Judie Fein

“Yeah, sure,” I thought. “And I just came back from seeing a pink elephant in the frozen foods section at the market.”

“I’m serious,” said my friend. “There’s plenty of weird stuff in southern Colorado. If you’ve never been there, check it out.”

When someone says the words “check it out,” it’s usually only a few days before my husband and I gas up the metal buggy, load up on web wisdom and Triple A maps, and hit the road. I get nauseous when I read in a moving vehicle, so I usually toss all the information into the back seat of the car, and we travel, so to speak, by the seat of our pants. We ask locals for tips, follow unusual road signs, and hope for adventure. In southern Colorado, we weren’t disappointed.

We began in the town of San Luis, which is a gateway into the San Luis Valley, purportedly the largest Alpine valley in the world. One brochure says it’s the size of Rhode Island and a local swears it’s the size of Massachusetts; just knowing it’s as big as a state is good enough for me. The town of San Luis, with its largely-Hispanic population, is the oldest town in Colorado and houses the newest shrine in America: a hill with the stations of the cross depicted in three-quarter life-size bronze statues (by local artist Huberto Maestas). As visitors climb the mesa in silence, they are drawn into the intimate, moving scenes from the final hours of the life of Jesus.

The hill is crowned by a whitewashed adobe chapel, an architectural jewel that combines arches, a full dome and three half-domes into its design. The influences are Mexican, Revival, Moorish or Islamic and Iberian. Inside the chapel, in a small room, pilgrims leave photos and prayers for loved ones and for personal healing. The day I was there, a solitary young woman in a navy blue dress was sobbing. She clutched a photo of a handsome young man in a military uniform, and her tears fell onto his face.

On top of the hill, a few hundred yards away, is an inviting house-like structure with panoramic windows and an open door. Visitors can enter and get a dramatic view of the San Luis Valley with its cars, cows, mountain peaks, fields, cottonwood trees and simple houses.

Before leaving San Luis, we walked around the town, visiting the 1886 adobe-gothic Sangre de Cristo church, the old grocery store, and generally enjoying the slow pace, the unassuming residents, and the remarkable mural of Jesus talking to the children, where the “children” seem to be the locals from the town.

About forty-five minutes from San Luis is the Colorado Alligator Farm and I can attest to the fact that my friend wasn’t kidding. It started out as a tilapia farm, and the owners had to ship out the fish detritus to get rid of it. They came up with a brilliant idea. Their land had geothermal waters. Why not try to raise alligators in the waters? The gators would eat the fish remains and that would solve the waste shipping problem. They bought some baby gators, with the idea that they’d keep them for a year or so, and then return them and buy some more hungry babies. But, like other adoptive parents, they grew attached to the little ones, who slowly turned into big ones, and they bought more little ones, who also turned into grownups, and now they have three hundred gators. THREE HUNDRED TILAPIA-MUNCHING ALLIGATORS, right there in the lap of the snow-crested Rockies.

I guess one reptile led to another, and the Colorado Alligator Farm now has reptile rooms where you can see everything from albino Burmese pythons to Trans-Pecos copperheads to nurse sharks. You can hold Amy, the baby gator, whose mouth is gently taped shut so she doesn’t bite your hand off. You can go from tank to tank, watching the young gators and end up at the adult geothermal pool, where the big muthas hang out. They’re about a thousand times the size of those little suckers on the Lacoste shirts. In the summertime, visitors can “wrangle” the gators, which means you can plop your butt on the back of a giant reptile who probably doesn’t want you to be there. But what do I know? I can only guess at gator sentiments.

About five miles north on Route 17 is a recently-constructed roadside attraction: a UFO observation tower. It seems that the San Luis Valley has a lot of otherworldly lore, like cattle mutilations, strange lights, cigar-shaped objects floating overhead, and an abduction or two. Judy Messoline bought a slab of land with a great view, and she built a space-ship shaped store and a metal Lego-like tower where visitors can climb up to ponder the vast spaces and hope for a glimpse of a UFO, an extraterrestrial or maybe the famed “train light” that locals have reported seeing for the past sixty years. Inside the store, they can purchase Christopher O’Brien’s books on the valley and the UFO phenomenon, or they can stock up on Roswellian gifts like ET’s, t-shirts and things that glow in the dark.

About half an hour north, there is a sign that points to Crestone. Being rather footloose with a full tank of gas, we followed the sign and eight miles later found ourselves in another world, and I mean another world. Crestone is divided up into two sections: “downtown” and Baca Grande, (referred to as “The Baca.”) The former was the site of an old gold mining town, and it is still dotted with abandoned log cabins. There is no visible affluence now, and the only exchange of coins seems to take place at the single gas station, the only grocery store, the sole hardware shop and the rock/crystal/Buddha store with its free bins of recycled clothes outside. There are no horns honking, no radios and TVs blaring and the only noise is the rustling of leaves in the cottonwood trees and the occasional bark of a dog.

The Baca is part of an old Land Grant, and weaves up into the foothills and down through the San Luis valley. There is one restaurant, called Desert Sage, where the food is yummy and the staff friendly, and another lodge and restaurant(where brunch is served to the strains of live harp music) at White Eagle Village. There are about four B and B’s, and I stayed at the welcoming, comfortable Rainbow, which was $50 a night for me and my husband. Our room had a large picture window that included millions of stars in the light-pollution-free night sky; it was like sleeping out in nature with all the creature comforts of the great indoors.

What is extraordinary about Crestone is that it’s off the corporate culture grid. Every bulletin board is covered with fliers about healers, mystics, psychics, readers, ceremonies. There is no live theatre, no movie theatre, nothing to do at night but get together and relate. Everyone is aware of community, of helping others, and of living on the land in a way that sustains it. Houses are made of adobe, stone, recycled materials; Crestone is even referred to as the “straw bale capital of America.” Our hosts at the B and B, Judie Rose and Dennis Neuhaus, offer counseling and Reiki services, provide cell phone access and computer expertise, serve on volunteer committees, and are part-time foster parents.

In the 1980’s, a philanthropic couple named Maurice and Hanne Strong bought the Baca land grant and made an extraordinary offer: any religious, educational or environmentally-conscious group could get free land if they agreed to a build a center to maintain their traditions. Today’s visitors benefit from those generous open hands, and they have a spiritual cornucopia to choose from. They can drop in casually to some of the holy spots, or call ahead and be welcomed at others. They can sign up for longer retreats, and regenerate in the bosom of the Sangre de Cristos.

My husband’s interest in things spiritual is, to put it mildly, less than minimal, so, respecting his feelings, I limited myself to Option A and Option B. The first was the Haidakhandi Universal Ashram. A small sign pointed to an Indian-style temple devoted to the Divine Mother. Inside the sanctuary were pillows and a carpet spread in front of the beautifully-adorned Mother statue. There were photos of the revered yogi, Babaji, in his most recent incarnation in India. My husband remained outside, breathing in the fresh air from the beautiful wooded area. I stayed inside, talking to a young adept who was sweeping the temple. He invited us to stay for a chanting and drumming ceremony that evening, but when I opened the door and saw my husband’s face, I knew not to even bother asking. He suggested, instead, that we take a walk in the woods, where we sat down on two smooth rocks by a gurgling brook, and communed with nature, which is his favorite place of worship.

Option B was Sanctuary House, a retreat center open to anyone who wishes to enter, with the proviso that they must remove their shoes. Inside the courtyard was a breathtaking reconstruction of the labyrinth of Chartres cathedral. To my amazement, my husband began to walk it.

Around the courtyard were four rooms. The first was a Jewish/Christian sanctuary with crucifixes, portraits of Mary, candles, a Hebrew Bible, a Jewish star and an 8-branched menorah. The second room I entered had a Buddhist/Zen orientation. Beautifully-illustrated scrolls hung from the walls, images of the Buddha were everywhere, and, on a small altar, were a series of Tibetan bowls. The third room was Hindi/Vedic, and was permeated by the sweet scent of incense. All around were images of gods and goddesses and portraits of beloved yogis. The fourth sanctuary was devoted to Muslim/Sufi worship. The floor was lined with oriental carpets, and there were translations of the Koran, Sufi poems and drums in key locations. In each room, visitors can linger, meditate, read, weep, pray, dance, sing, or whatever they are called to do.

When I left the Sanctuary House, I felt tremendous inner peace and balance. But more astounding was the fact that my husband reported he “received” important and relevant messages about his life while he followed the path of the labyrinth.

From Crestone, we retraced our route on Highway 17, and turned left at a sign that pointed to Great Sand Dunes National Monument (about 45 minutes away). The winds and waters of nature created this miracle at the foot of the 14,000 foot peaks of the Rockies: 37 square miles of sand dunes that look like a set for “Lawrence of Arabia.” The great sand hills seemed so soft and inviting that we ran towards them for a climb. Within seconds the loose sand slowed to a trot, then a sort of exhausted, walking crawl. It was like climbing up a vertical beach. We slowly hiked to the crest of the dunes, passing by kids who were sliding down the slopes, couples posing for photos, and a few little tykes who had convinced their parents to “bury” them in sand, as though they were at the shore. The air seemed like it was pumped out of a purifier, there was a gentle breeze, and all the cares of the world vanished. Pfffttttt.

