spiciness. I had
a Rio Grande Outlaw Lager, a decent amber-colored beer,
followed by the Rancho Verde Chile Beer, which tasted quite
green and with a bit of spicy kick, but hardly any beer
taste. Could have been vodka and soda with jalapenos, for
all I could tell.

For afters, sopaipillas. They were really closing the
kitchen, so we got one nice puffy one, two semi-nice
semi-puffy ones, and one failure, which we didn't eat.

Next day we discovered that our motel had those advertising
cards entitling each diner to one of those weak margaritas
for free.

Woke up to a brilliant bright day; got a relatively early
start and walked the length and breadth of Old Town,
stopping in many of the tchochke shops, much to my chagrin,
but buying next to nothing, which pleased me to no end.
Old Town is kind of insignificant, to my eye, offering
neither much historical interest (yeah, a few old buildings)
nor the full offensive experience of a big tourist area.
Carol had a coupon for a free pair of turquoise studs, one
per customer, no purchase required, at one of the shops
(courtesy of one of the tourist books), but even though we
went in that particular store, she didn't bother to get any.

Decided to high-tail it out of town, but walking back to
the car, we bumped into Julia's, right near the intersection
of Rio Grande and Central, and it was 11, so we had an early
lunch, which was copious and very satisfying.

We asked for samples of their green and red (the menu
claims that the green is very hot) - I found neither
particularly hot, but both fairly pleasant. I had the
Indian burger, a 6-to-8-oz gristly meat patty (no problem,
I don't mind gristle and need a source of glucosamine and
chondroitin anyway) topped with green chile, cheese, guac,
and salad stuff, served in a giant fry bread. I asked for
extra chile and hold the cheese; it was pretty good.

Carol had another combination, pork tamale, beef and
potato taco, and cheese enchilada, with red sauce. The
food was as good as Church Street, but less fancy and
less money. A side of rice, however, was nasty in a
completely different way (tasted like Minute).

No booze at this place, so I had hot cider, and Carol had
coffee, which she didn't care for.

And so off we went to Petroglyph National Monument, where
despite her one bad knee and one terrible knee she hiked
heroically up one sizable hill and along two small trails.
We saw some terrific petroglyphs and encountered an
engagingly goofy new-age-type-guy park ranger who after
giving a little talk on the meanings of the glyphs launched
into a diatribe on the evils of the modern world (some of
this I agreed with, but if I'd told him how much kerosene
I waste every year, he'd have thought me the spawn of Satan
or something).

It was getting on in the day, so we decided to pass up the
famous tram up Sandia Peak and proceed on to Santa Fe via
route 14, a very nice back road with some fine views. On
the way, we came to a bar called Kokopelli's; Carol used to
be very into Kokopelli, so we decided to stop for a mid-
afternoon snort. She had the house margarita, which was
palatable and not too expensive, and I had Cutthroat Porter,
rather lighter than I had hoped, but pleasant, with a
pronounced coffee tone. Back onto the highway, which soon
began to afford fine views most of the way to Santa Fe.

We checked into the Old Santa Fe Inn, which has a pretty
ideal location, one block south of downtown. Carol's buddy
Marnie at Diplomat Travel had carefully picked this place
for us, and turns out she was spot on. It was perfect. Our
room was on the small side but very pleasantly appointed,
dominated by a large piece of furniture that multiples as
a closet, chest of drawers, and entertainment center. The
bathroom was attractively decorated. Windows that actually
open (yay!).

Friendly staff. Milk and cookies in the afternoon.

It was a nice evening, so we walked a mile down Galisteo,
then over to Maria's New Mexican Kitchen, which is notable
for offering 120-odd tequilas and 100-odd margaritas.
Carol's house 100% agave was lackluster, so for her second,
she had a Bulls-Eye; made with somewhat more prestigious
brands, which I forget, it was quite a bit spicier and more
savory. I had a flight of anejo tequilas:

Cabo Wabo, which I always wanted to try but would not buy
because of the silliness of the name, was the most ordinary
of the three, relatively light in color and body, with a
quite standard generic nose. A pleasantly sweet opening, a
touch of smoke and agave spiciness on the palate, with some
chocolate sneaking in midmouth and on the finish. It was
okay, nothing to write home about.

