Santa Fe....A Very Brief History Lesson

The locals like to remember a Santa Fe long before the arrival of the Yuppies. It was a dusty, sun bleached village, where most of the streets were still dirt. Indians, Mexicans, those of Spanish descent, and Gringos lived, worked, and, for the most part, got along quite well together. Then, and the dating on this is not exactly precise, the artists arrived. They were a bohemian sort, but they added a nice splash of colour to the brilliant turquoises, dark browns, and bright reds that were already common in the landscape. Georgia O'Keefe is but the most visible of the group of artists that took up residence here, and in scattered locales across northern New Mexico. O'Keefe, in fact, lived a few hours up the road in Ghost Ranch. Mabel Dodge Luhan, Diego Rivera and D.H. Lawrence lived up the "High Road" in Taos. All of them, at some point during their careers, visited the capitol of the New Mexico Territory, perhaps even sharing a drink at the La Fonda bar.

But then, some years later, a much more destructive force arrived: The Yuppie. Known for great wealth, large Sport-Utility Vehicles, a passion for sushi, a loyalty to the Democratic Party, and the frequent consumption of a drink known as the "latte" this group of locust like parasites descended on Santa Fe, and promptly remade it in their own image, and as a private playground, of sorts. They imported non native things like "The Gap" and "Starbucks" in an attempt to familiarize and soften the "native" edges of this frontier town.

A new breed of artists arrived, many of them having no previous ties to the Southwest, but professing a great love of "the scene." These encamped along Canyon Road, where they painted or sculpted inscrutable objects and charged exorbitant prices. The Yuppie quickly bought up these "art" objects and used them to decorate neo-adobe houses that they built in the hills above Santa Fe.

In large part, this is what the visitor to Santa Fe finds today. It's still spectacularly beautiful, but instead of a hardware store on the Plaza, traditionally the heart of this city, settled at some point before 1607, one finds "Greco Coffee" which proudly proclaims that it has been in business since 1989! Instead of a general mercantile, one finds "High Country Leathers" with a much more venerable history dating all the way back to 1979! Even the beloved Woolworths, a victim of corporate bankruptcy, has changed names and pushed the foot powder and aspirin to the back of the store in order to make way for postcards, "Indian" saddle blankets (made in Mexico or China) and souvenir shot glasses up front. Luckily the Little Old Ladies still make Frito pies at the lunch counter in the back. The locals, and by locals I mean those who have lived her for generations, no longer frequent the Plaza. It's strictly for the tourists. Instead, then have migrated down Cerillos Road, the very serviceable corridor leading from the Plaza to the Interstate, which features the stores, services, and restaurants that are needed for any city where people live.

A very real, very vibrant city has been turned into a Disney World for the Rich and Famous. And a hermetic seal, of sorts, has been pulled down around the edges, lest anything that is real or genuine leak back in. The Indians, of course, are still allowed to sit beneath the portal at the Palace of the Governors and sell their handmade jewelery, but it's mainly because they look quaint, and kind of precious. They also don't complain too much when a fat tourist from Minnesota drips icecream on a design once fashioned by the artist's great-great-great grandfather, who learned to fashion turquoise from an even more distant ancestor.

Why do I like it here? That is a more dificult question to answer. There is a quality of light here that's present nowhere else. There are glimpses of the past, of a more vibrant history that can be dimly recognized if one takes the time to look deeply enough, and if one really wants to see it. I've had the distinct pleasure of meeting many more locals this time than before, and to see how real people live, and work, and play. I've also stayed away from the Plaza. I have walked through several times, of course, one really must at some point. Once, though in a Fellini-esque moment finding a choir of freshly scrubbed high schoolers, all clad in red T-shirts performing saccharine "Contemporary Christian" songs in sign language. This, in the Plaza bandshell right in front of the portal of the Palace of the Governors made a most jarring scene. I knew it was time to go.

But I've also hung out in the bar at La Fonda, where, instead of pharmaceutical reps from Chicago and Los Angeles, I found the real deal: Locals out for a night on the town. I sat back, enjoying an Adult Beverage, simply watching people. They ambled in singly or in pairs, met, embraced, talked and socialized. When the band, a country/bluegrass trio started playing, the women pulled up their long flowing skirts to reveal bright red boots. The men pushed back the brims of their hats and escorted the ladies to the dance floor to two-step. The trio invited an ancient and blind woman named Bonnie up onto the tiny platform to sing an ancient Carter Family song. It was a moment when the past seemed to touch the present, and I felt honoured to be able to observe it, even as the fat woman from Virginia, complaining about how "expensive" the Indian Jewelery was, threatened to drown it out. She'd thought it would be cheap.

There are two things I always do on each visit to Santa Fe. I always visit the Cathedral of St. Francis, where I sidestep the modernized nave for the tiny adobe chapel on the north end. Here, a statue of the Virgin Mary, carved at some point before 1625 has been venerated by the faithful ever since as "La Conquistadora:" Our Lady of the Conquest. And I always walk through the lobby at La Fonda. Sometimes it's just to get to the elevators, to head up to the fifth floor for a margarita at the Bell Tower Bar as the sun sets. This time it was to linger for a while. To stop, as it were, and listen to the music. These two places, one sacred and one profane, both offer a window into another time. Both are relics, in a sense, of a time long since past. But for those who take the time to look, to listen, perhaps even to join in, these windows offer a vista that is far richer and far more dazzling than the faux vision of Santa Fe that lies nearby.