We were very hungry after our sandy expedition, and we drove down highway 150, turned west on highway 160 and followed the signs to Alamosa (about 40 minutes). The locals tipped us off to a great Mexican eatery. A couple of Mexican guys had learned the food trade while working in California. They got on a bus to Idaho to seek their fortune, lost their luggage, ended up in Alamosa, and the rest is culinary history. Taqueria Calvillo looks like a shack from outside, but inside it’s spacious, unpretentious, with the friendliest staff on the planet, a kitchen that is jumping with activity, generous portions, amazingly inexpensive and satisfying food. Every day there is a fresh fruit drink, and we washed our fajitas and enchiladas down with delicious, refreshing watermelon ade.

If we’d had more time, we would have checked out the Joyful Journey Hot Springs and Spa in the San Luis Valley and perhaps done a few laps in the geothermal pools that are open to the public. But real life called, and we had to bid adios to the reptiles, ET’s, dunes, shrines and eateries of southern Colorado.

IF YOU GO:

San Luis Valley information: 1-800-214-1240 or 719-852-0660 orwww.slv.org/slvic or [email protected]

Colorado Alligator Farm: Halfway between Mosca and Hooper on Highway 17, 719-378-2612 or www.gatorfarm.com

UFO watchtower: 2 and a half miles north of Hooper on Highway 17, 719-378-2271 or www.ufowatchtower.com

Crestone information: www.crestone.org or 719-256-4110 or CMBA P.O.B. 1011 Crestone, Colorado 81131

Rainbow B and B: [email protected] or www.rainbowbb.com or 1-800-530-1992 or 719-256-4110

Sanctuary House: www.sanctuaryhouse.org or 719-256-4420

The Haidakhandi Universal Ashram: [email protected] or 719-256-4108

Desert Sage Restaurant: 719-256-4402

White Eagle Village Restaurant: 719-256-4865

Great Sand Dunes National Monument: 719-378-2312

Taqueria Calvillo: 119 Broadway Ave, Alamosa, 719-587-5500

Joyful Journey Hot Springs and Spa: 719-256-4328

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Blackened fish?!² a nearby Cajun diner said, laughing. Paul Prudhomme burned some fish by mistake, thought it wasn¹t half bad and began to serve it. Now just order some real Cajun food–crabs and gumbo.²

The gumbo, in a thick roux, was followed by a tray full of huge crabs that had been cooked in a piquant boil. Paul and I exchanged looks: this was why we had come to Louisiana

The waitress showed us how to crack the crabs, and another patron gave us a quick lesson in Cajun

They set out from France during the 17th century, seeking a better life in eastern Canada. They farmed, fished, trapped and knew halcyon days in an area they called Acadia, which is now Nova Scotia. They were so successful, that the British became covetous of their fertile land. In an act of cruel deception, The British separated wives from husbands and children from parents, and sent the Acadians off on ships into exile in 1755. Some returned to Europe, close to half died, and another group made their way to the American Colonies and ended up in the bayou area, which they named New Acadia. During the next decades, thousand of other exiles joined the first band. They turned misery into opportunity, worked the land, fished, and maintained their Acadian, or Cajun, culture to this day.

Do you still speak French?² I asked my impromptu history teacher.

Oui, oui, je parle francais,² he said, in the strangest accent I¹d ever heard.

It turns out that Cajun French is actually old French, brought over by the early immigrants; it¹s a cultural treasure, preserved in spite of the Diaspora. In an attempt to assimilate the Cajuns into mainstream culture in the 1920¹s, children were forbidden to speak their language in schools, and were spanked for infractions. Slowly, it began to die out. Today, it is mainly the older Cajuns who know how to parler the old francais. French is being reintroduced now in school, but it¹s modern

By the time I had finished my crème brulé, several other diners joined in to give us a Cliff notes version of the Cajun story. This was true everywhere we went; the Cajuns we met seemed to love visitors who were interested in their culture, and they were garrulous and great raconteurs. And dancers.

Do you like Cajun dancing?² a woman asked me.

I don¹t know,² I said. I¹ve never tried it.²

Soon I was trotting to Cajun music on a canopied boat called the Alligator Queen as we cruised through the Alligator Bayou (45 minutes from Vacherie, close to Baton Rouge, in the town of Prairieville). The guys who run the wackiest bayou tour in the area (it¹s a combination of stand-up comedy, eco tourism and dance lessons) are actually serious environmentalists. In 1993, Jim Ragland and Frank Bonifay, both around forty years old, learned that hundreds of acres of bottomland hardwoods from Spanish Lake (about three miles from Alligator Bayou) were going to end up in a lumber mill, and the bayou would probably be chopped up into suburban backyards. They took the considerable money they had earned in the workaday world as roofers (they hit it big after Hurricane Andrew), purchased the land, and created a wildlife refuge and botanical gardens.

Come with me,² Jim said, as I stepped off the boat after the ninety-minute cruise up the bayou and to the flats. I want you to meet some of my friends.²

Jim¹s friends² are a pond full of alligators. As a twelve-footer came slithering out of the liquid slime, Jim handed me a chicken leg and told me to drop it into the gator¹s open maw. Flush with my success as a dancer, I fed the beast, and only after I heard the sound of its jaw snapping shut (which can best be compared to the slam of a car trunk) did I realize how brave or stupid I had been.

After every experience in bayou country, the reward is another great meal. Cajuns, it seemed to us, are obsessed with eating. Before one meal is even finished, they are planning for the next. So we began to act like Cajuns. We drove half an hour to Donaldsonville (30 miles south of Baton Rouge) to eat at The Grapevine Café, a new restaurant opened by Dickie and Cynthia Breaux, who created the famed Café des Amis in nearby Breaux Bridge. I have only six words to say about the restaurant: turtle soup, barbecued shrimp, baked duck. Trust me. And don¹t forget to mop up the sauces with French bread. If you can think about anything but food, check out the photography and paintings that line the walls and spill over into the courtyard; it¹s all good and all for sale. The artists change every two months and the prices range from $500-$1200.

Now well fed, and knowing the basic Acadian dance steps, we drove ninety minutes to Lafayette, in the heart of Cajun country (132 miles from New Orleans). There were a host of charming B and B¹s, and we chose Bois des Chenes, a very affordable restored 1820¹s plantation home, where we slept in a four-poster bed in the adjacent carriage house. The owners, Coerte and Marjorie Voorhies, whisked us into a world of their Louisiana antiques, great stories, and wicked humor. Marjorie¹s specialty is pain perdu, which translates as lost bread² but tastes like gourmet French toast. Coerte¹s speciality is three-hour Atchafalaya swamp tours.

Coerte is a dead ringer for Papa Hemingway; he¹s also as macho and brazen. He lowered us into his skiff, passed by what he called the geriatric boats,² and sped us deep into the swamps where we had the privilege of coming face-to-bark with magnificent old Cyprus groves, and face-to-beak with stunning white egrets. Our skipper apologized that we didn¹t get a chance to handle baby gators and we never saw the beaver, otters, nutria, mink, deer and 38 species of bird that call the swamp their home; the waters had risen to an unusually high level, and the fauna were hidden from view.

After the swamp tour it was, you guessed it, time for dinner. Prejean¹s is a legend in Lafayette, and we somehow found room for popcorn crawfish, crawfish enchiladas, smoked duck and andouille gumbo, and Cast Iron Bread Pudding that was laced with Jack Daniels. It all went down quite nicely to the accompaniment of live, toe-tapping Cajun music: accordian, bass and violin.

The next day, we drove thirty minutes southeast to St. Martinville, where we figured out that Longfellow was the first publicist for Cajun country. His 1847 poem, Evangeline,² about two star-crossed Cajun lovers who were separated forever by the exile, catapulted the Cajuns into public consciousness.

St. Martinville might as well be called Evangelineville. There is the Evangeline oak, Evangeline¹s tomb, a statue of Evangeline. On a more serious note, there is also the Cultural Heritage Center that shows the parallel between the African and Cajun diasporas. Next door to it is an expansive mural of the Acadians landing on our shores, and a monument with a burning flame to remember the courageous and decimated pioneers. There is also a wall with the names of the honored ancestors. Like many Cajuns, our guide had just begun learning about her genealogy, and she began to weep as she pointed out her own family names.

I was drawn to Cajun counry partly because of my interest in traditional healers, and I had heard about the traiteurs of Louisiana. Although they aren¹t advertised anywhere, many Cajuns have their own favorite treater, and we were regaled with stories of warts that dropped off, sinus problems cured, shingles that vanished, and people miraculously brought back from the threshold of death. The traiteur¹s tool bag contains magical treatments² which are usually prayers that are passed down, orally, from one treater to another.

I dragged my husband to Erath, a half-hour south, where, at the wonderfully eccentric local Acadian Museum (it¹s like grandma¹s attic before the antique dealers got there) we met the Simon brothers, Allen and Claude. Both are traiteurs and they worked on my allergies right there, amid the photos and artifacts. Allen, an articulate, passionate man, used to be a Cajun country guide, and he has spent his life loving and preserving the language and culture. After he treated me with prayers, my non-believing husband actually agreed to be treated by Claude for his allergies. I almost fainted. He reported that he felt well and balanced afterwards.

Claude has expanded his interest in healing into other metaphysical realms. He works with a home-made pendulum that he constructed out of an empty film canister and fishing line. He asks it questions that can be answered with yes² or no² and it swings back and forth or side-to-side with answers. Surprisingly, he gave it to me as a gift. Claude also uses a homemade dowser. He recently helped to build a labyrinth in a public park in nearby Abbeville. He is excited, alive, anxious to heal, to help, to learn about the mysteries of the universe.

Everyone we met in Cajun country was a character. We drove from Erath to Meaux (ten minutes west), where we visited with a larger-than-life traiteur named Lousay Aubé. He explained that although most treaters have a specialty, he can cure everything and anything.² He charges nothing (none of the traiteurs seem to) and he generously offers his services to anyone who shows up. He said two prayers for my allergies; I felt nothing after the first one, but after the second I had to sit down because all my muscles went flaccid. I am not sure if it was Lousay or the Simon brothers or the power of suggestion, but I hardly noticed my allergies after that.

A one-hour drive (everything is within easy driving distance, and we were never farther than four hours from New Orleans, although we felt as though we were in another country) took us to Rayne, the self-proclaimed frog capital of the world.² The walls of many of the buildings are covered with bold, splashy, humorous frog murals. At one time there was a great frog industry in Rayne, but today the memory persists mainly in a yearly frog festival. We missed the latter, but we did manage to drive back to Lafayette to attend one of the major events: the annual Festivals Acadiens.

If there is a more upbeat festival, I have never attended it. In sprawling Girard Park and on the grounds of the Natural History Museum, during a weekend, there is non-stop Cajun, Swamp Pop and Zydeco music. The tunes pull you up by the seat of your pants and make your feet tap all by themselves. People everywhere start dancing spontaneously to groups with names like Red Stick Ramblers, La Bande Feufollet and Jambalaya. There are traditional and contemporary Cajun craft booths (with wares from magnificent accordions to wooden boats to Mardi Gras masks to jewelry and clothes and art and CD¹s), storytelling, craft demonstrations, and, of course, food. Throughout the year, there are other Cajun festivals, other chances to forget your troubles and party.

One of our favorite activities in the land of bayous and boudin (sausage) was getting lost. After one fortuitous wrong turn, we ended up in tiny Duson. It was lunchtime, and we tried Thibodaux¹s, a local eatery. It¹s the kind of authentic place locals love, guidebooks don¹t write about and fortunate tourists discover by chance. Within fifteen minutes, a diner named Larry Thibodeaux (no relation to the owner of the restaurant) offered to take us around the area. We were curious about those crop cousins

When the sun set in Cajun country, I kicked off my tennis shoes, put on my black pumps, and we headed for the famous dance halls. At Randol¹s, in Lafayette, we sat with a gaggle of Brits who had fallen in love with Cajun country, bought a vacation house there, and visited five or six times a year. One of the men had become an expert Cajun dancer, and he led me around the wooden dance floor with such verve that it was a better workout than an elliptical trainer. The manager, who goes by the nameMama Redell² and is also a chef, has recently started Cajun cooking classes at Randol¹s. They are open to the public, and are as entertaining as many of the shows on the Food Channel.

At Mulate¹s in Breaux Bridge (15 minutes from Lafayette), we were eating, laughing with the staff, and then dancing. A local leaned over to tell us that we had learned the most important lesson in Cajun country: to laisser les bon temps rouler.

On our last night in the bayou, it wasn¹t our birthday or anniversary, but we acted as though it were. We checked into one of the most elegant and luxurious B and B¹s in the area

When we arrived at the New Orleans airport, I swore I would never eat sausage or gumbo again, but that¹s what all addicts say, isn¹t it? {NOTE TO EDITOR: There is a circumflex (^) over the first e² in the word Chenes}. IF YOU GO:

The guidebook locals recommend is CAJUN COUNTRY GUIDE, by Macon Fry and Julie Posner, Pelican Publishing.

For a comprehensive website: Louisianatravel.com.

Call 1-800-33GUMBO for a free guide, highway maps and specific brochures

B and C Cajun Restaurant: 225-265-8356. Address; 2155 Highway l8 in Vacherie.

Alligator Bayou: 1-888-3SWAMPS or 225-642-8297. email: [email protected]. The address is 35019 Alligator Bayou Road, Prairieville, LA, 70769.

The Grapevine Café: 211 Railroad Ave, Donaldsonville. 225-473-8463 or 8486.

Bois des Chenes B and B: 338 N. Sterling Street, Lafayette [email protected]. Suites are $100-$150. Contact information for the Atchafalaya Swamp Tour is the same as above. Rates are $40 pp over l4, $20 pp from 8-14, and the little ones, if they don¹t get eaten by alligators, are free.

Prejean¹s: 3480 I-49 North, in Lafayette 337-896-3247 or www.prejeans.com St Martinville Tourist Information Center: 337-394-2233

For information on Erath and Abbeville, call the Vermilion Parish Tourist Commission, 337-898-6600 or www.vermilion.org

The Caldwell B and B: 105 E.Vermilion Street, Abbeville 337-892-7090 Room are $160-$300.

Randol¹s Restaurant and dance hall: 1-800 YOCAJUN or www.randols.com. Cooking classes with Mama Redell² are Monday to Friday, 10 am-5 pm. The cost is $15 per person or $25 per couple.

Mulate¹s Cajun Restaurant and dance hall in Breaux Bridge: 1-800-42CAJUN

PLEASE NOTE: Photos are available for all locations and articles listed in the “articles” section. Please contact us for samples and pricing

Its nickname is “the city different,” a tag it wears proudly in its expression of history, arts, culture and its open embracement of the spiritual, technological, and just plain ‘odd.’

For a town with a permanent population of about 63,000: it’s the second largest art market in the U.S.; its touted “tri-culturalism” (Native American, Hispanic and Anglo) is dotted with everything from Crypto-Jews to refugee Tibetan Buddhists; the religious listings section in the local newspaper (The New Mexican) is a full page; and scientists from neighboring Los Alamos insure a steady supply of cutting-edge techno informational present-ations, many of which are open to a curious and informed public.

There’s a surfeit of world-renown restaurants (The Coyote Café, The Old House, Santa Café, Geronimo, The Compound, Casa Sena, Tomasita’s and probably a half-dozen other new places that have opened between the time I write this and its publication date), museums (8 major ones), and year-round outdoor activities (fishing, biking, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, kayaking, running, skiing, and more golf than you can shake a stick at).

While everyone knows Sedona, Arizona as a “new age center,” to the cognoscenti, Santa Fe is acknowledged as “the bodywork capital” with therapists, practitioners, at least one space alien and several massage and acupuncture/Oriental medicine schools. From Ashtanga Yoga to Zen archery, from African drumming to Zuni fetish-craft, and taught by devotees to dilettantes; the instructors are usually not from the ethnicity or culture involved.

Whatever isn’t already here, comes to visit -many on a regular basis- Maori healers, “the divine mother” Amaji, Mexican curanderas, South American shamans, Filipino psychic surgeons …the list is virtually endless.
Both ahead of the curve and behind the times,
Santa Fe is charming, unique, and always a personal experience.

Best Deluxury

The Travel and the Discovery Health Channels devoted an entire hour to Vista Clara Ranch as “one of the best… in the world” and, with its ratio of 3.5 staff members to each guest, it’s easy to see why.

Using ISPA official guidelines, General Manager Kaye Sandford said, “We are Santa Fe’s only destination spa, ” a sentiment echoed in Outside magazine’s assessment of them as “This is … as much for the mind and soul as it is for the body.” Embracing indigenous traditions in many of its treatments and activities, Vista Clara has a sweeping view of the Galisteo Basin, offers comprehensive packages, and will chauffer you around in either their Humvee or stretch limousine.
(888) nmexspa www.vistaclara.com

Best Fountain of Youth
The Longevity Café. Now there’s a promise in a name. Cozily tucked-away in a corner of a downtown shopping complex; teas, healthy juice potions, and snacks are tasty treats which are solidly-based in traditional oriental medicine. Between the energy drinks and high-speed DSL internet connections, you can really get wired here!

In the Plaza Mercado at Water and Galisteo Streets. (505) 986-0403

Best Japanese-style Spa
10,000 Waves began with a laid-back idea and a few hot tubs in the mountains and has blossomed into an internationally- known spa experience. They’ve every-thing from an open air, clothing-optional communal tub to a Japanese facial that uses nightingale bird-droppings!
(505) 982-5025 www.tenthousandwaves.com

Best Hippie Café
The Café Oasis Restauranté is trip back in time and spaced, man. A rambling, old house has been converted into a comfy, psychedelic-looking pad which serves breakfast, lunch and dinner. And it’s open late. Remember the Hog Farm?
526 Galisteo Street (505) 983-9599

Best Getaway Without Going Anywhere
Initially begun as a retreat, Sunrise Springs is mere minutes from downtown but feels worlds away. Maybe it’s the natural springs at the heart of the 33-acre complex!? Whatever it is, classes (yoga to raku pottery), treatments (try the hot healing stones), or the Blue Heron restaurant; it’s an amazing inner adventure. (800) 955-0028 www.sunrisesprings.com

Best Alternative Approach Health School
Part of the reason that Santa Fe is referred to as “the bodywork capital” is that many massage, acupuncture, energy and energy therapy schools call it home.
The Scherer Institute of Natural Healing (505) 982-8398 (www.schererinstitute.com) in biz since 1979, NM Academy of Healing Arts (505) 982-6271 ([email protected]), Southwest College (505) 471-5756 (www.swc.edu) offers everything from and M.A. in Art Therapy to a Certificate in Grief Counseling.
The International Institute of Chinese Medicine’s name (and 40 year reputation) speaks for itself (800) 377-4561, and not far behind in years of prestigious service is the Southwestern Acupuncture College www.acupuncturecol.com

Best Bodywork Supply
In the biz or just a committed consumer, The Body-worker’s Store lets you stock up directly on oils, pillows, table, and devices. They boast, “If we don’t have it, we’ll get it!” and, as a result, have filled some bizarre requests over the years.(505) 986-0362

Best Martial Arts Academy
There’s a great selection in this category but the schools that also feature meditative arts include:
Dragon’s Journey School of Tai Chi (505) 455-2066,
The Tae Kwon Do Institute (505) 983-8356, and T’ai Chi Ch’uan & Qi Gong International Healing Arts (505) 984-2967

Best Cooking Classes
Wanna learn real authentic southwest cooking? Try the Santa Fe School of Cooking (505) 983-4511
For everything else from Italian to Thai, check out Las Cosas Kitchen Shop in the newly-redone DeVargas Mall (505) 988-3394
Both establishments offer fun and fast, half-day, you-do-it cook and eat courses with lively celebrity chefs.

Best Yoga
Yoga Moves. Rima Miller is an artist, actress, puppeteer, spiritual tour guide (Yogaventurs), and life-long practitioner/teacher. (505) 989-1072
Dahn Center (505) 820-2211 Less Indian and more Asian (Ki-Gong, Ji-Gam, Do-In, etc.). Korea meets Santa Fe.
Bikram Yoga College of India (505) 955-1515 One of 500 locations, and the only one in the state, works its magic in a heated room to boost the physical capabilities inherent in the practice.

Best New Age Newspaper
Crosswinds Weekly lists soul retrieval by phone to specialties hard-pressed to define. It is only one of several FREE papers which show an astounding wide variety of niche interests for such a small town.

The Santa Fe Reporter is a long-established alternate weekly that tourists and locals consult for arts, entertain-ment, and dining tips.

THE magazine specializes exclusively in the art scene (remember, Santa Fe is the #2 market in the U.S.)

The Eldorado Sun. Although situated in a bedroom community, it’s close enough for cultural overlap and has special theme editions that are both educational and entertaining.

Best Personal Service Spa
The Avanyu spa at La Posada is marked by attention to the individual -in both clientele and personnel. Guests are always guided through the facility and offered herbal teas and the staff is free to bring personal commitment to energy work into applied therapies. “It’s not just a job for our technicians,” said Chris Pulito, Spa Director, “and our guests notice.”

Located within walking distance of the historic plaza, the Avanyu treats with local, organic formulations and is
a little island of pampering serenity.

500 E. Palace Avenue (800) 727-5276 www.laposadadesantafe.com

Best Health Club
Here it depends on what you want: gear, atmosphere, or community. In order of the preceeding: there’s all the equipment at the Santa Fe Spa (505) 984-8727; the mountainside views at El Gancho Fitness, Swim & Racquet-ball Club (505) 988-5000, and; the family-oriented Genoveva Chavez Community Center, which even sports an ice rink (505) 955-4001

Best Hiking Trail
This listing is subject to debatable opinion and the season. Summer and Fall are great for The Randall Davey Audubon Center (an easy walk), the trails around St. John’s College (more challenging), and Aspen View, up near the Santa Fe Ski Basin which, in Winter, becomes a cross-country mini-adventure. At almost any time of year, these and several other paths less traveled offer a good commune with nature. Many inexpensive guidebooks and some free maps are readily available.

Best Native Experience
Although several terrific musea in town offer glimpses into Indian life of the past (most notably The Wheelwright and The Museum of Indian Art and Culture) and the present (the very contemporary Institute of American Indian Art) several nearby pueblos maintain a traditional schedule of religious festivals with tribal dancing. The complimentary Santa Fe Guide, which can be mailed to you and is handed-out at numerous tourist information sites, lists the full calendar.

If you are really into experiential journeying and are persistent in asking-around, there are a variety of participatory ceremonies including sweat lodges.

Best Classic Transcendental Experience
Opera under the stars. The world-renown Santa Fe Opera is not particularly a hidden, new age discovery but the music of Mozart in this setting is a transformative revelation. (800) 280-4654 www.santafeopera.org

And free Shakespeare in the open air at St. John’s College ain’t bad either..!
Both are summertime events.

Best Bookshop
The Ark for true believers or the spiritually curious at 133 Romero Street (505) 988-3709. Downtown Subscription, 376 Garcia Street (505) 983-3085, to hang with the locals, and Borders in the diverse Sambusco Center for its Santa Fe spin of presenting regional performing talent.
If you don’t want to wait, you prep for Santa Fe in advance by reading about the city’s favorite food in either “The Red Chile Bible” or “The Green Chile Bible” from Clearlight Press, a Santa Fe-based publisher also specializing in beautiful coffee-table photo books. Catalogue available at www.clearlightbooks.com (800) 253-2747

Best Art Shopping
Walking Canyon Road of a Friday eve is a summer-time ritual. 200 galleries stay open late and, on opening nights, offer refreshments too. Meet the artists and you never know who else.

Though the biggest ethnic arts events in this very art-oriented city remain Indian Market (August 17-18, when collectors nearly treble the population so, if you plan to visit at that time, make your reservations early) and Spanish Market (July 27-26).
The Native American artwork vendors lined-up daily in front of the Palace of the Governors are legendary.

Best Souvenir
Chile Ristras, those colorful hanging clusters or wreathes of peppers are hand-made, part of history, affordable, and help support the local economy. AND you can actually pull off individual chiles and cook with them!

Although there are omnipresent ristra-buying opportunities in the state, a good place to purchase them -and a number of other delectable local delights as well- is the Farmer’s Market held in the railyard during the summer months on Tuesday and Saturday mornings.

Best Strung-out Hangout
At any hour of the day or night the Aztec Street Café is chockfull of artists, performers, posers, skateboarders, drifters, the unidentifiable and the just plain weird. Good coffee, great sideshow. 317 Aztec Street (505) 983-9464 ..but, if that’s too weird, still artistic but shifting more toward normal is Tribes 139 W. San Francisco St. (505) 982-7948

Best Monastic Dabble
The Monastery of Christ in the Desert is remote, beautiful, and a real monastery which invites guests to stay and participate in the austere religious lifestyle -though the modern monks have progressed from making illuminated manuscripts to designing websites. Sublimely serene, the chanting is sublime. (warning: Wintertime driving often necessitates a 4-wheel drive vehicle.) www.christdesert.org
And you are in the heart of Georgia O’Keeffe “country” -tours are available of her home and the surrounding vistas are a testament that her particular vision was more realistic than most expect.

Also nearby is the oldest (and, some say, fun-kiest) spa: Ojo Caliente. Five different waters come from the earth in one place and its eclective clientel insure that you’re as likely to encounter a ski-sore, jaded Eurotrash jet-setter as you are a local Hispanic farmer trying to combat a hangover. (800) 222-9162 www.ojocalientespa.com

Best Historical Resort
The Bishop’s Lodge was the actual residence of (“Death Comes for the Arch…”) Bishop Lamy and is the city’s brand new full-service resort spa destination that’s as popular with families as it is with selective convention-eers. You can go for a morning horseback ride then enjoy the Lodge’s famous Sunday brunch. (800) 543-8475

Best Old New Mexico
El Rancho de las Golondrinas is not the perfection of colonial Williamsburg but it’s no tourist-trap either. It is a loving and faithful recreation of early Spanish ranching days in the southwest with different events happening almost every weekend (Mountain Man Days, a Wine and Chile Fiesta, cooking lessons, hands-on arts and crafts demos, etc.). Educational and fun for the whole family, it’s relaxed and contemplative as well. (505) 471-5623

Best Flea Market
Well, there’s really only one ..but it’s a doozy, with everything from authentic African trinkets hawked by Nigerians to custom-made clothing and furniture. The tales of bargains are urban folklore. Open weekends from late spring to early Fall just north of town near the opera.

