Falling in Love With Santa Fe

New Mexico is a rainbow. Red and green chiles doused on every meal, copper and coral and turquoise melded into Navajo jewelry, cerulean skies stretching over terra cotta cliffs and cornflower-blue mountains capped with the purest white snow.

It’s strong margaritas, crisp air inflating your lungs, rich drinking chocolate spiked with chili powder. It’s a way of life that is both slower and fuller, isolated and elevated (literally.) I can’t quite recall why anymore, but Santa Fe had always occupied a place in my mind as magical, mythical, an oasis operating on a different frequency than the rest of us. I suppose the desert has always had that allure. And it was all of that and more.

Albuquerque is only a two-hour flight from Los Angeles, and a relatively inexpensive one at that. From there, the easiest route to Santa Fe is an hour drive by rental car through blinding sun and snow-dusted mountains. We visited in November, a time frame that offered an off-season tranquility and just the right amount of winter chill for us brittle-boned Southern Californians.

There’s no shortage of lodging options once in the historic city: Santa Fe is home to a bevy of Instagram-worthy restored motels, charming bed-and-breakfasts, and minimalist Airbnbs impeccably flavored with Southwestern style. After a little research, we decided on Casa Culinaria, a bed-and-breakfast a stone’s throw from the center of town that offers charming bungalow-style rooms within the cozy arts and crafts style property.

The bed and breakfast was refurbished by a husband and wife duo, Manuel and Carolina, and guests are pampered each morning with a breakfast hand-prepared by classically-trained chef Carolina in the gorgeous, sunlit dining room, as well as coffee, tea and baked goods in the common area throughout the day.

Each room at Casa Culinaria is slightly different in its layout and decor, and we chose the Colorado room, which provided two twin beds, our own porch, and even a cast iron fireplace that made it the perfect cozy base camp for all of our adventures. Our stay at the bed and breakfast felt like a truly luxurious five-star experience (while still being affordable enough for two twenty-somethings.)

We hit the ground running our first night in Santa Fe, making a beeline for the much-buzzed-about Meow Wolf. If you, like me, have paid a visit to any of the pop-up Instagram experiences that have boomed in popularity in recent years – The Museum of Ice Cream, the Color Factory, etc. – then Meow Wolf won’t be an unfamiliar concept to you. Still, comparing Meow Wolf to those exhibits would be underselling the place.

A $25 ticket offers admission into the labyrinthian space, in which dozens upon dozens of rooms, hallways, secret passages, and weird and wonderful nooks and crannies are hidden like Russian nesting dolls. We spent hours exploring the place, clambering up and down winding staircases, through tree houses, Airstream trailers – even sliding through a washing machine. I don’t want to spoil too much – it’s best to go into Meow Wolf with an open mind and as few preconceived notions as possible – but it is without a doubt entirely unlike anywhere you’ve been before.

Bright and early the next morning, after fueling up with a three-course vegetarian breakfast prepared by Carolina, we started out on the hour drive north to AbiquiĂș. Ever since I’d chosen Georgia O’Keefe as my historical figure for a school project when I was a kid, I’d been fascinated by the artists; both her work and her life, so visiting Ghost Ranch, the home where she lived, painted, and hosted fellow artists and other visionaries for decades, was a must-do in New Mexico. And being able to take in the stunning vistas that served as a lifelong inspiration for many of O’Keefe’s most iconic works on horseback only made the experience all the more unforgettable.

I had been horseback riding before, with varying levels of comfort during the experiences, but to my delight, I felt instantly at ease during our trail ride. I was paired with a beautiful chestnut boy named Sancho who listened to my every direction, and was able to spend the 90-minute trail ride utterly in awe of the stunning vistas around us. We wound our way out to Ghost Ranch (which unfortunately is not yet open to the public,) as our guide pointed out various landmarks that Georgia O’Keefe immortalized in her work. This included the imposing Pedernal Mountain, where O’Keefe’s ashes are scattered, and about which she famously said; “God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it.”

Though certainly pricey at a little more than $100 per person, the O’Keefe landscape trail ride was worth every penny. Tours are offered twice a day, but spots are limited, so be sure to reserve one well in advance if you’re interested. The ranch also offers walking tours and other less expensive options for visitors looking to explore the grounds, as well as a museum and gift shop on the property.

