De-stressing your soul in santa fe
Written by ana figueroa

Some places are so magical, I wouldn’t want to live there for fear of marring the serenity with my daily chaos. Just as Icarus flew too close to the sun, I fear my wings would melt, and I’d tumble to earth if I took up residence in a too-perfect place.
A place like Santa Fe.

Over the years, the town has beckoned to me like the spirit of an old soul. Some may visit Santa Fe for grand arts, theater and culture. I visit for the little things, those tiny moments that refresh my own spirit and make me want to return. And, return I have, on many occasions, usually as a way station on trips to and from the Southwest. This New Mexico destination is just the place for a stressed out travelgirl to let her hair down.

Last August, a family reunion brought me back once again to the oasis of Santa Fe. My brother Ralph and his wife Natalie live not far away in Albuquerque. Their home made a great launching pad for a sojourn of several days in Santa Fe with a group of family members. Though I was with a group, I found myself at the same time in solitude, lost in thought again and again. As if the spirit of the place knew I was in particular need of rejuvenation.

We couldn’t have picked a more magical time of year to visit. In August, the days are still long, and the bright afternoon sun casts an orange glow over the city’s adobe facades and rolling hillsides. Santa Fe stands at the 7,000 foot level in altitude, a fact I’m convinced contributes to the mind-clearing properties of the place. The air is pure and bright blue — a welcomed respite from the hazy summer air in my native Los Angeles. And, just as the south of France has long attracted great artists for its light, so has Santa Fe. In fact, it’s the only place in the United States to be designated as a UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific Cultural Organization) Creative City. I’m sure it is because of the light.

Summers in Santa Fe are a veritable feast of all things artistic, from the visual arts to the performing arts. Local venues offer everything from chamber music to Native American art exhibitions to Flamenco performances. August is when the annual Indian Market takes place, the world’s largest Native American arts and crafts show. We chose to fashion our own “summer arts festival tour” of sorts. And, because bookings were scarce, resigned ourselves to some hotel-hopping during our stay.

Our first stop, La Fonda on the Plaza, was the perfect starting point. The famous hotel “at the end of the trail,” was one of the first businesses established when Santa Fe was founded in 1607. The current structure was built in 1922, in the same southeast corner of the city’s famous Plaza that has served travelers for four centuries. The hotel is a virtual museum, lined with historic artifacts and photos. Rooms feature hand-painted wooden furnishings and original artworks. As I drifted to sleep that first night, I wondered what the dusty, weary denizens of the original Santa Fe Trail would have thought of my request for Wi-Fi. But, I somehow feel at one with them anyway.

The next morning, the café off of La Fonda’s lobby entices us with steaming mugs of cappuccino and fresh croissants as luscious as any we’ve had in France. We set out for the Plaza’s historic sites, just a short walk away. Santa Fe is the oldest capital city in the U.S., and the nearby Palace of the Governors is the oldest public building still in use in the country. In front of the Palace, the sidewalk is lined with Native American artisans selling jewelry and crafts, as they have for generations.

Strolling past the historic buildings, I chuckle as I remember a conversation I once had with a hotel clerk in Portland, Maine. Upon checking in, he remarked to me that it must be nice for people from the West Coast to visit parts of the country where “there’s real history.” I gladly informed him that the Spaniards were in New Mexico a century before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. They came, as did subsequent explorers, in search of the legendary “Seven Cities of Gold.” The “gold,” historians now believe, was likely an illusion. From afar, the adobe villages of indigenous people literally glowed in the sun, because the clay here is so rich in mica. Just another form of magic wrought by the light, to be sure.

We stroll from the Plaza to galleries, boutiques and quaint shops offering intricate silver and turquoise jewelry, colorful folk art retablos and carved wooden bultos (images of saints). I stray from the group unwittingly, whenever some artwork catches my eye. But, no worries. It’s pretty impossible to get lost in Santa Fe. The town’s gently sloping sidewalks lead me along streets where even tourists in rental cars seem relaxed and unhurried. The city envelops me with its calm, even in the busiest season of the year.

Besides, I know that my family group is heading for the Loretto Chapel in the center of town to see a staircase that’s as famous as Santa Fe itself.

The story of the “Miraculous Staircase” begins with a group of nuns in the mid-19th century who find themselves with a new chapel and choir loft. But, alas, there is no way to get from one to the other, because no staircase was built between the two. They begin to pray to history’s most famous carpenter, Saint Joseph, and soon, a grey-haired man arrives at their door, offering to build the desired staircase. Using only rudimentary tools, he finishes his task and leaves as mysteriously as he appeared.

The carpenter’s handiwork is known as the “miraculous staircase,” because it baffles engineers to this day. It contains two complete 360-degree turns, yet has no center support of any kind. Constructed with wooden pegs, but no nails, experts claim the wood itself is not native to New Mexico — or any other earthly place they can identify.