Don Julio was also fairly light (not quite as light), with
a pleasantly spicy green nose and a vegetal, peppery palate.
It was also okay.

Herradura had apparently more oak, as its color was richly
golden and promising. An alcoholic nose sort of blew off a
bit, replaced by an apricottish aroma. Complex, interesting.
A little herbal and fairly chocolaty on the palate with a
nice long finish and a spicy kick.

The very fresh chips and rather hot salsa would have been
almost enough of an accompaniment to satisfy us, but we went
on nonetheless with guacamole (nice and chunky, lots of
onions and a bit of jalapeno here and there), a bowl of
green chile stew (very porky, but I thought both potatoes
and beans were too much; Carol liked it), and an appetizer
sampler: on one full-size platter a pork tamale (good meat
in a cooked-enough but kind of bland cornmeal, served with
a cup each of green (made with roasted chiles, medium hot)
and red (made with dried chiles, mild but rather bitter)),
some of the famous house ribs (nicely smoked but with too
much of a sweet but otherwise pleasant red-chile-based
sauce), and a tiny salad; on another full-size platter a
pair of taquitos that tasted as though they had been made
with lamb, and a huge pile of very cheesy nachos. We were
too full to consider either dessert or another round but
instead toddled back very slowly back to the hotel.

A wholesome hotel breakfast, the usual choices but red and
green chile sauces in addition. I had the breakfast of
champions: a cup of blueberries, a cup of red chile sauce
with some sausages cut up into it, and four glasses of
grapefruit juice. Normal people could get a normal meal.

We went downtown for window-shopping and museums - Carol
put her name in for a print of the Lorax at the Chuck Jones
Gallery (which specializes in Warner Brothers and Disney-
related material (cels and such) but also has a bunch of
Seuss stuff and other). Turns out the one she wanted was
sold out, which is bad and good (the good part: $500 saved).

The O'Keeffe museum is small but fun for half an hour.
The MFA is larger but also fun for half an hour, more if
you're amused by bad art. There was I admit an emphasis
on a local artist of German extraction, Gustave Baumann,
whose output was copious, Protean, and worthwhile.

After doing the sights - the Plaza, Loretto Chapel, and so
on - and a bit of shopping, we decided to walk to the Pink
Adobe for lunch. It was closed, so we wandered aimlessly
for a while, saw what was represented as the oldest house
in North America, tossed around the idea of not having any
lunch at all, and ended up at La Fonda, where at the bar
there's a $10 buffet. It was surprisingly good. I tried
everything (being honor bound to), and all was of a pretty
high standard - and a couple of things were exceptional.

The albondingas soup was fine, the meat-and-rice-balls
reminding me of something mother made back when I was a
kid; the chicken soup tasty, lots of white meat and celery
and with an herb I didn't recognize; green chile stew was
very flavorsome but quite light on the pork, which was in
the form of little ground bits.

Cheese enchiladas in red or green were the usual, the sauces
commercial I think but pretty good.

I thought the carne adovada was the best flavored of the
entire trip, although it had more ground than chopped meat.
Taco meat was delicious, lots of cumin and just enough red
chile. Posole was the best of the trip, the only version
that didn't remind me of sawdust. Refritos and pintos both
had a nice smoky flavor.

For afters, natilla, good-tasting but with a bit of a
peculiar texture, the pudding interspersed with little
snots of curdled egg white - it was as though someone had
read the recipe wrong or it had been mistranslated or
something. Also available were ordinary sugar cookies.

Carol had a very good chile cheeseburger with great
fries. Ordered medium-rare, it came medium-rare.

Toddled home via the Santa Fe Vineyards tasting room, where
a cantankerous but amusing salesman sold us a couple flights
- for $5 one gets 11 1-oz-plus pours and to keep the glass.

As usual, the house description is followed by my comments.

Vina del Sol - premium white table wine, fresh, fruity and
delicate. Very fruity nose, unripe peach on the palate,
a rather bitter finish

Tinto del Sol - premium red table wine, soft, medium
bodied, ruby cabernet blend. Honey going to kerosene;
medium dry, okay.