Back in Santa Fe, we made sure to also pay a visit to the Georgia O’Keefe Museum, which is home to many of her most iconic paintings, as well as early works and photographs by and of the artist that I’d never seen before. We were told that Santa Fe boasts the most art museums in the country after New York and Los Angeles, and it isn’t hard to believe: from the Museum of International Folk Art to the Museum of Indian Arts & Culture and seemingly dozens more, we could’ve stayed weeks and still not seen them all.

Of course, Santa Fe is also chock-full of world-class dining, drinking and shopping. Whether you’re searching for a cowboy hat that you can watch being crafted right in front of your eyes, or copper and turquoise jewelry bent and etched by Navajo tribe members, you’re sure to leave Santa Fe with a suitcase full of souvenirs. Be sure to also pay a visit to Shiprock Santa Fe, a gallery filled with vibrant Native American rugs and art contrasted against a gorgeous, modern space that’ll make you want to move right in and never leave.

Santa Fe is also famed for Canyon Road, a world-class avenue of art galleries and shops boasting unique (though pricey) artisan wares. Wander into any gallery for an impromptu art history lesson from the owner, or simply get lost inside rooms of cowboy boots and handwoven rugs in stores like Nathalie Home, where the displays are so enchanting you’ll be glad you can only afford to browse.

You’ll also leave with a full belly after stops at local institutions like Cafe Pasqual’s and the Shed, where you can feast on tamales, enchiladas, and red and green chili until your heart’s content (the blood orange frozen margarita at the Shed is also a must.) Speaking of, Santa Fe even offers a “margarita passport” that’s worth taking advantage of if your stay is a bit longer, so you can sip your way through the city and even earn some freebies along the way. Other watering holes worth your time are the adorable bar at the El Rey Inn, the Cowgirl for a dive-y Southwestern experience and live music, and Julia, the bar at the sumptuous (and supposedly haunted) La Posada hotel.

Be sure to satisfy your sweet tooth with a visit to the Kakawa Chocolate House, where you can sample rich New Mexican drinking chocolate and feast on pastries and truffles made with chili, corn, lavender and other unique ingredients.

When it’s time to burn off the margaritas and get your blood pumping, there are plenty of options for hiking in the area, including the La Tierra Trails, and Bandelier and Tent Rocks national monuments. We made a stop at Bandelier on our drive back from Ghost Ranch, and though admission is a bit steep at $25 per car, it felt good knowing that money was going to preserve the park, which is home to dwellings and petroglyphs made by the Ancestral Pueblo people that are thought to be some 11,000 years old.

The monument offers moderate hiking trails and a map that guides visitors through dozens of historic dwellings, artwork and alcove homes carved right out of the rock face, which require wooden ladders to reach. At the end of the Alcove House trail, visitors can climb wooden ladders and stone steps about 140 feet up to a large alcove that once housed the Ancestral Pueblo people. In addition to being an awe-inspiring piece of history, the Alcove House definitely pushed me to conquer my fear of heights, and the view from the top of the snow-covered valleys and peaks of Bandelier was absolutely worth the climb.

In addition to Old Town Santa Fe, where you’ll find a charming historic town square decked out in dried chili peppers and lined with rustic shops and restaurants, you can try a change of pace and get a glimpse of Santa Fe’s sleeker future out at the Railyards, an industrial area dotted with modern coffee shops, street art and stores.

If you’re looking for one last adventure, pay a visit to the Los Poblanos Ranch, a lavender farm that’s a quick detour on the way out of Albuquerque. Though the fields only bloom in the summer, the farm doubles as a hotel, and offers an array of artisan lavender products – soaps, lotions, even lavender-infused food and drinks – year round, as well as an intimate bar and restaurant.

It’s a particularly magical sight in the evening; all twinkling string lights in the lavender winter twilight. I couldn’t help thinking how stunning the farm would be as a wedding venue, and its modern earthiness reminded me of Ojai and the south-central California coast, which holds a special place in my heart.

I’d always had the feeling that I’d like New Mexico, and as it turns out, I was far from wrong. Santa Fe was a spontaneous, soul-soothing getaway, and we were fortunate that the entire whirlwind of a trip went off without a hitch; from our rental car to our accommodations, to checking off everything on our to-do list, to being welcomed to the Land of Enchantment by the warmest of people, heartiest of meals, and strongest of drinks. New Mexico has already rooted a special place in my heart, and I have a feeling it won’t be long at all before I journey back to it again.