Did Saint Joseph return to help the nuns? I’m one of those who want to believe so. I visit the chapel each time I come to the city. But, this time, I envisioned that the twisting form of the staircase (which many have compared to the double helix structure of DNA) holds even more secrets. Some day, perhaps computer analysis will reveal a complex genetic code in the staircase’s spiral design. Maybe even a blueprint to a cure for all disease. Why not? After all, if a miracle were to happen on earth, Santa Fe would be the perfect spot.

The next night, we checked into an historic member of RockResorts called La Posada de Santa Fe, a few blocks from the Plaza. Entering the intimate, elegant lobby, we glance upward to a sweeping staircase. It leads to the original section of the hotel, the former Staab House. The grand home belonged to the city’s most prominent citizens, Abraham and Julia Staab, who lived there happily with their six children in the late 19th century. Julia was the queen of Santa Fe society, hosting parties in the upstairs ballroom. But, the Staab’s fairytale life came to a close when their seventh child died soon after his birth, and Julia went into a deep depression. She reputedly spent the rest of her life in her room. And, legend says, her spirit remains there to this day.

Subsequent owners of the property constructed a series of Pueblo-Revival style casitas around the grounds. The lovely bungalows range in size from tiny to extravagant, and surround a beautiful landscape dotted with flowers bursting with color. The bungalows — many with authentic kiva fireplaces — once served as accommodations for visiting artists. Our lodging near the pool was particularly lovely. I stayed up late, wondering if Julia Staab would be out this beautiful August night. No apparition this evening, but I think she’d be very content that guests are still enjoying her magnificently preserved home and grounds.

The next day, I head for the hotel’s Avanyu Spa, for a relaxing deep tissue massage. My therapist somehow knows that I come from a hectic place, and a life full of deadlines. Before long, the massage had melted away any vestiges of the world outside Santa Fe.

That evening, we head to my brother and sister-in-law’s favorite Santa Fe restaurant, Los Mayas. Each of us tries a different authentic dish, and spends the evening debating whether the chile relleno, beef in red chile sauce or pork in green chile is the best on the face of the earth.
The next day, my brother insists it is time to come along for a surprise. We know better than to ask questions. We drive in a caravan, following his car through a stunning winding road about five miles north of town. We arrive at the little village of Tesuque, home of the Shidoni Gallery and Foundry. We are amazed to find a working bronze art foundry and gallery featuring more than 100 different sculptors. We peruse the gallery with awe at the unique and creative works, but what lay in store for us outside was even more delightful. A sculpture garden extends as far as the eye can see, laden with whimsical, enormous pieces that make us feel like kids in a grown-up amusement park. “Look over here,” we called to each other, as we encountered a metallic sea monster or space alien or giant fish made of tin cans.

For lunch, we ventured to another gastronomic favorite, The Shed, which is just off the Plaza in Santa Fe. Its original sister restaurant, La Choza, is another hit, south of the Plaza on Cerrillos Road. That evening, I join friends for a lovely dinner at the Anasazi Restaurant. Located at the Inn of the Anasazi, a Rosewood Hotel, the 4-star boutique property is one of Santa Fe’s most lauded. The restaurant’s rustic surroundings include wood floors, hand-decorated tables, and cozy dishes combining Asian and French influences with the bounty of the Southwest.

With the trip drawing to a close, I get an urge to explore the area surrounding Santa Fe. I convince my brother George to join me on a trip to nearby Galisteo, home of the Galisteo Inn. We drive outside of town, through 17 miles of rolling hills dotted with ranch estates. Finally, off a dirt road that takes us back to the 18th century, we reach the inn.

Located on a hacienda dating back to 1705, the Galisteo Inn consists of 11 individually decorated suites and rooms, including the former tack room. Its La Mancha Restaurant has earned rave reviews from national publications, and as we arrive, the chef is pulling up with an armload of vegetables from a local market. We are just in time to join a handful of other locals and guests on the back porch for a dinner that begins with quesadillas made from exotic local cheeses. All around us, the setting sun casts blue and pink light off of the inn’s adobe walls.

Darkness falls, but we decide to venture out after dinner through the Galisteo’s rustic gates. Walking around, we explore the wee town. It’s a small neighborhood of eclectic adobe homes. We can see lights illuminating studios inside; easels and works of sculpture awaiting the return of an artist’s hand. A rickety bridge entices us to continue our exploration, as groves of cottonwood trees blow in the breeze. The night is entirely still, except for what sounds like a chorus of a thousand crickets. Flashes of lightning in the distance shatter the night sky, and the scene is otherworldly.

I suddenly remember The Milagro Beanfield War, the Robert Redford-directed film set in a location similar to this. The movie did, after all, involve the magical spirits that cling to this part of the world. Magic I can feel all around me, as huge raindrops begin to fall. We run back to the gates of the Galisteo Inn. And, my spirit is ready to return to the real world.