Santa Fe blush - premium blush table wine, fresh and
fruity, with a hint of strawberry, medium sweet. Apricot,
honeycomb. Enjoyable, ideal swigging wine. Carol said
fruit punch; the guy suggested cutting some fruit into it
for sangria.

White Zinfandel - strawberry, raspberry, tropical aromas,
tangy, medium sweet. Thin, yes strawberry, not offensive
but only on account of its lack of character. Some of the
other people tasting at the same time we were loved it.

Indian Market white - spicy peach and pear aromas, medium
sweet. Thin body, lots of peach. Extremely sweet. Muscat?

Chardonnay - medium bodied, balanced and crisp. Slightly
smoky, rather salty. Not bad.

Chardonnay reserve - full bodied, rich and round. Lots of
oak; buttery. Fairly typical, but the oak was a little
obtrusive. Slightly bitter finish.

Cabernet Sauvignon - big, full flavored, intense, spicy,
black currant and cherry flavors. Lots of tannin; rather
too young to drink. Some cherry and plum.

Merlot - aging in American oak has given this merlot charm
and suppleness. Pepper, coffee, spice, olives, plum.

Rojo dulce - late harvest style sweet red, with flavors of
cherry and strawberry. Not all that sweet, and certainly not
late harvest; ok; not much going on.

Zinfandel Port - [no house description]. Very raisiny but
not all that sweet, nor that strong. One-dimensional. They
charge 17.50 for a half bottle, and it's emphatically not
worth that price.

A number of other customers while we were there; some were
repeaters, lured by the best booze bargain in town. One
couple, however, looked aghast that they were expected to
shell out five whole smackers and left in a huff even as
I was remarking to them that it was a good deal.

After a snooze at home it was time for dinner at Coyote
Cafe, just two blocks off.

We were welcomed cheerfully and led along a spiral path
to a little nook with 3 or 4 deuces and a 4-top. I think
we got the best of the twos. One waiter and several subs
worked this section as well as the adjacent much larger one.

A bread basket had pretty good corn cakes and excellent
green chile Cheddar scones, served with soft sweet butter.

We started off with the Gruet n.v., which has been
represented to me as the best of the New Mexico wines; it
had a very slight bitterness on the opening and lemon and
honey on the palate. Tiny bubbles. Very slightly off-dry.
A clean wine with a clean finish, pretty good.

Roast New Mexico red chile soup, huitlacoche fritter,
nopales, cotija cheese - this was shockingly but not
unpleasantly sweet, the very salty fritter helping the
balance when broken into the soup. A lot of cactus pad
julienne, which Carol thought a bit ugly. The cheese,
instead of being crumbled on top, was blended in; I
didn't care for that, but most likely would not mind.

A blackened habanero and duck confit tamale was altogether
too mildly spiced, the habanero notable by its absence,
the confit by its non-confitness. Of the advertised
garnishes of cracklings, shiitakes, and Anasazi beans, the
first were absent, the second very subtle, and the last
very abundant. The masa was tasteless (what an opportunity
for added flavor, wasted).

Brined grilled bobwhite quail was sublimely delicious, the
thighs one of the most memorable poultry tastes I've ever
tasted. Its sweet potato, pear, apple cider bacon tamale
garnish was also good; although I was getting a bit tired
of tamales, I admit that its corn component was well
seasoned and quite delicious. A dried cranberry mole was
sort of like sweet and sour sauce anywhere but at least
not thickened.

Carol's Southwest garden sampler was competently done but
to my view not really notable, A white corn wild mushroom
enchilada was nice but "so what"; I didn't try the goat
cheese tamale, which got similar positive but not ecstatic
impressions from the consumer; the poblano relleno with
huitlacoche sauce was fine, a pleasant surprise being
kernels of fresh roasted corn in the stuffing.

An almond meringue layered with chocolate-cinnamon mousse,
Kahlua ice cream was kind of peculiar, the meringue part
being more like a rather coarse, heavy flourless cake, the
mousse sticky and odd. The ice cream was I thought more like
an Irish Cream flavor.

The oatmeal cookie sandwich with honey ice cream had tasty
but overcooked (hard) cookies and an intensely flavored
ice cream with a yummy pinon brittle mixed in.

