Something in the air

Late afternoon clouds still hanging there at sunset. What does it all mean?

Could it be distant moisture?

Travel blog moment 2

I just love it when airlines lose at least some my luggage for some of the time. Since they are obliged to quickly deliver it the moment when and if they locate it, this is at least a slight punishment for no longer serving free nuts during flights, not to mention all the other indignities imposed on passengers these days. Also, it saves me the discomfort of dragging the item from the carousel through terminals, buses, car trunks, parking lots, hotel lobbies, elevators etc. The airline sends a happy minion, no doubt relieved to be spared more mundane tasks for a spell, to travel to obscure locations, weird motels, creepy hide-outs in deep woods, or to wherever travelers find suitable destinations. Beyond that, this situation offers the faint hope of permanent loss, leaving me faultless in a separation from a large chunk of matter that I have an unhealthy attachment to (like all my good socks, for example).

Travel blog moment 1

I'm still reeling from a spell of travel, even now, two days after returning home. The East Coast: mushy green, overgrown, over-mowed; stark contrasts, monotony, blight, and wonder. The air stayed humid even without recent rain, bugs gave it extra texture. The roadkill always looked fresh, not like here in New Mexico where you see ravens savoring last morsels off the ribs of a long dead elk on the shoulders of highways for months, like familiar landmarks ("...past the third ribcage on NM Route 4, take a right at the bullsnake skin..." etc.). There is a never satisfied appetite for red meat out there and creatures generously hurl themselves under oncoming wheels to provide for others. In this American dream you, the consumer, pick your moment to streak through the hurtling traffic all the way to the fast lane, grab a carcass, scamper back into the lush green beyond the roadside and bury your features in the still throbbing flesh.
To be continued...

Secret City

I don't often post images of Los Alamos. It is a bland, very "normal" looking place, large parts have a human (non-vehicle) scale, not like anywhere else in New Mexico. Low crime, polite people on the sidewalks, polite drivers behind wheels, a gentleness wafting in the thin, high altitude air. And yet, from here arose the greatest violence designed by humans on this planet. Here's a self-portrait, which sums-up well my hopes and fears in this town:

and a violent metaphor of an image representing the true nature of the town itself (location of both photographs: parking lot at the high school). Worth clicking upon:

Suspicious circumstances

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The tourists are swarming again.

Here in the Jemez Valley we struggle though increased traffic and desperately try not to wave at seemingly familiar vehicles which turn out to have Wisconsin or New Jersey plates. A minor discomfort, you might say, compared to the transformation that occurs in locations such as Santa Fe, where the crowds choke downtown places completely changing the experience of being there.

Lizzie and I decided to experience first-hand being in the midst of the first wave of these meandering voyeurs last Sunday. We nudged our way through traffic on NM 550 to Bernalillo, where, to accommodate Lizzie's lust for posh places, we boldly strode into the most officially posh hotel in our humble county, the Tamaya Hyatt Resort Hotel. We poked our noses in here and there: nice enough, nice enough, I guess. The lounge had fake logs burning in a fake fireplace. Yes, very nice, very nice, even if it is 90*F outside; the air conditioning made it almost bearable. The tables were chess boards with the pieces already assembled in their appropriate places and not glued down, so we settled for a quick game which turned out to be a crushing defeat for me, as usual.

We were on our way to Santa Fe, but hard to pass through Bernalillo without sampling its other delights: bowling in Santa Ana Casino and cakes and coffee at the Flying Star Cafe.

Once in Santa Fe we exposed our cameras and camcorder; this not to just blend, but also to record the swarms recording each other recording the place. We found a perfect site: the parking lot at La Fonda Hotel, with a great view if Saint Francis of Assisi cathedral. Got some great footage of crazed, camera wielding crowds, which Lizzie later edited into a "witty" little video: "The Tourists of Santa Fe".

As we were about to leave Lizzie lowered her camcorder sights to the sidewalk below us; we were at first floor level. A small boy, perhaps five years old, walked briskly round the corner, glanced around and sat down on the curb, as if hiding behind the car that was parked there. At that moment a large, fancy looking sedan turned the same corner and stopped by the car that the little boy was hiding behind. An overweight, shabby-looking, middle-aged man got out of the passenger side leaving the door wide open, perhaps in anticipation of having to get back in again in a hurry. He walked around the parked car and spotted the boy. He did not approach him any closer, but begun talking and gesturing towards him. At the time I could not hear what he was saying, but later, when we played back the video, it turned out that he was saying things like: "Where is your Mum and Dad?", "Are you lost?" etc. The boy seemed to reply (unrecorded). At a moment he suddenly got up and quickly walked back in the direction which he first came from, disappearing round the corner. The man stood gazing after him for a while, then turned to the driver in the car, which still stood in the middle of the road, spread his arms in disappointment, got back in, and they drove off.