Best New Bar Experience
Swig – young, ‘coastal,’ and either exemplary of a new trend in Santa Fe or totally misplaced. Chic, minimalist mod décor (sometimes too cool for anyone’s good– the pool tables have lighting better-suited to wartime blackout conditions), pricey drinks ($12 martini glass margarita), music, lively crowd. Corner of Grant and Palace (505)
For dancing, there are the various music styles presented nightly at the Paramount (505) 982-8999 or, for you CW line-dancing fans, mosey on to Rodeo Nights 473-4138

Best Massage
Hey, I’ve got to live in Santa Fe, I’m not getting into this discussion! There are 2 full yellow pages listing therapists, masseuses and masseurs. If YOU don’t want to get caught up in a debate, don’t ask.

Not in town but closeby
Coming into New Mexico by plane, train and many highways, most will approach through Albuquerque. Although New Mexico’s largest city (@600,000) has gotten a bad rap, there are interesting things to experience on your way approximately an hour drive north to Santa Fe.

In October, the International Balloon Fiesta fills the sky with colorful shapes.
Just on I-25, the Coronado State Monument is small but worth the side-trip as it provides one of the few opportunities to venture into a recreated, fully-painted kiva (Pueblo Indian underground ceremonial chamber).

One of the newest and biggest full-service spas in New Mexico is the Tamaya, a joint venture between the massive Hyatt Resort corporation and a local tribe. 867-1234 http://tamaya.hyatt.com

Taos (1 hour north) has art, history, a colorful pueblo, a breath-taking gorge and river canyon beauty. Its skiing is world-famous. On the way, there’s Chimayo with its legendary church which is often referred to as the “Lourdes of America” (While you’re there, be sure to try Leona’s tortillas in flavors which range from pesto to chocolate and banana.) there’s also the Bandelier National Monument where you can clamber up into ancient Anasazi cliff dwellings and, if you dare, a 2-story ladder to a sacred kiva.

Nearby and to the east of Santa Fe is Pecos with its mountainous beauty and historic import (there are small but impressive ruins and it was the site of the western-most battle of the Civil War which is recreated yearly). There’s also the preserved town of Las Vegas with its tree-shaded streets filled with stately Victorian homes.

General information – www.santafechamber.com
(Santa Fe Chamber of Commerce, a good, branching website.)www.santafe.org (Santa Fe Convention & Visitors’ Bureau)www.festivalsantafe.org (800 – 877-22-3022 for performance arts schedules and information)

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The first site goes back to 1856, when a Missouri steamboat named Arabia hit a log snag; within five fateful minutes it sank into fifteen feet of water about ten miles north of Kansas City. One hundred and thirty two years later, five modern-day treasure-hunters from Kansas City recovered the boat in a corn field; their research told them that the Missouri had changed course, and with a proton magnetometer they tracked the side-wheeler to its agrarian resting place, forty-five feet beneath the earth.

When it sank, all of the Arabia’s passengers were saved, but the cargo–which was meant to stock frontier stores–went under. After an arduous and hair-raising salvage effort, the boat was preserved and displayed in a privately-owned museum that was opened to the public. But, best of all, the boat’s luggage and booty and provisions were intact, and they were put on display. The result is the largest trove of pre-Civil war artifacts in the world.

A visit to the Arabia museum would light a fire under anyone interested in history, early America or buried treasure. The rooms are like time capsules, containing everything that was used for daily life in 1856. Well-informed guides point out some of the intriguing items, and then, after listening to a spellbinding talk by one of the five men who found the boat, visitors are free to wander through the rooms.

The display cases and the storage areas are filled with wood, leather goods, textiles, thousands of boots and shoes and over five million trade beads. There is a pre-Civil war sweet pickle, shipboard food, Wedgwood china, perfume from France that still has its original scent, buttons, tools, jewelry and solid gold earrings, a tiny doll, gold gun powder flasks, whips, lamps, pencils and rubber combs. A sign informs visitors that steamboats brought technology to the frontier; from 1850-1870, U.S. registered patents increased from 9,000 to almost 100,000. Some of the inventions are on display: bedsprings, printer’s type, paint pigment, coffin screws and a sawmill blade.

The most touching exhibit has a bit of a story behind it. The only living being to die in the boat wreck was a mule. The owner insisted he did everything he could to save the animal, but the bones, which are now on display, told a different story. The poor beast was tied up to the last, and he went down, with no human help, with the Arabia.

The men who found the Arabia became amateur researchers, geologists, and specialists in boat recovery. Their museum is the only place in the U.S. that does fresh-water conservation. And, undaunted by sinking all of their money into the salvage operation, the guys are dreaming about their next find, and would like to draw up another boat or two from the river that is affectionately called “Ole Mo'” or “The Great Muddy.”

Another underground curiosity in Kansas City is the vast world of business and storage units that lies beneath the rolling green hills and trees. From various entry points around the city, cars can drive down into the subterranean cave-like areas which have been carved out of limestone, and which are supported by huge pillars. For as far as you can see, there are whitewashed columns and offices that have been sculpted out of rock. There is a distinct, cave-like smell, and anyone claustrophobic would run out of there screaming. Every few seconds the stoney silence is pierced by the echo of a truck making a pickup or delivery.

Many of the windowless offices use the natural limestone formation for their walls; they make a very attractive design statement. One of the attractions of the underground spaces for businesses is that there is a constant temperature of 55-60 degrees, which means a great savings in utility costs.

Dave Melzer is one of the developers of what he calls “subsurface space”–three million square feet of it. He explained that caves are natural formations, and the subsurface space is man-made. Actually, most of the subsurface space in the world–twenty-five million square feet– is in the Kansas City area; this is due to the geology and also the proximity and accessibility of the limestone foundation. Most of the underground world has been developed since the 1970’s, and rents are about half of what they would be on the surface. The space was originally a mine, the pillars were already in place, and the task was to convert what already existed to usable space.

There are roughly five thousand people who work in the subsurface spaces, and they share the space with the occasional bat and raccoon. If Fred Flintstone were a real person, he would probably have an office or home underneath Kansas City.

On the Missouri side of Kansas City (the city spans both Kansas and Missouri) is another oddity that appeals to kids of all ages–a Toy and Miniature Museum. Founded by two Kansas City women collectors, it is the only museum of its kind to combine true-scale miniatures (exact replicas that are historically correct) with antique dolls’ houses and furnishing.

On the ground floor is an exhibit filled with tiny figures and called “The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe;” the humongous shoe is a Boston Celtics promotional high-top sneaker. A magician circulates among the visitors, performing–what else?–miniature tricks. He uses tiny props like rubber bands for his acts.

There are rooms full of dollhouses with early Georgian drawing rooms, an l8th century gentleman’s game room, a colonial master bedroom. There is a wee cottage peopled by stuffed bears, a rabbit and a frog that was made by Santa Fe resident Peter Babcock in 1990. There are many porcelain dolls, China head dolls, a Dresden miniature wine carrier, Victorian glass hot air balloons, German dolls in a cradle. On the walls are room boxes (they contain miniature figurines and are hung like pictures, inside frames) and French presentation boxes (they are filled with dolls that look like early Barbies).

If dolls aren’t your thing, you can gawk at squeak toys, miniature John Deere farm tools, a lithographed farm house with stables, cathedrals, a carved butcher shop, a miniature violin maker’s shop encased in a 100-year old violin, imitation foods and bizarre inventions like metal pudding charms, which were hidden in puddings and baked goods that were served on celebratory occasions; one hopes the wee ones didn’t choke on them.

In a section of town called Olathe is the Mahaffie Stagecoach Stop and Farm. This farmstead was a stagecoach stop on the Santa Fe Trail from 1863 until 1869; it is the last authentic stagecoach stop on the historic trail.

It may surprise Santa Feans to learn that fifty per cent of the people on the Santa Fe trail were Hispanic residents of Santa Fe, who were headed eastward to do commerce. Because of the connection, the Mahaffie farm is a sister site of Las Golindrinas; they collaborate and often work together.

The Mahaffies moved to Olathe in 1857, and built their stagecoach business in l863, right in the middle of the Civil War. It was a bloody time in the area; Missouri was pro-slave and Kansas was pro-abolition, and there was an ongoing fight over whether Kansas would join the union as a slave or free state. Mahaffie was a democrat, meaning he was pro-slave, and when bullwackers (or whip-crackers who walked alongside the stagecoaches) roamed the area, killing people from Kansas, they spared the life of the homestead owner. It is interesting to note that one of the bullwackers, named William S. Messervy, became territorial governor of New Mexico in 1853.

The violence in the area slowed the travel on the Santa Fe Trail, but didn’t stop it. What eventually killed it was the transcontinental railroad that was inaugurated in 1869. Fortunately for Mahaffie, he also had a stake in the railroad business.

To us, stagecoaches are romantic and fascinating, but they made for difficult travel. They rolled 24 hours a day, and people were crammed into the wagons for weeks at a time; it took, for example, l4 days to go from Olathe to Santa Fe. There were rules of behavior, like no spitting tobacco, shooting out the window, or leaning your head on the shoulder of the person next to you while sleeping.