A good but, aside from the one astonishing high point, not
a stellar meal. The desk guy at the inn had said that Coyote
has the best dry-aged steak in town, but I or perhaps my
arteries didn't feel like a steak that night.

A clear morning - perfect for sightseeing and scoping out
prehistoric Indian ruins. So we went off to do just that.

A very pretty ride down 502 and then rte 4 toward Los
Alamos: we stopped at the breathtaking overlook at White
Rock (views up and down the Rio Grande Valley and a very
beautiful tributary waterfall) before continuing to
Bandelier National Monument, the site of an Anasazi town of
about a thousand years ago. Carol, despite the bum knees,
looked forward to the standard loop trail, which encompasses
the valley settlement Tyuonyi, the cliff dwellings, and the
long house. A moderate crowd, and we wondered what it would
be like during school vacation - hundreds of hikers and
a hundred degrees at the same time: a recipe for hell on
earth. But here in March, aside from the bottleneck at the
cliff dwellings that you're allowed to go into, the
experience was just fine, and there were moments when you
could look around and not see anyone. Ah, yes, deer in the
valley, which enchanted the tourists (but I could barely
make them out). There is another trail that involves a
140-ft rise on four ladders, and we passed on that, and the
waterfall trail that goes all the way down to the Rio
Grande was earmarked for another year. But we had a very
nice and not too strenuous hike. So still energetic and
flushed with success, we proceeded to Tsankawi, which I'd
hoped was more of a wilderness experience: it's a less but
not "un"developed part of Bandelier, just north of White
Rock. An exhilarating 2-mile hike yields the ruins of an
ancient hilltop pueblo, plus some cliff dwellings and a
few really neat petroglyphs.

Back to the main highway and a turn onto 503, which is also
a very pretty ride, to the Rancho de Chimayo for a pitcher
of sangria and an early dinner.

A very cheerful waitress, when we dithered about guacamole
or salsa, served us both; unlike lesser restaurants, which
serve salsa for free, there's a charge of $2.95 here - but
she ended up charging us only for the more expensive guac.
The salsa is exceptionally tart but only moderately spiced.
The guac is unexceptionable and made to look a lot bigger
by being piled on shredded lettuce (which I ate, with
someone who shall remain nameless cooing "gooboy, eat your
vegibibbles" in the background).

Sangria was respectable but had too much ice. I believe it
was made with Santa Fe Vineyards Tinto.

Carol, untrue to form, had carne asada, half a pound of
sirloin, almost unrecognizable for being blanketed with
cheese and for having endured marination in something that
tasted kind of like Italian dressing. This came with pretty
standard refritos and rice.

My combinacion picante consisted of a typical pork red chile
tamale and cheese enchilada and a very atypical adovada that
was marinated slices from the leg or shoulder (not sure
which, under the red chile). Sides: whole beans and posole.
I enjoyed the adovada and may make it this way sometime.

Good puffy sopaipillas come with, all you want. You drizzle
or dip them in honey, and there's no need for dessert.

Nonetheless, we got a natilla to share: it was much more
like ordinary vanilla pudding than others I've had, but I
liked it for the vanilla intensity. Carol thought it was
too similar to Jell-O brand.

There was no need for another meal this day, so we just had
a drink at the famous Dragon Room bar. To be brief, I don't
know what the big deal is - the decor is funky (a dragon in
the men's room can be seen through a window to the bar side,
from which a life-size monkey gazes at him), but to me that
doesn't make up for the smokiness and for the lack of draft
beer. I had a Santa Fe pale ale, very floral, and Carol had
a margarita; there was no incentive to remain, as the place
was beginning to fill up with what appeared to be waitstaff
from other restaurants, all women in their early 20s, all
dressed in black, all smoking like chimneys.

After our last breakfast at the Inn, we took the high road
to Taos, rather pretty, but nothing unique - there are a
hundred drives in Colorado that are more beautiful. Stopped
for gas on the way and picked up a handful of pinon nuts
from a 25c vending machine: these were good, if somewhat
inconvenient to eat.

Taos bores me.