We studied the video at the first Starbucks we got to (sucking-up their electricity to our starved batteries at the same time). On each viewing, the scene seemed more and more horrible. What do we do? What do we do? Police? I don't have a natural rapport with law enforcement officers, but after some agonizing, we decided that this seemed the best course.

The Santa Fe police station, a largish building off Cerillos Road, looked closed, the parking lot was empty, and it seemed dark inside. We knocked, we shouted. Just as we gave up hope, I gave the door handle a last twist, twitch, and push, and to our surprise, it opened.
"Hello, hello, anyone there? hello!" No reply.
We went inside. A large room with chairs. A waiting room? There was a sign: "Reception", but it was unattended. Another door had a sign: "Authorized personnel only!" in big red letters, so of course I opened it, first knocking politely a few times.
"Hello. Hello, anyone there?" No reply.
We went deeper.
It turns out that police stations, abandoned ones, are fascinating places. Weird stuff lying everywhere, chalk-boards with notations, explanations, and questions, cute little desk decorations; an air of eerie stillness, suspense, suspended action. Crowds and crime raged in the streets outside, but here it was break time; coffee mugs stood stained and empty, donut plates had a few crumbs lingering, perhaps to be picked with sticky finger tips at a later time.
"Hello, hello, anyone there?"

We finally arrived at what seemed the other end of the building. There was daylight shining through a door that appeared to lead to another lobby. Suddenly, a large figure in a black (NM police) uniform sprung in front of us, startling us, but appearing to be even more startled himself, at the sight of us.
"What? What are you...what are you doing here? How did you get in here?"
I was already somewhat prepared for that kind of question.
"Oh, we need to talk to someone, want to report something."
He still wanted his question answered.
"How did you get in here?"
"The doors are open, we came in."
"But...open?...but..."
"We want to show you a video."
"What? Video? Video! I don't have time!"
"Someone tried to kidnap a little boy. We taped the incident and thought that you might need to see it."
"I don't have time, I don't have time! I have a woman chained to the wall."
This time I was startled.
"A woman? Chained? To the wall?"
"Yes, yes. She's very violent. I'm alone. Look."
He pointed up to a monitor on the wall above us. All three of us peered at it carefully. Indeed, there was a woman chained to the wall in some nearby dank cell. She didn't look very happy, and was clearly trying to get herself unchained.
"I have to go. Leave a message on that red phone outside. Someone will get back to you. I have to go."
We turned to leave the way we came.
"NO!! NO!! Go out this way!"

                       *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

We left the station feeling somewhat crushed, had a conference about the matter in the car and decided not to use the stupid red phone, but to find another cop somewhere.

We traveled a couple of blocks down the road, heading vaguely towards the freeway when there it was: another police station. Perhaps the last one was city, county, federal, and perhaps this one was whatever the other one was not; we didn't read the signs carefully, but just started tugging at the door, knocking, bellowing "Hello, hello!", jiggling the door handle, being already experienced in entering police stations, but this time to no avail. As we turned to walk away, a uniformed figure appeared in the murky lobby, peering at us suspiciously. We waved our camcorder at him.

"Can we show you something. We have something we would like you to see."
He reluctantly opened the door, and we edged our way in, though it seemed like he he would have preferred that we stayed outside. We described the situation, which we had witnessed, and offered to show him the video. He refused.
"No crime was committed." he said.
"A stranger approached a lone kid, obviously aimed to get him into his car. Isn't it criminal to try to abduct children in the street. Now he's probably wandering around looking for another kid..."
"No crime was committed."
"What? You need to wait 'till he does get a kid into his car?"
"I can only act when a crime has been committed."
Lizzie, locked into a sullen, focused persistence, kept nearing the camcorder screen towards his face, the horrible scene outside the Cathedral played over and over, and he drew back each time she advanced.
"No crime was committed."

I paused to consider that perhaps there was a crime, actually being committed at that very moment, which I ought to mention to him. A few hundred feet down the road a woman was chained to the wall. A man, was alone in the building with her. Hm, what is the Law here? Is that a crime already? Should we go back and see if a deeper, further crime has been committed since we last passed through there? We had the camcorder handy, battery fully charged at Starbucks, even knew which monitor to head to.

Never mind.

Meant to watch the local news that night, but forgot.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Schools close early for the summer holidays, here in the United States. Now, the important project has become keeping my daughter from loosing control of her body and tearing her away from the computer. The fact that she is composing essays, editing videos, searching for universities to attend next year, and other intellectual tasks makes not much difference; she might as well be playing computer games since her body will turn to jello and through isolation from the alien, non digital world her brain will congeal into unsocialized ubernerdiness.
So, off to lofty Santa Fe we trudged; see a bit of the world. Somehow, we skipped all the art galleries and museums.Who needs them when you can hang out in restaurants and spy on people. Boy, did we have adventures!

Hm. Perhaps I will write about all that when I feel a bit more coherent...like obviously I'm not at this very moment.

Santa Fe, the City Different. A few observations: