This is not the first time we've gone on vacation during a national crisis -- we went to Britain in 2002, at around the same time that the U.S. was unilaterally demanding that North Korea end its nuclear development program, with the veiled threat of nuclear war in the background. Then as now, I had misgivings about going on vacation at that time, but then as now, I thought, "What the hell else are we going to do? What difference does it make if we go now?" Then as now, I approach the whole thing with a certain fin de siècle quality: If the crisis passes, then we'll just have gone on a nice vacation. If the crisis blows up, then, well, at least we'll have had a nice vacation -- maybe the last one for a while.
To paraphrase a character in a Robert A. Heinlein novel: If the economy stabilizes, we can afford the trip, and if it doesn't, well, the money we spend on this trip won't make much difference when we go broke.
Science-fiction writer Charles Stross writes pessimistically that we're probably living through an event as catastrophic as the breakup of the USSR, only this time it's America that's collapsing as a superpower. He gets his figures for the size of the American budget off by ten-fold, but, still, I can't say he's wrong.
Still, what the hell else are we going to do, except enjoy our planned New Mexico vacation? If we were bolder investors, maybe we could have cashed in our vacation tickets and bought stocks while the prices are devalued, or bought gold. But we are not bold investors, so we hang onto our stocks. I don't want to tell you how much money we lost today -- it's too personal -- but I will say that, when we looked at the numbers tonight, it made our earlier conversation seem ridiculous, about whether to buy light bulbs because the light bulbs in the room we're staying in are too dim. I mean, how much do two lightbulbs cost? Three dollars?
Enough doom and gloom. Onward to the more entertaining vacation journal -- which is going to be short, as it was a travel day today.
We packed up our vast array of suitcases (Packing light? We heard of it.) and took the car service to the airport, and had an uneventful flight. I waited at the curb with the luggage while Julie took the car rental shuttle bus to Avis to pick up the car. I waited a long time; as I learned later, the Avis clerk was very, very chatty.
The Albuquerque airport is very nice, possibly the nicest I've been in. Also, strange men standing at the urinal next to yours strike up conversations with you. Don't do that, men of New Mexico, it's creepy.
We were headed for Santa Fe, about an hour northeast of Albqq, and we wanted to drive about ten or twenty miles, and then have lunch. The Avis clerk had a perfect recommendation for us: El Pinto, a New Mexican restaurant.
New Mexican food is like Mexican food, only different in ways that I would probably be able to articulate if I was a foodie. Julie had a chicken enchilada platter, I had a calabacitas burrito. Calabacitas, the waitress explained, is a vegetable mixture made with zucchini. We also had tortilla chips with queso dip -- that's melted cheese with chiles -- and the restaurant served sopapillas with lunch. Sopapillas are also known as "fry bread," and that's what it is, fried bread.
The food was terrific. Going in, we were hungry enough to kneel down in the parking lot and eat gravel, and we left satisfied, and yet we managed to restrain ourselves enough that we weren't waddling too badly on the way to the car.
I've only knowingly had New Mexican food once before, at a restaurant in the Santee suburb of San Diego. Julie says she's had it a half-dozen times. It was familiar though; I think that most of the Mexican food you get in America, outside of states actually bordering on Mexico, is more like New Mexican.
After that, we were back in the car for the rest of the trip to Santa Fe.
We're staying in a casita, which is a characteristic kind of traveler housing here. It's a one-room house, sort of like a freestanding studio apartment, with its own kitchenette. I'm sure we've stayed at places with kitchenettes before, but this is the first time we've ever actually put it to use; we're storing dinner leftovers and we hit the supermarket for some fruit and stuff. Hopefully, this will diminish the amount of junk food we eat, as well as saving us some American lira (formerly known as "dollars").
Our casita, Casita Amore, is all right. In addition to the excess of darkness and insufficient light bulbage, Julie informs me the A/C filter hasn't been cleaned since the Herbert Hoover administration, which makes for terrible ventilation. She is scurrying around the room doing useful things while I write this post. I think she is washing the filter now.
Dinner was at a place called Zia Diner about a mile from the casita, on Guadalupe Road. Traditional diners furnishings, floors and fixtures, but spread out in a freestanding building so it's a little more comfortable and upscale. The menu was also diner fare, just a little more upscale -- I had a beet salad with goat cheese and organic meat loaf with slaw, Julie had a small Cobb salad and a plate of three sliders made with organic beef. Very good. Two for two on meals so far. We didn't finish half our dinners, we'll have the rest for breakfast tomorrow.
Speaking of breakfast: Knowing I was staying at a casita with a kitchenette, I brought my usual tea fixings, but I'm jonesing for Starbucks so I figure that'll be my caffeine dose tomorrow.
Then it was off to Albertson to stock up on supplies (including that cut-up fruit, and those light bulbs -- which we did decide to buy) and back here to catch up on the internets and get ready for bed.
Tomorrow we'll walk after breakfast to the Plaza and Old Town Santa Fe, and then, well, who knows?
Photos to come hopefully in a few minutes.
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