Table for One in New Mexico, Por Favor

Sometimes it helps to be alone

Day 13, Holiday Inn, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

This is how it goes with me. I came back to my hotel, feeling all efficient because I had gone to church, eaten a great lunch, and bought groceries without a hitch, blending in with the locals. Que bueno. (Spanish is everywhere. Although mine is limited, I find myself thinking in my second language.)

My plan was to change into more comfortable clothes and drink a tall glass of iced tea while writing. But the ice was downstairs. I thought I had tea in the fridge, but I didn't. Back to the car.

Okay, I take the ice bucket and my keys, go down the stairs so the clerks doesn’t see me going out again, go to the car, get the tea, run up those stairs to the third floor, feeling like this trip has gotten me in better shape, get all the way to my room, and realize–you guessed it–I forgot the ice. Back downstairs. Story of my life.

Okay. Now I have my tea. I’m still in my church clothes, but I don’t want to forget anything.

Note: traveling alone, you have no one to send for tea or ice, but you also have no one to bug you when you want to write.

I want to tell you about lunch, where I was one of only two people eating alone. I thought Weck’s was a gringo place, and I was failing my mission to inhale local culture, but I was wrong. It’s New Mexican all the way, from the staff to the decor to the menu, which features “papas,” hash browned potatoes, which you can order covered with chili, cheese, eggs, pork, or vegies, and other things.

The place was packed, a steady stream of customers coming in, all waiting for seats, but the hostess saw that I was just one person and seated me right away at a two-top barely inside the restaurant. I could see everybody coming in and out, and everybody could see me, the overdressed older woman sitting alone. Pobrecita (poor little thing).

But no. The service was great because I was right in the servers’ path. I felt for those parties of two, four, or six who had to wait a long time to sit somewhere in the back. Sometimes there’s an advantage in traveling solo.

I passed a place downtown yesterday that was named “Dinner for Two.” I wasn’t hungry, but I was tempted to go in and ask what would happen if just one person wanted to eat there. Or five? I suspect they’d serve me, but it would be strange.

Anyway, I could have ordered a BLT or a burger at Weck’s, but I took a chance on the “Navajo Taco.” Big as the plate, this pile of beans, cheese, tomatoes, and beef on flat bread with red chili sauce was fantastic. It came with an enormous glass of iced tea. I was a happy camper. (Have you noticed I’m addicted to iced tea?)

Nearby was a huge grocery store where I restocked my orange juice, fruit, and microwavable meals for food emergencies. They had everything I’m used to, plus big bags of tamales and all kinds of chili concoctions, plus biscochitos, the New Mexico state cookie. Brown cookies flavored with cinnamon, brown sugar, and anise, they looked good, but the bags were too big for me to eat them all before they spoiled.

I’m getting the feeling they do everything big here.

If I wanted to, I could buy clay pots or buffalo sculptures as big as my car.

While I prayed and noshed with the natives today, I did the tourist thing yesterday, deepening the blisters on my feet. I toured the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, learning that I am more interested in the artist than in her art. A childless woman, she lived alone in New Mexico for many years after her husband died. Entry to the museum costs $22, and they prefer you buy your ticket online in advance. But it was good, even though I had to dodge couples and big families blocking the art.

Afterward, I walked around to see the area’s gift shops, art galleries, and restaurants. I was fascinated by the adobe buildings.

The streets led me to the Our Lady of Guadalupe shrine. The Catholic in me did a dance. Oh boy! Just then, the battery on my phone gave out. No photos, alas. But there’s a terrific Virgin Mary statue, a walk lined with prayer tiles, and a church that began in the 1700s and has been rebuilt several times. The old floors were creaky and uneven. The altar backdrop was an elaborate mural with every religious image you could think of. Although uncomfortably warm, the church was a good place to sit and meditate for a bit.

I thought I’d never make it back to the car. My feet were screaming. I should have gone for comfort over fashion in my choice of shoes. I was terribly thirsty. I keep forgetting to bring water. It’s not hot this week–50s and cloudy–but it is dry, and Santa Fe, at 7,198 elevation, is also more than 7000 feet higher in altitude than I’m used to at home on the Oregon coast.

But I survived. The car offered water and a charger for the phone. Meandering a bit, I discovered the Old Santa Fe Trail Road, which ended at the Glenn Green Galleries and sculpture garden. Perfect.

You know what I liked best? Feeling my feet on the Santa Fe dirt, walking amid the spindly pine trees and the pinecones lying all over the ground, and saying hello to a giant gray squirrel. The real Santa Fe.

The Guadalupe church was quite different from the church I attended today. St John’s. That church was huge, modern, and cold. The walls were white, the floor grey-speckled linoleum. Hymn books were replaced with PowerPoints, the words projected onto the walls. I knew all the hymns, and the three-woman choir did a great job. But the priest was as chilly as the building, and his right-wing homily rubbed me wrong.

There was no coffee and donuts afterward. People just went home. No chance to meet the locals and ask where I ought to go for lunch. But I found Weck’s on my own.

Instead of eating in some tourist place, I ate where the locals go, and that makes me happy.

Traveling in a new place, I feel like I need to keep moving, to see all the sites listed in the travel books. But instead of vacation, it becomes all obligation. I wish I had one more day here, so I could seek out some more Santa Fe nature spots. But I’m happy getting a taste of life among the people who live here instead of tourists tramping from one gift shop to another, checking their phones every few minutes.

Tomorrow, I have to start heading west for the AWP convention in Los Angeles and my own church music back in Oregon.

I have learned that it takes me longer to drive places than Google says it will. Being the only driver, I need to stop for naps, and I require a sit-down meal to feel rested. Plus, if there’s something great to see, I want to see it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back in New Mexico.

Also, I’m prone to wrong turns, despite the GPS. Sometimes I’m just not sure what it wants me to do. This lane or that one? Oops. I have decided that’s a good metaphor for life. You go a ways, make a wrong turn, find your way back to where you went wrong, and start again.

Can I do it alone? Yes, I can, but I’m thinking a lot about how to make these journeys more personal and more relaxing. There’s more to life than the Holiday Inn. Air bnbs? camping in a small RV? Flying to just one place and staying there long enough to enjoy all it has to offer?

I’m not ready for old-lady tours, where you get herded around in a group. Tried it, hated it. But there are other ways to travel, ways that will allow me to sleep in, spend hours writing or playing music, swimming in the pool, sitting beside a river watching the ducks, or just going for a walk and seeing what I find.

I have learned to bring food along in case I end up too tired to go out and there’s nothing nearby. I skip the attractions that don’t interest me. If someone says, “You have to go there,” I say, no I don’t. This is my trip.

Enough about me. Have you traveled alone? What lessons have you learned?

---

One of the things I’m seeing on my trip is kids, oodles and boodles of kids. I really don’t encounter many children where I live. Suddenly they’re in the pool, the breakfast room, the elevator, and every museum and gift shop. I wrote about it this week for my Childless by Marriage blog. You might want to take a look.

---

How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. The Kindle price has just been reduced! Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.