Touristism: Santa Fe

The De Vargas Street House in Santa Fe is one of 14 homes in the United States that claim to be the oldest.
The others are in Massachusetts, Connecticut, Florida, and Sarah Palin's Alaska.

I walked around it.
I wish I were more of a museum guy.
Fascinated by things behind ropes.
But I'm not.

I overheard the friendly greeter lady talk about her upcoming trip to Turkey.
Hey, I've been to Turkey.
So I talked about Turkey with her.
I told her all I knew about Istanbul.
Its delicious doner kabob and stretchy ice cream, Taksim Square's non-stop nightlife, the disorienting labyrinth of the Grand Bazaar, the Blue Mosque, style-conscious teens, street vendors with all the colorful men's shirts, shoe shine scams, and the debonair gent on their currency.
She gave me her email address if I had any more information.
I'll have to email her.
I forgot to mention the fortune telling rabbits.
I enjoyed the De Vargas Street House.
It came in first place for best oldest house in the US.

I walked around Santa Fe some more.
Churches, the sky, adobe piles.
Someone mentioned Canyon Road.
That's where all the folk art is.
Folk art.
I wish I were more of a folk art guy.
Not really.
But for the sake of the day I do.
I got on the road instead.

On the freeway I chanced upon the Tesuque Flea Market.
A big sign yelled at me.
At first I thought "no sketching" meant "no being paranoid on crystal meth".
But it meant no drawing.
I forgot that people flock to New Mexico to sketch.
Both ways.

I bought a bag of green chile powder and a couple of little wooden birdies.
The man said the birdies were from Kenya.
He was from Ghana.
I mentioned that I had once worked with a woman from Ghana.
I said her name out loud because it remains a great name.
Lovelyn Nunoo.
He asked me where I was from.
I correctly answered Chicago.
He said he lived in Chicago for a few months.
Drove a cab but it wasn't for him.
I looked around.
The flea market was peaceful.
I thought about Chicago.
And its unnecessary anger.
And how it's probably not for me anymore either.
I took in the pace and the peace of the flea market.
Then I pretended to make a call on my cellphone and used it to take pictures.
Like a Chicagoan.
O Dude of the East.

1 comment:

  1. I don't think that's what is typically meant by "talking turkey". But I don't know stuff.