The Mahaffie house is highly evocative of the days of the old Santa Fe Trail. The kitchen is in the basement, and it is has 2 foot thick insulating walls made from stones that were quarried on the property. About sixty passengers a day stopped in the kitchen to eat some of the Mahaffies’ wholesome meals. They were very successful farmers, they raised livestock, and their meals were much like ours, but with more fat. The kitchen also served as a hostel; for 25 cents, a traveler could lay his bedroll on the floor to catch a few winks.

On the main level of the farmhouse is a family room, where the kids played, and there is a maroon wedding dress on display; it was a very popular color for brides of the day. In the hallway outside the room, there is a bronze statue of the Mahaffies. Next to it is a formal parlor, which was primarily used for entertaining. On the wall is a mourning wreath, made from the hair of the dearly departed. Among the period furnishings is an organ from a brothel; according to the guide, more than 50 per cent of the women in the west worked as prostitutes.

Upstairs, visitors can see the bedrooms. The Mahaffies had seven kids, and one of them died. There are many stories about tourists having sightings of the child’s ghost; one even claimed he was pushed down the stairs by the phantom.

Outside, the Mahaffies ice house has been preserved; it is a wooden building where blocks of ice were cut from a stream and then covered in hay; they kept foods cold for up to 6 months. There is also a smoke house for hanging hog meat, and a reproduction of a blacksmith’s shop. During tourist season and on weekends, there are often smiths working in the shop, and for a nominal fee, visitors can go for a ride in a stagecoach.

Also on the farm property is a wood peg barn (made without nails) that houses a doctor’s buggy and a beautiful black sled with red trim. In a hay barn, which was built around 1900, there is a reproduction of a stage coach and the meanest, most aggressive (live) black rooster that ever walked the Santa Fe Trail.

The homestead offers events to the public like a Buffalo Bill Wild West show (with cowboys and staged robberies), Civil War on the Border (replete with Yankee and Confederate camps and a raid on the farmhouse) and a Bullwacker Fiesta (with Hispanic food and music).

In the Plaza area of Kansas City, indicated only by a sign on the road, is the Cancer Survivors’ Park. It was built by Richard and Annette Block (he is the “R” in H&R Block) as a gift to their community; twenty-four years ago, Richard had lung cancer and was given three months to live. He went to doctors in Houston who said they would cure him so he could work for cancer. And so it came to pass. This is the first cancer survivors’ plaza to be built in the U.S.A; today there are similar parks in l7 cities, and the goal is to have one in every city in the USA and Canada that has more than a million inhabitants. The parks give hope to cancer patients and their loved ones, and are a testimony to life, joy and survival.

A walk through the park begins at an obelisk, which is an ancient symbol for a gathering place. It is called the “acceptance plaza” because it is necessary for cancer patients to accept their diagnosis so they can begin their path to recovery. There are a series of smaller obelisk with plaques that say “cancer is the most curable of all chronic diseases,” “there are treatments for every type of cancer,” and “regardless of the prognosis, get an independent qualified second opinion.” There is a number to call for free information about cancer and its treatment (1-800-4 CANCER) and inspirational hints like “make up your mind that when your cancer is gone, you are through with it.”

A red gravel walkway leads the visitor down the road to recovery with more tips about diet, attitude (“You are the boss. This is your life”), treatments, commitment and mental welfare. At the end of the walkway is a tree arbor, and in the middle of it is a sculpture entitled “Cancer–there’s hope.” Six of the figures in the grouping are cancer patients and their supporters who are ready to undergo treatment; their faces are filled with fear, hope and determination. The two figures in the front have completed successful treatment and their faces are glowing with hope and joy. The sculptor was Victor Salmones, and two weeks after he finished his creation, he was diagnosed with cancer and died shortly thereafter.

The last undiscovered site in Kansas City (on the Missouri side) is Line Creek, where there are five registered archeological sites. On these grassy plains, along the creek, the Kansas City Hopewell culture thrived for hundreds of years (70 B.C to 430 A.D.), farming corn, beans, squash and tobacco. Many artifacts have been found, like chips, flakes, stone tools, pottery and animal bones; some of them date back as far as 4,000 years(to the Archaic period) and there is even evidence that a few people passed through as early as 10,000 years ago. There is a small museum at Line Creek, but an important national center is being planned on the spot, and the National Center for Indigenous American Cultures is working with the Kansas City Parks and Recreation Department to devise a plan for the development and interpretation of the site. Progress is slow, and attention to cultural sensitivity is meticulous. There is talk of only doing non-invasive digs out of respect to the ancestors and the natives who live in the Kansas City area. The goal of the National Center (it will be the only one of its kind in the Midwest) is to relate the story of the native people who lived at Line Creek pre- and post-contact. There life will be told through the creek, native plants and grasses, the oral tradition of present-day American Indians, American Indian art and artifacts.

At the moment, there isn’t much to see, but workers will tell you that you can “feel the ancestors’ presence” as you walk along Line Creek in silence. There is a small patch of male and female tobacco plants which were gifts from native elders from the longhouses of the east. These plants will be used in ceremonies; the men will use the male plants and the women will use the female plants.

Line Creek is a quiet place. There are deer and heron and a grandfather cottonwood tree with a gash from a recent lightning strike. There is a separate area where sweatlodges are set up when qualified elders (they must meet guidelines) come to town to facilitate the ceremonies.

Far from the hustle and bustle of Kansas City, Line Creek is an area where people are trying to restore the balance that once existed, so that humans can once again live in harmony with the earth. IF YOU GO:

Arabian Steamboat Museum 400 Grand Avenue, Kansas City, Mo 64106 816-471-4030 open 7 days a week

Toy and Miniature Museum of Kansas City 5235 Oak, Kansas City, Mo. 64112 816-333-2055 open Wednesday to Sunday

Meritex Lenexa subsurface development West of I-435 at Renner Rd and 95 street

Mahaffie Stagecoach Stop 1100 Kansas City Road, Olathe, Kansas 66061 913-782-6972 from April to December, open 7 days a week

Line Creek Museum 5940 NW Waukomis in Frank Vaydik Park 816-741-7201 http://lcmuseum.tripod.com

The Cancer Survivors’ Park is at 47th street, west of the Plaza

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As unlikely as the pairing appears to be on the surface, the multis are demonstrating remarkable flexibility both in their tightly-proscribed operational practices as well as in the touchy arena of cultural sensitivity. Tribal elders have a say in everything from day-to-day procedures to décor, and allowances are made for indigenous hotel staff to take time off to participate in ceremonial activities. Museums and cultural centers are often included in the initial construction plans as an educational point of contact for visitors but, this time, it’s not the Fred Harvey “natives under glass” presentation but rather voices from the inside who are doing the talking. The new ventures are accomplishing more than answering the accusation that Native Americans are victimizing the community with “sin services” such as gaming and discount tobacco sales. Benefits to tribal members include new health, senior, and educational centers as well as infra-structure improvements that were never delivered under IHS, BIA, or Depart of Transportation management.

If not the application of revenue, certainly it’s the specter of casino profits that have triggered on- going frictions between 11 of the sovereign nations and the taxation arm of the encompassing government in which those nations reside. Ratification of contracts and arguments over percentages of the house take have resulted in several acrimonious stand-offs; the most infamous of which was when Pojoaque Pueblo Governor Jake Viarrial threatened to shut down the main traffic artery through the state.

An estimated $1 billion is generated annually by New Mexico Native Gaming. That kind of money attracts competition and cooperation. So far, corporations such as Hyatt, Best Western, Phillips 66 and several out-of-state banks have anted-up millions to play. With the encouragement and invitation of several Pueblos, eyes as far away as Asia and Europe are watching and planning their next moves.

With all this capital, it’s pretty astounding to think that these indigenous American enterprises began only 26 years ago. When the Mescalero Apaches opened Inn of the Mountain Gods (New Mexico’s first resort complex) doubts were raised about the ability of inexperienced locals to handle the demands of hostelry, restauranteurship, golf, skiing, fishing, boating, and a full-blown casino. After all, other Indian gaming groups had been plagued with political battles, violent inter-tribal confrontations, corruption, and even infiltration by the mob. But, a quarter-century later, the Mountain Gods still reign. With neighboring Ruidoso Downs horse track and Winter sports, the area draws heavily from neighboring Texas. The outlook is for continued growth.

Pueblo involvement began timidly with forays into bingo, the slots, and then card games. The big explosion came around 1987 with Class III gaming. Just as the Pueblos themselves sprang up along the course of the Rio Grande, casinos seem to follow I-25. In the one-hour drive between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, you’re never more than 20 minutes from a game of chance. (Less, if you count the lottery tickets hawked at every gas station, restaurant, and convenience store.) The public’s appetite for gambling is greater than first predicted and the income from casinos fuels most of the other native enterprises, both public and private. This, in turn, leads to a sort-of upward spin cycle of wealth for -as nations within a nation– the Pueblos make money with money by levying their own taxes. Every business and customer on native lands is contributing to this new economic powerbase with each dollar spent on gas, food, gaming, entertainments, and lodging. Lorentino Lalio, the Indian Tourism Director at the NM Department of Tourism, predicts that Native- American-owned enterprises “will have a 50% impact on the state within 2 years. (And that, at some point in the future, they will gain) “control.” He shrugs off charges of unfair competition, citing the example of Pueblo people having to drive “15 miles to a gas station -until we built our own.” Lalio adds that the main iconic attraction of New Mexico has always been the Indian who, until recently, has had little direct benefit from tourism.