I don't ski, that might be it, and I'm not into new age
things (although Taos is not nearly so nasty as Sedona).
The shopping, which I don't do anyway, appears to be
mediocre as well. Oh, well, one can console oneself by
stuffing oneself.

After a quick once over, we headed north out of town to
Arroyo Seco, where we'd heard good things about Abe's
Cantina y Cocina. An unprepossessing little joint. You
get your beer or whatever at the bar/liquor store on the
left and your food on the right, and you can consume these
either at the bar or at tables in the front of the general
store part. We came in through the bar and as we crossed
over to the other side a wonderful aroma struck us. The
menu is posted behind the ordering counter; it was hard
to read, but luckily a piece of paper was tacked up with
"burrito - chicharrones and beans $5, meat only $5.50" in
big readable letters. Having been beaned out over the last
couple days, I went with this, meat only, red sauce. It was
by a fair margin the best Mexicanish food I've ever had -
the chicharrones were cubed in tiny neat crisp cubes,
utterly fresh, like the outside of a pork roast just
roasted, piled into a fresh tortilla, and smothered in the
smoothest red sauce imaginable. A Negra Modelo went
nicely. Carol had a slightly more normal but excellent
beef, cheese, and avocado burrito with the green chile
and a Bohemia.

At the next table, an older local couple sat down with a
bowl of menudo for him and a burger and fries for her.
He asked how the chicharrones were, so I gave him a
bite; after which he reciprocated with a spoonful of the
tripe stew, which was spicer and better than that which I've
had before. They live just down the road and gave us some
tourist tips, and then we were off to explore.

We didn't go far. Taos Cow is two doors down, and the ice
cream is famous. No rBGH, too. Abe's is a window into the
'50s; Taos Cow is a time-warp into the '60s - it reminded
me powerfully of the original Steve's up in Davis Square
when it was manned day and night by Steve Herrell, before
he sold out to International Multifoods. Carol had some kind
of chocolate concoction; it was delicious. My coconut ice
cream was made with newly shelled coconut, which has pluses
and minuses. The pluses are an intensity of flavor and
aroma; the minuses are that you can taste the fermentation
of the coconut water inside and that there are little shards
of brown coconut skin, and these get between your teeth.

Off to the Rio Grande Gorge bridge 10 miles west, which
looks like kind of nothing, unless you get onto the bridge
and look down, and down, and down. It's spectacular, with
sheer cliffs dropping to the river 650 feet below. It must
have been quite an architectural feat, and when it was
completed, it was awarded the title of most beautiful bridge
of 1966 by whatever certification agency is in charge of
such things. Worth the detour. We walked the length of it
and back and then went and got the camera and did it again.

It was still early, so Carol went to the Plaza to shop and
left me to my own devices - there's free wireless on the
Plaza, but it involves filling out a form that asks for more
personal information than I want to give (I could lie, but I
am not fond of that choice, either), so I headed to the La
Chiripada Winery tasting room for a cheap entertainment. A
smiling and solicitous agent poured me a couple of tastes:
Viognier 05, rather peachy, medium dry, low concentration;
Special Reserve Riesling 04, more interesting, apples and
stone, with a slight smokiness, good balance of acid to
sweet, but still rather low concentration. I would have
liked to try a few more - a Shiraz, an LHR, and a Port - to
get an idea of the other end of their line, but it turns
out the water pitcher was empty. I volunteered to go to the
bar upstairs and beg some, which I did. But then Ogelvie's
ensnared me with the (also floral and hoppy) Long Board pale
ale on draft, and after a couple of these, tasting more wine
didn't seem like such a good idea; so I went back to the
car, and lo and behold, Carol had exhausted Taos Plaza.

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.

Oh yum! I am taking notes.

I've been to Orlando's, and found it perfect after a day of wandering around.

The cheese enchiladas at Rancho De Chimayo used to be my choice. They've got a pretty nice cookbook, though I haven't looked at it in years.

We found the food quite good and the help helpful, just the thing after a
morning's hiking. When were you last there? It looks pretty touristy, but
we were not deterred owing to the great preponderance of good reports
about the place.

