The yummiest thing in the whole café, however were a table full of real, hot, finger licking good cowboys. They had some sort of livestock in a trailer attached to their large diesel truck and were obviously road warriors just like us. All 5 of them were under 40, wearing lots of denim, muddy cowboy boots, spurs and cowboy hats. All were incredibly fit with tanned, wind burned faces with strong arms and large hands. I’m sad to say only one of them was raised right by his momma and took his hat off at the table. That’s ok. I forgive them. I was facing their table so I had a real nice view all during lunch and I only have one thing to say:
Katie is for sure staying in Texas now.
Once the cowboys leave the only view we have are of our ugly crust pies so we hurry up and finish and get back on the road.
We’re in New Mexico!! Holla!
The land here is unbelievably beautiful. We
can’t stop taking bad pictures from the car. We wasted a lot of time here trying to chase down route 66 and the Jimaz trail, which has awesome geology and breathtaking views. We finally give up and find a place to stay in Albuquerque. According to Trip Advisor there is an inexpensive but clean motel right on 66 with helpful, albeit grumpy owners. We decide to take a chance and since I’m driving, Katie calls to make a reservation. She calls and asks for availability and the first thing the guy says on the phone is “Are you non-smoker”? Katie lies through her teeth
and says, “Yeah, I’m a non smokers, yes. “ Turns out the name of this hotel is not just the Monterey Motel, it’s the NON- SMOKING Monterey Motel. Oh boy, I have visions of us being thrown out on our ear after Mr. Grumps takes a whiff of us at check in. I don’t smoke, but Katie does, and although she’s been very considerate by rolling down her window every time she needs a smoke, I still think I smell a little. After driving up and down Central Ave for what seemed like a hour, we called the motel and were we needed to head on Central Ave, EAST. We need to make a u-turn except at virtually every left turn there is a no u-turns sign. We have dubbed Albuquerque the “No u-turn capital of the world”
We finally find the place (have you noticed we have trouble finding our hotels? It must be a character flaw) and we get out to check in. There is an older gentleman who is a curious mix of European and Southwestern behind the desk. His mannerisms, speech and face all scream Eastern European but he’s wearing a silver and turquoise bracelet and ring and wearing the ubiquitous earth toned vest I see everywhere in the southwest. I say Hello, do you still have availability for this evening? He barks out, “You called, and said I have availability, then yes, there is still availability.” I can tell this is heading downhill fast. I squash the urge to go hide in the car and leave Katie to deal with him. He practically throws the key for room 8 at us. Katie then asks to see the room first before committing. “Oh, god”, I moan to myself, “we’re going to die in freaking Albuquerque”.
Turns out, Gustav, the Polish Prince wasn’t as bad as I initially thought and the motel and room were even better than the reviews said. The grounds and room were spotless and there were personal touches like real flowers in each room, a rubber bath mat, and patterned sheets on the bed. Katie and I are now in love with grumpy Gustav and his motel.
We head back to the office to check in. We ask about a good place to eat and he points to menus in a bin on the wall and tells us Church Street Café has the best food in Old Town. This guy has thought of everything! They have a nice laundry room that is right next to our room and open until 10 and Gustav says he has an unlimited supply of quarters. He makes a point of saying it closes at 10 p.m. and IF we’re not finished we can finish at 8 a.m. the next morning. Apparently this guy has a lot of rules. Our plan is to order take out from Church Street, get a bottle of wine and play cards while doing laundry.
On the way to our room we chat with who we assume is his wife. She is cleaning up the potted plants around the pool area and she and I talk about gardening for a few minutes.
Although it was too cold to use it, I was impressed they had a pool. Most of the Route 66 motels at this price filled in their pools, I assume because they’re so expensive to keep up. Like everything else at the Non Smoking Monterey Hotel, the pool area was spotless but with lots of rules about how to use it. Take for example, the following signage “No bath towels! Get pool towels from office” “Absolutely NO suntan lotion or oil in the pool!” I especially like the exclamation points. Grumpy Gustav’s voice rings in my head.
Our plans change at Church Street and we get the last table before they close. Katie orders a bottle of wine to celebrate my birthday. I order the combination platter with calabacitas (squash). The waiter asks me if I want red or green chili sauce. I want to try both so I say “Christmas”. “Red or green?” is actually the state question, the legislature made it official or something just like the state tree, flower , etc.. The waiter says no problem and off he goes to put our order in.