As for his prognostications of a ceiling on success, Lalio muses about a “staggered limit” brought on by competing southwestern states vying for the same audience by using similar marketing. But that’s in the future -for which he is prepared.

At the present time, most of the monies generated are from within the state, but a trend indicates that more and more visitors from Texas and Mexico. Surprisingly, Lalio has fielded queries from international interests (both tourism and business visitors) from as far away as Russia, China, and Africa.

If indigenous culture is the main attraction, isn’t it also at risk from the influx of tourists and money? Lalio feels that native traditions are strong and that the dangers are easily outweighed by “economic progress.” Nevertheless, he’s keeping a watchful eye on the Navajo nation in Arizona, where B&Bs are au courant.

In the U.S., golf appears to be the lure for well-healed sports enthusiasts in the hope that they will: a) become repeat customers; b) bring their families along with them, and, most important; c) engender convention bookings. Golf courses are already located on or will be at the following Pueblos: Mescalero, Isleta, Sandia, Pojoaque and Santa Ana. The latter two will have two courses each. Santa Ana’s alone is a rumored $4.5 million part of their massive Tamaya Resort.

Tamaya is the biggest gamble of all and the one that everyone is monitoring. 350 suites and rooms, 20,000 square feet of convention/meeting space, 5 dining areas, a 16,000 square foot full-service spa, 3 outdoor pools, and the championship 18-hole golf course are some of the amenities in this “We built it! Now will they come?” dream. Tamaya is a resort destination in the mode of what’s previously only be available in Las Vegas, Palm Springs or Scottsdale. The idea is self-containment: every- thing in one place, so the guest needn’t go outside the complex for anything. And it is all here: fine dining (The Corn Maiden restaurant, the Hyatt Corporation’s first venture into rotisserie cuisine), sports (tennis, swimming, golf, hiking, horseback riding), soft adventure (hot air ballooning above the Rio Grande valley), health and fitness (their spa has a gym, 14 private and 2 couples treatment rooms, and offers a variety of massages ranging from Japanese shiatsu to Pueblo- inspired “dry brush”). There’s even Native culture represented by dance, story-telling, and traditional horno bread, freshly-baked every morning by an authentic Santa Anan in the hotel’s central courtyard.

According to contemporary American folklore, a mobster had a fantasy of a pleasure oasis in the desert. For that, he was killed. But Bugsy Siegel’s dream became world-renowned Las Vegas, Nevada. Now New Mexico is gambling BIG on a collective vision. The questions are will there be a winner this time? And, if so, WHO?

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When most people think of Louisiana, they conjure up images of New Orleans-the French Quarter, the wildness of Mardi Gras, even the Voodoo queen Marie Lavaux. But a few short hours away, on roads much less traveled, there is a cultural depth and richness that gently unfolds for curious and adventurous visitors. In the beautiful, impossibly green bayou country, are communities of formerly disenfranchised people who have survived, persisted, and are now telling their own stories with joy, sadness, and great pride. They are, to me, the heart and soul of the bayou country.

The trip begins at the sprawling, luxurious plantations, where visitors from around the world ogle the period furniture, the ostentatious silver, marble and finery that adorned the main houses, and the alleys of magnificent trees that led from the comfortable living quarters to the banks of the Mississippi. But what about the slaves who were ripped from their homelands in Africa to make the plantation lifestyle possible? Who remembers them?

Kathe Hambrick does. An African American raised in rural Louisiana, she left, vowing never to return. She moved to Los Angeles, worked for I.B.M, and then, when she got laid off and her father became sick, she returned to Louisiana to help out. She was very depressed to be back in the middle of “plantation syndrome,” where everywhere she turned there were plantation restaurants, plantation roads, plantation houses. One day, she went to the river, stood on the levee, and had a vision where she saw the slaves working in the sugar cane fields and standing under the oak trees. She started to cry uncontrollably. Then a light breeze passed by her and she heard a voice telling her to go on plantation tours, asking questions about the black people who worked there. To her dismay, almost nothing was known about where the slaves lived, how many there were, or where they came from in Africa. She began to meet with historical societies, plantation owners, anyone who had information. And the more Kathe learned, the more she wanted to know. She hoped someone else would record and tell the story of the slaves; she resisted the call, but one day she couldn’t resist it any more. She began to have mystical experiences, where the sugar cane field lay down in front of her, where she had a vision of a weeping slave woman asking why it had happened to them. It was as though the spirit of the ancestors was calling to Kathe, and she knew she had to tell the slave story herself

According to Kathe, many African Americans make the ancestral voyage all the way back to Africa, but few want to look right here, in the U.S.A., to learn about the slave forefathers and foremothers; there is too much shame and discomfort around it. And yet, many of the slaves were remarkable and talented people. Slave owners paid upwards of three thousand dollars for Africans who were master architects, metallurgists, home builders, who knew how to plant rice and make crops grow. These slaves were the teachers, who were indispensable to the economy of the south. They were ingenious in their adaptation, in their ability to form communities in their slave quarters, in their survival.

Kathe opened the River Road African American Museum, right on the grounds of the Tezcuco plantation. Visitors can see a wooden chest, just big enough for a man, that a slave engineered for his escape. They can see chains, manacles, and records of slave auctions. They can also see intimate photos and art that commemorates slaves who succeeded, who survived, who beat the odds that were so stacked against them. There is something almost holy about Kathe’s museum. It pays tribute to the endurance of the oppressed Africans, it allows their voices to be heard, it looks AT them, instead of looking AWAY from them. And Kathe reports that in the course of establishing the museum, she has transcended her own anger and resentment. She now accepts and embraces the past of her people, and hopes others can do the same.

For anyone who longs for a heartful meeting with African Americans in the bayou, on any Sunday morning, stop in at a gospel church. I pulled up in front of Buena Vista Baptist Church in St.James, and when I opened the large, wooden door, a woman named Velma Rhodes immediately came to greet me. I asked if it was okay for me to attend services as a guest. She nodded vigorously and escorted me to a seat with an unobstructed view of the pulpit. Minutes later, the church was filled with the most glorious odes to Spirit: get-down, jump-out-of-your-seat music that would make the dead dance. When I had to leave for an appointment, Velma insisted on escorting me into the kitchen and feeding me jambalaya and fried chicken. When we went to some of the finest restaurants in bayou country, the chefs all agreed: I had eaten the DNA, the best the area had to offer; the soul of southern cooking in every bite.

About 85 miles north of New Orleans, in Carville, are another group of people who suffered terrible indignities, but are still around to set the record straight. Those afflicted with Hansen’s disease (formerly called leprosy) were isolated from the general population because they instilled horror and fear. They were shipped to a “leper colony” in Carville in 1894, on the site of the old Indian Camp Plantation. Little was understood about Hansen’s disease, and misconceptions about disfigurement and atrophy circulated widely. In fact, neurological damage from the illness made sufferers lose sensation in their extremities, and they were likely to burn themselves without feeling anything. Fortunately, in the 1940’s, drugs were developed that made the disease treatable and non-contagious. Today, there are 2,000,000 people afflicted worldwide, but only 31 patients still living on the grounds in Carville. The main building has been turned into a museum where visitors can see special pot handles that prevented patients from burning their fingers, special shirt buttons that were easy to open and close, adaptive devices to make life easier. Former and current patients act as tour guides. I was shown around by a woman who has been a resident for sixty-two years; her disease is controlled by medication, and she is cheerful.

In the museum, there are written personal testimonies about the pain and indignities suffered by residents at Carville. They were transferred to the “leper colony” in shackles, and their houses were burned. If they touched money, it had to be fumigated. They were given the dreaded “fever therapy” where they were locked in a cylinder while their body temperature was raised to 104 or 106 degrees. There are stories of love and torment, of degradation and survival. There is also a lot of art done by sufferers, and they show the imagination and creativity that allowed them to transcend their condition. Also moving are the photos of the nuns of St. Vincent de Paul who started selflessly caring for the residents in 1896, and continue to do so today. The nun who was on duty when I visited told stories about spouses who tried to get infected to they could move into Carville with their loved ones; fortunately or unfortunately, they were unsuccessful.

I rarely use the word “hero,” but it seemed appropriate in relation to the sisters of St. Vicent de Paul; during a period of wide-spread panic about leprosy, the nuns risked their personal well-being to care for the afflicted. It is hard not to weep for their charity at Carville and to admire the sense of meaning and purpose they had in their lives.