The low road from Taos is, in our opinion, more beautiful
than the high road. It follows the Rio Grande, and there's
some spectacular scenery on the way to Espanola. Once one
gets on the highway to Santa Fe, though, it's mostly pretty
boring. Some of the formations, such as Camel Rock, and the
ancillary architecture to the highway (erosion barriers,
bridges, and the like, adorned with native motifs) are kind
of fun.

Surprisingly, Carol was hungry for lunch, so we made the
obligatory stop at the renowned Tecolote Cafe, where we
were helped by a pleasant enough waiter who unfortunately
looked as though he had just jumped off a Dia de los
Muertos t-shirt. Carol's sheepherder's breakfast - potatoes
topped with green chile and eggs - was pretty ordinary,
except that the chile was quite hot. I think that she was
swayed by Michael Stern's gushing encomium to the dish,
else she'd have got something more interesting. I tasted
her food and opined that it was probably just like the
89 cent tax included breakfast at the casino down the way,
and she sort of nodded. Except that the 89c breakfast comes
with meat. I wasn't hungry but ordered a side of carne
adovada and a side of chicken livers ($4 something each).
The meat was pretty standard, a small (about 4 oz) serving,
fairly spicy, too lean. The chicken livers were out, so I
substituted a cup of green chile and a tortilla ($1 and
change), which was nice and hot. No alcohol here, so I had
the closest thing, root beer. It was a cheap meal, but we
didn't eat much, either.

The sky began to clear up a bit, so we decided to take a
look at the Tent Rocks National Monument. It's about 10
miles off I-25 on the state highway and then a few more down
a Forest Service road - takes about half an hour, mostly on
the rutted dirt road. Carol expressed a little doubt as we
headed deeper into Indian reservation scrubland, but then,
voila.

It's $5 a vehicle ($10 if your vehicle holds ten or more) -
one of the bargains of the century.

At first, it didn't look like much, but as we went deeper
into the area, the charms became manifest. We took the
easier loop trail (1.1 miles), which took us close to the
cliffs and the formations, then up to a neat cave, then
back down - much to see with little effort and only a
hundred or two of elevation gain. When we intersected the
longer and more taxing Slot Canyon Trail, I asked Carol if
we could go in just a little, and she finally agreed,
after hazarding a suggestion that I go on alone (I wisely
declined the offer). It was a really beautiful trail, and
we ended up doing about 2/3 of it, through a narrowing
canyon with a very gradual elevation gain, and up to the
end of the canyon and just about to where the trail turns
and becomes steep: at that point, the clouds started rolling
in a bit more, so we didn't press our luck and retreated. I
think Carol enjoyed the hike - we took at least 50 pictures
during it, most of them hers.

Back down to Albuquerque; for part of the drive at 75 mph,
the speed limit, it was in fact raining a bit, so I think
the decision to get out of the slot canyon while the getting
was good was a good one.

Checked back into the Econo Lodge, where they gave us a
bigger handicap access room (perhaps we were limping
noticeably?), and we put up our traps and walked back out
to the main drag and Monica's El Portal, a divey but clean-
looking joint that had caught our eye.

The only bad thing I can say is that there's no liquor
license. Okay, the decor is nothing and the noise level
high; but the food made up for everything. Carol had wanted
a margarita, but after a couple rounds of Dos Equis amber,
I heard no more about that.

She loves chile con queso and had had none during the trip,
so she ordered it here. It was about 12 oz, and she ate it
all. I thought it tasted like Velveeta; she adored it.

As that was enough calories for the day, she just had a
side of enchiladas de pollo, which was no-nonsense and good
- fresh shredded chicken, tortillas, cheese, green sauce
(very hot).

I had the sopaipilla relleno de chicharrones - the sopa
was pretty good but almost instantly done in by the big
slathering of red sauce; the cracklings were the size of
casino dice and bigger, so were an interesting mixture
of crisp and chewy. Satisfying and tasty, but, you know,
I'm forever spoiled by Abe's.

I just had to try the carne adovada, and 4 oz for $2.50
sounded like a pretty good deal to me. What came: 8 oz
for $2.50. It was a bit on the lean side, the chunks were
bigger than bite-size, and the red chile sauce was a bit
salty. I think it was designed to be put in a wrapper,
but I foiled them. I had a couple bites and saved the rest
for breakfast.

We were too full for dessert but split a natilla anyway.
It was a thin egg pudding with meringue folded in. What you
might call homestyle fancy. Carol liked it; I thought it
good enough but lacking the quirky interest of La Fonda or
the polish of the Rancho de Chimayo.

My last visit to Rancho de Chimayo was probably 2 years ago. My first, maybe 5. I bought the cookbook off ebay sometime between---only used it a few times, but everything tasted great.

Carol had insisted that the flight was an hour earlier
than it really was, so we were at the airport, through
security, and to the gate by 6:45 am. The 7:15 Vegas hadn't
boarded yet, but at shortly after 7 we became the first in
the B line. Luckily there was an electric outlet within
cord's length, so we did fine.

WN1593 ABQ BWI 0850 1420 73G 10AB

This was the continuation of a flight from Tucson, so it
was pretty full by the time we managed to get on. Carol,
eagle-eyed, did spot a double in the non-reclining row 10,
so we took it. It was an okay flight, the gent in the aisle
seat quite friendly, the FAs grumpy but efficient, and at
least they didn't sing! Nobody sang on any of the flights,
and few jokes were cracked. So that suited me. The plane
loaded up completely full. Same snack box as before,
followed by the same peanuts/pretzels service. As I'd
picked up the beginning of a cold, perhaps on WN141 the
other day, which had sounded like the Mattapan Chronic
Disease Hospital, I just had a couple glasses of cranberry
juice and forgot about the booze. We landed on time; Carol
took the perishables and hied off home, while I waited for
my next leg as the proud owner of an A boarding pass.

WN1222 BWI PVD 1530 1635 73G 2F

And waited.

The guy in front of me was a US Gold; the guy in back of me
a frequent AA/UA traveler. We made lots of snide commentary
about Southwest's maintenance standards, boarding practices,
false reputation for efficiency, false reputation for
friendliness, and clientele. Other people started talking
about the idiotic Northwest plan to charge for aisle seats
and exit rows, and in no time we had a little BBS forum
going on in the A line. A good thing that we had each other
to entertain us, because the gate agent was too busy
conferring with the pilots and mechanics to do so. After
boarding time had gone by and departure time had gone by,
someone announced that there was going to be a mechanical
delay; 45 seconds later, shortly after 4, someone else gave
permission to board. Plane was again totally packed, and it
took a while to get everyone in and settled. The captain
made an explanatory announcement, something about one of
the onboard computers having to be reset, and we took off
and landed a bit over half an hour late. The flight was okay,
what I witnessed of it. I spent much of my time snoozing.

[tag with nowhere to go, or How I Got Back Home]

US 529 BOS PHL 1230 1358 319 3C

I was scheduled on 1217, which the nice Indian lady at the
Club told me was delayed, so I hustled to the gate, where
they had 3C on the fairly full earlier flight.

Sat next to an FTer (it came up in conversation) who did
not volunteer his handle, but his given name is Jim. He
pointed out some stuff, including a burned-out UPS plane
parked off south of runway 27. We landed pretty much on
time, and I was off to the F-concourse Club for a beer
and the e-mail. Unfortunately, neither of the phones in
the work carrels near me was working. I found a properly
functioning one in the main area.

By the way, the club snack has changed - it's now a mix of
rice crackers, "stix," and regular and burnt peanuts (which
aren't really burned; they're just coated with a nubbly
crunchy sugar coating that makes them look that way).

US 3007 PHL BWI 1550 1649 ERJ 4F

These aircraft are fine - if nobody is sitting next to you.
For some reason, someone got assigned next to me. He
seemed perfectly fine, but I was still just as happy when
he scouted about and discovered that the row behind us was
open. The flight got in quite early, so I hied myself to
the BWI Rail Station - the monitor read that the 5:08 was
10 min late, so I didn't even have to run up and down the
stairs - but as soon as I got to the southbound track,
"CANCELLED." Took the one scheduled half an hour later,
which picked us up at 6:15 and dropped me off at Odenton
around 6:30, the latest excuse - track work. Carol could
have gotten me at the airport, and we could have been home
by now, if I'd just hung around the airport for an hour
and had her pick me up. So much for public transportation.