The menu has a history of the place and as we read we find out the place was a house originally built in 1706. The have some historical document because the house stayed the the same family it’s entire history until the most recent owner died, the current owners got a hold of it and turned it into a restaurant. The documentation is supported by the architecture. T
he walls are over 2 feet thick in some places and generally speaking the thicker the walls in colonial Spanish architecture, the older the structure. The owners close the one page history with a request to contact them if anyone has any more information about the place. I silently thank the gods of historic preservation that someone who cares about the history of the place bought it.
They close at 9 so the place is empty and the staff clearly wants to go home. I wish we had some more time to explore it. Katie and I are baffled by the fact the place closes down so early.
Oh well, we’re tired anyway. When did we get so old and boring?
The food really was really good. It was so spicy that I was sweating. A lot. It was great. I think I’m becoming quite the connoisseur of hot foods. Here is what my dinner looked like. I can't really remember what it was. I think an enchilada, and....I don't remember.
We get back to the hotel and it’s too late to do laundry. Gustav says he closes up promptly at 10. He says he’s got to sleep sometime. I don’t blame him. We also need to sleep because we’re getting up early and getting out of town the next morning. I fill out a comment card and leave a glowing review of, as Katie puts it, Gustav’s Polish Palace. Katie really thought he was a cool dude and we didn’t disrespect his no smoking edict. Every time she needed a cigarette we’d drive around the block. She said she felt like she was hiding from dad.
One final word about Gustav: We chatted with him a while after we checked in. He said he was from Poland, but lived in Chicago a long time because it second largest concentration of Polish outside of Warsaw. I said, yes we noticed there were a lot of Poles in Chicago because everyone (I often speak in hyperbole and don’t mean what I say literally) had Polish flags on their car. He responded by chiding me and saying that no, not everyone has flags, but many do.
He’s a little strict, and very literal but we enjoyed his European Hospitality just like it said on the sign.
So the plan was to get up early and make haste for Flagstaff so we could visit the Grand Canyon the next day, BUT as so often happens on this trip, our plans changed. We had almost forgot to visit the coolest of all museums in the entire world: The National Museum of Atomic Science and History! We already missed the underpants; I couldn’t bear it if we missed Fat Man and Little Boy too. We leave Gustav and his wife behind and head for the Atomic Energy Committee.
People in New Mexico are all very friendly, and very, umm... how shall I say it...unique. I like it immensely. I'd like to come back for a long weekend and explore Albuquerque with Don.
On the way out of town we stop at Mannies for breakfast and I had Huevous Rancheros, a traditional southwestern breakfast. This thing was huge! Lets see if I can remember what came with it:
a with 2 eggs over hard (that’s how I ordered them), topped with chili, red and green chili sauce (I got to say Christmas again!), beans, hash browns, and I think that’s it. It also came with a thick, warm flour tortilla. For dipping, I guess. This thing was HUGE. I didn't eat the whole thing, but our friend Jon, who says he can eat more than any one he knows could have.
Our waitress looked bored and not all that friendly, but I couldn’t help remarking that we’re from the east coast and I’ve never had Huevos Rancheros and I can’t wait to try them. She brightens up considerably and assures me I’ll love them. And she was right, I do. I’ve actually been wanting them for a long time, and was going to make them for dinner a few weeks ago but Katie and Don begged me not to. They don’t like spicy foods- only Harry and I do.
The Atomic museum was awesome. While we were paying our admission fee (onl
y $8, folks!) one of their volunteers whose job it was to pass out maps was talking to us. I mentioned we were driving cross country and their museum was on our list of the 5 must sees on the entire trip. Her name was Dottie, she couldn’t have been a day over 80. She was surprised and flattered that we put that much stock the museum. She also couldn’t believe two girls were driving cross country. She said she admired us and urged us to be careful and not pick up any hitchhikers no matter how cute they were. I showed her my wedding rings and assured her we wouldn’t be picking up any hitchhikers and anyway, our tastes ran toward the cowboy sort.
Just like Mary, our waitress at the Port City Dinner in Catoosa, OK, Dottie complimented me on my toe nails and I took immense pleasure in telling her the color was ATOMIC ORANGE!! I was curious about Dottie, she did everything slowly, talking, moving and her hair had to have been half again as tall as her face. I was SURE she was a Texan and I wished to god I had a yardstick to measure that hair. It was this glorious shiny blond color and perfectly coiffed. Never in my life had I ever seen such hair. I loved it. Turns out Dottie grew up in Kentucky and married a Texan. I told her my man was a fellow mountain boy having grown up in West Virginia and we chatted for a moment about how the Ozarks remind us of the Appalachians and their people.
