Day 2 — Shelter from the Storm
So we left the frozen South End locked in ice and frigid temperatures, glad to put that Siberial hell in the rearview … only to leave Albuquerque headed to Taos and end up in a blizzard, 40-50 mph winds and white-out conditions, trying to reach our old Camano ex-pat friend’s house before the roads closed or our rental car sluiced off into an arroyo or down a canyon whose bottom was beyond visibility.
We made it — of course, otherwise how would you be reading a posthumous blog? — and arrived at Jeanine’s and Jasper’s warm adobe abode with all her art and the art she’s collected for a lifetime. We even saw the circling mountains reappear, the sky turn blue and the reason she moved here fairly obvious, the weather only part of it. If you think Taos is a high end, hedge fund enclave of jet-setting ski afficionadoes, like we did, not so much. Up on the ski slopes, maybe so — we didn’t go up past the city limits of town. As Jeanine put it at the brewpub that night where we waited for an old time, bluegrass jam, Taos is similar to the South End, a potpourri of trailer parks, adobe ruins, hidden mansions, a strata from poor to rich mingled together in sagebrush and red mud. This is where Kit Carson’s home was. This is Indian country. This is part Pueblo, part Hispanic, part Trump. It’s not an easy country.
The small crowd rolling into the Eske Brew Pub mostly glugged high gravity ale, rolled out into the snowy beer garden huffing steamy breath in sub freezing weather, then returned to their stools for another pint. A few musicians finally arrived with instrument cases dripping melted snow in the bar’s heat. Jeanine’s banjo buddy Bud never showed, no doubt stranded by the storm. We probably left too soon. But as Jeanine commented, this is SO Taos.
We’re gonna take her word for it. And head for warmer weather in the morning.
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