The View From the Southwest

As an introverted, daydream-y type, it isn’t hard to understand why the desert has always struck me as a daydream-y place, an oasis for those who love nothing more than to be at rest from the world and alone with their thoughts. It was one of the many things that lured me to California, this dust-kissed serenity, golden-tinged solitude, these timeless, nameless places with no beginning or end. The desert landscape offers a barren kind of a beauty. Though perhaps barren isn’t quite the right word, because it never felt lacking—at least not of anything I needed. It amazes me how a place most often devoid of people and cars, free of honking horns and flashing lights, can be more of a sensory overload than the most bustling city in the world. The silence, the solitude, the settling of dust, the heat waves hovering above the earth, the rustling of the wind through the brush and the palms—it brings a sort of peace, a state of rest, a feeling of contentedness, that is all too fleetingly found anywhere else. Processed with VSCO with c1 presetProcessed with VSCO with c1 presetProcessed with VSCO with c1 preset

In many ways, the desert made perfect sense as my post-graduation landing place, this alien place of birth and death and regrowth, of everything and nothing stretching just beyond the horizon. Without a job yet in hand, I packed my car with everything I owned and drove the six scorching hours from Los Angeles to Phoenix, a place I’d never been, where I knew no one other than the cousin whose place I’d be crashing at for a while. It’s a funny little paradox of a place, Phoenix—gleaming corporate sky scrapers jutting up against a reviving arts district, toned and tanned college kids stretching their paychecks rubbing elbows with the snowbirds and Scottsdale upper crust. And of course, the city is a paradox itself, a place that probably shouldn’t exist, a thriving metropolis shoehorned into an unforgiving desert landscape that’s remained the same for millennia. It’s a place I knew only briefly, and one I’d like to return to someday. That said, Phoenix is no fun in June, when daily temperatures hover around 180 degrees, and so my boyfriend and I decided to make the most of our temporary unemployment by plotting a characteristically spontaneous road trip.

The first stop would be about two hours north, in the new age oasis of Sedona. I literally grew up hearing stories of Sedona’s “energy” and “vibes” and other-worldly beauty from family members who had lived and visited there. As such, I was prepared to be blown away—but Sedona is truly quite unreal. Miles of towering red rocks usher you into Sedona proper, and the famed Bell Rock lies just to the south, offering hikes up to truly stunning vistas that will quickly make you a believer in Sedona’s beauty. 

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The town itself is something out of a Disney theme park, and as you stare down a Main Street lined with Old West-style saloons and crystal shops, wooden carvings of horses and Native Americans and slightly-creepy antique cowboy animatronics, all canopied by the bluest sky and whitest clouds and reddest rocks you’ve ever seen, it certainly has an unreal quality, this natural beauty so perfect it almost feels artificial.

We stayed just the one night in Sedona, in a rustic, incredibly tranquil one-room Airbnb outfitted with pine and Navajo tapestries and the most stunning view of the red rocks right out our window. Our 24-hour itinerary included a hike up to Bell Rock, and another up Cathedral Rock at sunset. I’ll admit, even in cooler temperatures, our second trek was certainly the more intense of the two, and deceptively treacherous. It starts out fairly mild, even for novice hikers like myself, but becomes significantly tougher around the halfway point, when the only path up becomes a flat, narrow, and very steep rock face you have no choice but to scrabble up—unless you turn around. This was (much to my surprise) my boyfriend’s preferred scenario, but I (also to my surprise) insisted we keep going. Although I don’t have a whole lot of hiking or climbing experience, and am fairly uncomfortable with heights, the breathtaking views were incentive enough to push through—and boy was the effort ever worth it:

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Once the most harrowing part of the hike was over, the landing just above it offered expansive views that swept across the brick red rocks, by then turning blue and purple with the sunset, and Sedona’s famed Chapel of the Holy Cross into the side of the mountain across the canyon carpeted with bright green pines. Yet another level up, on the opposite side of Cathedral Rock, the sunset shifted from fiery pinks and reds to an ethereal gold and blue, the evening sun flooding through the clouds and illuminating the lush, forested valley below. Even my newfound confidence around heights couldn’t convince me to follow the lead of a few other hikers who had scooted along rock ledges jutting out over the valley, but from my place safely nestled between some sturdy boulders, beneath the arches of Sedona, I truly felt on top of the world.

We made a stop at the Chapel of the Holy Cross, a Sedona icon built into the side of a mountain, before leaving the next day. With a gorgeous chapel and fun gift shop, it also offers predictably stunning views and a price you can’t beat (as in free!) and is well worth a visit if you’re in the area.