Dottie then began telling us about the museum and I shared how my family and I love to go to the Udvar-Hazy annex in VA and we’ve seen the Enola Gay, the B-29 that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima, there on several occasions. She then tells us she had the pleasure of meeting Paul Tibbits, the pilot of the Enola Gay. Dottie is one cool chick. Did you know Paul Tibbits named his plane after his mother? I can’t decided if that’s sweet or disturbing. Somehow we meander through the history of the war, telling us how her husband landed on Normandy and how talented Tibbits was to drop the bomb and get the plane and his crew back safely when everyone thought his was a suicide mission, and all the way to Truman and the decision to drop the bomb.
I tell her I think history had maligned Truman and it wasn’t his decision to develop the bomb. Heck, he didn’t even know about it until FDR died and the whole mess landed in his lap. Based on what I’ve read about him, ol’ Harry carefully thought out each move he made as president and I’m sure the decision to drop the bomb was not one that he took lightly. She totally agreed and told me I was one of the few people who knew Truman was in the dark about the bomb through most of the war. If you want to know more about Truman, David McCullough, the author who wrote that fabulous biography of John Adams also wrote one about Truman and it won the Pulitzer.
We finally say our goodbyes to Dottie and onto the museum we go. It’s divided into a history track and a science track. Of course I start with the history section. It’s where the stuff is! Katie is doing her thing of reading labels so we almost immediately get separated. I wander along and what do I find, but Vaseline glass! Iron Hill has some in the glowing rock display and I wasalways curious about its history. I took a picture of the label so I’ll remember it when I get back.
Near all the missiles I ran into an elderly gentleman who is one of the handful of docents scattered around the museum to answer any questions visitors have. He starts explaining about all the weaponry that’s in the gallery. I ask if he found in World War II and he says he missed it by days. As his training was wrapping up the war ended. He starts reminiscing about his days in the military as an
other volunteer joins us. They are both of the opinion that every American male should spend 4 years in the military as they feels it’s a great maturing experience for young men. I respond that while I agree in principle, as the mother of a young boy, I don’t relish sending my son off to war. They give each other a look and I politely excuse myself and go find some more awesome material culture. I should have included both my children in that sentiment since of course we send our daughters as well as our sons to war nowadays.
As I’m perusing the galleries I notice Katie and I are the only girls in the place. Katie says it’s cause we rock. I agree.
Museum coolness:
This thing was called a Revigator. It's a large pottery crock lined with radium ore. Users were urged to fill it with water and drink an average of six or more glasses daily. It was considered a cure- all until the 1920's. I wonder what all those people who used these things died from.
When we first walked in the museum, most of the floor was laid with some sort of polished stone- granite or marble, I'm guessing. Each tile was engraved with an element and when put together made an exact replica of the Periodic Table of Elements. It was truly awesome. It was hard to get a good picture because it was dark and the tile was shiny. The lines of text underneath were dedications. I guess people could buy an element and get what they wanted engraved underneathThe museum had a small Propaganda exhibit that was really cool. I don't have room to post all the posters. This one I thought was the best. Doesn't the evil German look like Darth Vader? Don,t you think George Lucas got his idea for the Empire from the Germans? If you think about it you can come up with all kinds of parallels, but for now I'll spare you from any more of my Star Wars musings. You're welcome.
Fat Man! and Little Boy!
This part of the exhibit was so excruciatingly painful, Katie and I couldn't read all the labels. A three year old boy was riding this tricycle outside his home when Paul Tibbits and his crew dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. The trike was flattened and the little boy died later that evening. This picture and the story accompanying it was absolutely haunting and made my heart ache. I just want to hold my babies tight.
This watch stopped at the exact time that the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.
These, and hundreds more of paper cranes were mailed to the museum from a Japanese citizen. Forgive me if this in incorrect, but I think making paper cranes is symbolic of healing in Japanese culture and that's why this individual sent them to the museum. I found them very touching.
We leave the museum by mid afternoon and drive to Flagstaff. The plan is to hit the Grand Canyon early the next morning!
Good Night, Friends.
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