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Located just west of Flagstaff and south of the Grand Canyon in Williams, Bearizona was a last-minute stop that turned out to be an absolute highlight of our trip. I had heard of the park before I even got to Arizona, but only because of an adorable PR move Bearizona had orchestrated a few months earlier in which bear cubs were brought to the Cubs spring baseball training camp in Arizona. It’s a bit out of the way of anything, and was really only tangentially on our route, but it’s easily a destination in its own right. Your $20 admission gains you entrance into a wildlife park with a petting zoo, bird of prey shows, and enclosures of black bears, bobcats and other animals, but the main attraction is of course the drive-through portion of the park. This is several miles of “wilderness” through which you drive alongside black bear, bison, goats and even wolves, all roaming or sleeping or grazing just feet from your car—and sometimes even closer.

Often in my experience, these kinds of experiences are oversold and under-deliver, but at Bearizona you really do get right up close with the wildlife. There are no fences between you and most of the animals, no tour guides swatting you along through the park or rangers keeping you from getting too close; you’re only instructed—wisely—to keep your windows up and doors closed. We had been warned some of the teenage bears were especially curious, but were skeptical that any of them would actually get too close—and this was definitely not the case. At one point, we were no more than five feet from several black bears, and, in another part of the park, adorably came under attack by a herd of inquisitive mountain goats who even attempted to head-butt and climb onto the car. Bearizona was a really fun and certainly unique way to spend a couple of hours, and would be a great activity for families with kids, or just kids at heart.

Williams, where Bearizona is located, is known as the gateway to the Grand Canyon, and just an hour north is where you’ll find the national park in all of its glory. And it truly is glorious:

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Despite growing up in the west, I’d never been to the Grand Canyon, this classic, wholesome, all-American road trip mecca, and something about my visit there made me feel a lot like being a little kid again. Despite the crowds and the bustling visitor centers, and the fact that we visited the South Rim, the most popular area of the park, in the height of summer, the Grand Canyon still offered a connection with nature that I’d never quite felt before. It’s a wholly captivating, breathtaking place of escapism and mysticism where you can lose yourself amongst endless rolling blue skies, the winding Colorado river, and every painted crack and crevice of the vast, ancient canyon. I was particularly taken with the idea that, miles and miles away across this canyon, near Utah to the North and Las Vegas to the west, there were people perched atop ledges and rocks, posing for photos and creating them mentally, utterly transfixed by the very same thing as me. I’ll keep this brief, as I certainly have nothing to say about the Grand Canyon that hasn’t been said before, but it’s nothing short of an understatement to conclude that it’s truly a captivating place, and one which everyone should visit in their lifetime if given the chance.

Driving north into the indigo blue desert evening, our next stop was Antelope Valley and Lake Powell, which straddles the Arizona-Utah border. It’s home to the iconic Horseshoe Bend, a whole lot of houseboats, and stunning cotton candy sunsets, and that warm desert night seemed as good a time as any to pitch a tent along the lake and try our hand at camping. For a mere $20, and equipped with camping gear borrowed from friends, we were able to sleep that night beneath the bright Arizona stars, just feet from the sandy shores of Lake Powell. Our excursion was initially prompted by the lack of hotels and Airbnbs in the area (save for a few truly off-the-grid Navajo huts and tents that would definitely be worth a visit another time,) but camping ended up being both cost-effective and one of the most memorable experiences of the trip.

Early the next morning, we set out for the place that had brought us to Lake Powell to begin with: Antelope Canyon. If you’re interested in travel photography or social media accounts, you’ve likely seen images of the canyon around. The curvature of its interior and the way the light floods through its crevices creates an almost rainbow effect inside the camera that can be vividly captured on camera. The only way to access the canyon, which is on protected Navajo land, is through private tour companies, which are run by members of the Navajo tribe and receive visitors at a base camp a couple miles from the canyon. The tour is certainly not the most accessible experience: it runs about $40 per person, requires driving for several bumpy, dusty miles in rickety dune buggies out through the desert, and in the height of summer is swelteringly, blisteringly hot. The canyon is not accessible without a Navajo tour guide due to dangerous flash flooding during the winter, and the fact that unsupervised visitors have been known to vandalize or otherwise destroy the natural beauty of the canyon. I completely understand the necessity for this, and would still highly recommend that anyone who wants to see Antelope Canyon or find themselves in the area visit it for themselves, but my two cents would be that the cost and hassle of getting there, as well as the size of the crowds and fact that the tours can take upward of two hours, are certainly factors to keep in mind if you’re visiting anticipating a peaceful jaunt into the desert.

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Pushing still further north from Antelope Valley, we crossed the border into Utah, where we made a stop at Zion National Park. The park is vast, and gorgeous, all canyons and winding roads, bridges and creeks and tunnels carved into rock. It’s also known for its hikes, but we had just a couple of hours to see Zion, and so for visitors on a schedule or those who are less athletic, I’d driving to the visitor center and using the park’s tram, which winds up and up through the park to various landings and lodges.

As our road trip was planned so last minute, it just so happened that each of our accommodations was incredibly, wonderfully unique, and our lodging that night was no exception. We had booked our Airbnb in St. George, Utah with the expectation of a quaint cabin, close to a lake, in a ranch-like resort development that included about ten cabins in total. What we found when we arrived via a winding, dusty, eerily quiet and empty country road that night was our two-story cabin, cozy and gleamingly modern and stocked with toiletries and snacks, with a quaint porch decked out in rocking chairs and facing a serene manmade lake surrounded by the other cabins. This would have been luxurious enough, but we quickly, disbelievingly, came to the realization that we were somehow the only guests at the ranch that night, and had the entire place to ourselves. This meant the lake and pedal boats, the fire pit, the golf carts, and the entire starry Utah sky and blue mountains and miles of open fields were all ours, our very own private resort, a dreamy Western escape, for some $150 a night. We didn’t encounter a single other person during our stay, and while roasting marshmallows over the fire pit my boyfriend managed to get hit in the head with a bat (the flying kind) and to this day our night in St. George feels a little like a crazy dream. Further adding to the surrealism of the experience, we later deduced through a guestbook in the cabin that this strange ranch was owned by none other than the wealthy parents of a former star of The Bachelor. It was a wild experience in every sense of the word, and yet another stay that reaffirmed why I am such an evangelist for Airbnb, which almost always guarantees a venture off the beaten path, making memories and trying things you’d absolutely never get from a hotel.

The final leg of our trip was a place I’d visited many times before: Las Vegas. It’s obviously a destination most people are familiar with, if not from personal experience than from pop culture, and having gone to school in Southern California and had my first exposure to Las Vegas not be for the purposes of clubbing, I’ve found I have a different relationship to the city than most. In fact, I’ve found myself defending it to many who are eager to write it off as fake, generic, sleazy—too hot, too loud, too bright. But my Vegas is different. I’ve talked before about my experience at the Life is Beautiful music festival, which was founded in 2013 in order to revive Vegas’ historic downtown, and which I attended three years in a row. Certainly, there’s something about the Vegas strip at night, and I’ve enjoyed dancing in its nightclubs and swimming at day clubs as much as any other twenty-something, the Vegas that’s always spoken to me is the one of decades past, and the one that’s been reawakening in recent years. I’m enamored with old downtown Vegas, with the murals and the neons, the quaint casinos that are dwarfed by the corporate behemoths on the strip. I love the parked built of old shipping containers, the pop-up art exhibits, the thrift shops overflowing with old neon and slot machines, the ferris wheels twirling against the pale desert sky. Las Vegas has always been an anomaly of a city, and it still has a long way to go toward figuring out how to serve the people who actually call it home, rather than just those who pour in for a day or two, but I have confidence that it won’t be long until the city find its footing, because its heart and soul is already readily apparent and beats loudly for anyone who stands still long enough to hear it.

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There’s nothing quite like knowing your feet are firmly planted on the ground, the clear blue sky is endless above your head, the brick red mesas along the horizon sturdy and true. In the desert, the only temporality is night and day. There is no rush, no deadlines, no itineraries, no lines or opening times or passes for the popular attractions. In the desert, you are where you are, not where you’re going, or where you were. There is no before, no next, there is just this very moment. Breathing the desert in, exhaling the weight of the world out. Feasting upon the vistas as if your eyes have been starved of beauty. Feeling the sun and the wind on your skin like you’ve felt nothing else before. It’s all surreal, and hyper real, this alien landscape that somehow still exists in a world seemingly designed and developed down to the atom. When the frenzy becomes a bit too much, there is something so life-affirming, so grounding, in realizing life is not always measured by momentum. Sometimes living is standing still, climbing, breathing, seeing, feeling, simply existing—and there’s nowhere I’d rather do that than the desert.