An easy drive from Carville is Lafayette, a good place to stay for a visit to the Cajun people who live in the Louisiana bayou. Originally, they set out from France during the 17th century, seeking a better life in eastern Canada. They farmed, fished, trapped and knew halcyon days in an area they called Acadia (present-day Nova Scotia). They were so successful, that the British became covetous of their fertile land. In an act of cruel deception, the British rulers separated wives from husbands and children from parents, and sent the Acadians off on ships into exile in 1755. Some returned to Europe, close to half of them died, and another group made their way to the American Colonies and eventually ended up in the bayou area, which they named New Acadia. Over the next decades, thousand of other exiles joined the first band. They turned misery into opportunity, worked the land, fished, and maintained their Acadian, or Cajun, culture to this day.

What is remarkable about these stalwart survivors is how joyous they and their culture are. It is easy to meet Cajuns everywhere; they are friendly and garrulous and they will invite to you visit their homes five minutes after they have met you. If you show sincere interest in them, they will happily speak to you in their old French dialect, give you pointers on the best places to eat down-home etouffé, crawfish, crab boil, boudin (sausage) and pain perdu (French toast). Eating is a big part of the Cajun culture, and, according to several of them, as soon as they finish one meal, they are already thinking of the next.

At night, you can kick up your heels Cajun-style in wonderful establishments that are combination restaurants and dance halls. To the accompaniment of live Cajun bands (violins, special accordions, guitars, bass, sometimes drums), everyone laughs and talks and glides across the dance floor. It’s Cajun-style aerobics, suitable for every age, and extremely easy on the wallet.

There are wonderful towns like Rayne, the frog capitol of the world, Duson, where you can hang out with locals at a great unsung restaurant named Thibodoux’s, and St. Martinville, which may as well be called Evangelineville. Most of the tourist attractions are centered around Evangeline, the heroine of Tennyson’s poem about two star-crossed Cajun lovers who are separated forever by the forced exile. There’s the Evangeline statue, the Evangeline tomb, the Evangeline oak. A bit more weighty is the new and nearby Cultural Heritage Center, which draws a parallel between the Cajun and African diasporas.

It’s impossible not to have light-hearted fun in Cajun country, but if you look closely you will also see reminders everywhere of the roots of the culture. The refugees who arrived on the boats were poor, and they had no official medical care. They relied on traiteurs, or treaters, to heal their illnesses. The treatments were simple but powerful prayers, passed down from one person with a calling to the next. Today, every Cajun can tell you modern stories of miraculous healings performed by traiteurs, and, if they trust you, they will direct you to their favorite traiteurs for treatment. Most treaters don’t ask for money, but you can choose to leave a small amount for phone calls or just as a way of saying “thank you.”

Except for the supersticky and hot summer months, any time is a good time to wander around in Cajun country. But if you can, try to go when there is a festival. I was there during the annual Festivals Acadiens, where, for one glorious weekend in Lafayette, all the Cajun highlights are grouped together in Girard Park and in front of the National History museum. There’s non-stop music from the top bands, jewelry, traditional crafts, demonstrations, folklore, and, of course, food.

The only two expressions you have to know before heading for Louisiana are “bon appetit” and “laisser le bon temps rouler.” And if you have an open heart, the rest will all unfold in front of you.

IF YOU GO:

The guidebook locals recommend is CAJUN COUNTRY GUIDE, by Macon Fry and Julie Posner, Pelican Publishing.

For a comprehensive website: Louisianatravel.com.

Call 1-800-33GUMBO for a free guide, highway maps and brochures.

River Road African American Museum in Tezcuco: 225-562-7703 (call for hours)

National Hansen’s Disease Museum in Carville: 225-642-1950 (call for hours, although 10 a.m. and 1 pm are the best times for guided tours)

In Lafayette, I stayed at a restored 1820’s plantation house that also offered an exciting swamp tour: Bois des Chenes B % B: 338 N. Sterling Street, Lafayette [email protected] 337-233-7816. Suites are $100-$150.
Contact information for the Atchafalaya Swamp Tour is the same as above. Rates are $40 pp over l4, $20 pp from 8-14, and the little ones, if they don’t get eaten by alligators, are free.

Famous eatery in Lafayette: Prejean’s: 3480 I-49 North, in Lafayette
337-896-3247 or www.prejeans.com

St Martinville Tourist Information Center: 337-394-2233

Dance halls in and around Lafayette:
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Randol’s Restaurant and dance hall: 1-800 YOCAJUN or www.randols.com. Cajun cooking classes with “Mama Redell” are Monday to Friday, 10 am-5 pm. The cost is $15 per person or $25 per couple.

Mulate’s Cajun Restaurant and dance hall in Breaux Bridge: 1-800-42CAJUN

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The undisputed Grande Dame of comestible skin treatments is the new spa at the Hotel Hershey in Pennsylvania. The spa therapists wax eloquent about the antioxidant properties of chocolate, which may well be true, but the real appeal is that there is now a way to indulge in the dark, creamy forbidden pleasure without gaining an ounce.

The most affordable and popular of the treatments is the Whipped Cocoa Bath ($45). You get lowered into a tub full of the stuff you love to drink. The actual ingredients include powdered milk and 1/8 of a cup of cocoa; not enough to make you break out, but enough to give you the aroma and the luxurious feeling. For the slightly more adventurous, after the bath there is a cocoa bean polish ($55). Your body is coated with nutty brownie mix-or something that feels like it. What’s in the gritty mixture? Walnut shell powder, cocoa bean husks and coconut oil, which gives it a creamy texture.

If you still haven’t had enough, there’s a 60- minute Chocolate Fondue Wrap ($90). A spa therapist will pull out a large brush, and paint you, forehead to toes, with a thick mixture of moor mud and cocoa. You will look like a biscotti. You will feel like a biscotti. And then you will be wrapped in layers of plastic and towels to allow you to relax in chocolate heaven. You will probably fall asleep and then, when the therapist uses a Vichy shower to clean off the brown stuff, it will be the end of life as a gourmet bakery item.

And there is more. In the Circular Dining Room, the butter you slather on your rolls is made with chocolate. Everywhere you look, there are kisses and little squares of crunchy chocolate. If you still haven’t had enough, you can buy it, ship it, send it, and take home the body products that are made with it.

But does it work? Who knows. Your skin will feel softer, you will be more relaxed than before you saw a spa therapist, and you will be able to talk about your experience for months to come. If you come as a couple, chocolate indulgence may make you feel more amorous. Some even claim it is an aphrodisiac. So the benefits are probably emotional and psychological as well as physical.

A few hours from Hershey is the Nemacolin Woodlands Resort and Spa (1-800-422-2736), which is a Pennsylvania hideout for the very wealthy and the very corporate. There is a private air strip where both the current and past Presidents landed and every amenity you can think of from golf courses to corridors dripping with art to a soda parlor for the kids. For the health-prone, there is a body treatment that uses the aquatic food many people buy at local health food stores: seaweed ($145 dollars for 80 minutes). It is supposed to be the best detoxifying agent around.

Your therapist will first do a dry brushing of your skin and then you’ll get a very gentle lymphatic massage. Next, you will be swathed in warm, moist, vaguely slimy seaweed. Then you are wrapped in warm blankets, heat is applied and you will most likely conk out. When you come to, if you care, your spa therapist may tell you that you have been treated with red and brown algae, which remove lactic acid. What really matters is that you will be really relaxed. As an added algae benefit, as with chocolate, your skin will be baby-butt soft, and you can trail the soothing feeling with you for days.

Leaving behind pastoral Pennsylvania, your search for food dousing will probably lead you to California wine country, where the MacArthur Place spa offers treatments in-what else?-wine grapes.

The MacArthur Place hotel is one of Sonoma’s historic country inns. The grounds are a riot of flowers and the spa is next to a pool where California sybarites lounge, relax, and try to turn off their cell phones.

Inside, the spa, there are a host of grape treatments on the menu. First, there is a hot grape essence bath. There is a vague aroma of vines as you are lowered into the water. Your therapist will set a bunchy of grapes next to the tub before she withdraws from the room. In the semi-darkness, you will undoubtedly notice that the shower head across from you is in the shape of a sunflower. Around the tub, are lovely, large plastic ducks. You are in beautiful bucolic wine country, indoors.

Next, you will probably want to indulge in a crushed grape seed wrap. A spa therapist will rub you in somewhat grainy grape seed, and soon you will be covered in a purplish-gray paste. Then you will be massaged from the feet up with grape oil. Although you will want to space out and mindlessly enjoy the wrapping experience that follows, you may ask your spa therapist what the grape seeds will do for you. As you nod off, you will hear the words “antioxidants” and “untreated grapes” floating in the air above your head. And then, soporific bliss. When you wake up, you will be lightly doused in a peppermint scent (all the treatments can be had in the Red Red Wine Package for $194).

After you are graped in Sonoma, you may want to head south to Austin, where the Lake Austin Spa and Resort offers treatments in wine and honey (another divine wrap experience) or corn silk. The very words conjure up wispy, soft images, and the treatment is just that. A therapist will exfoliate you, and then slather a mixture of oatmeal and corn husks on your body. As you drift of into dreamland, you will wake up every now and again as your body is massaged and de-knotted from the tensions of life. When the treatment is over, you will be as perky as a fresh ear of corn (treatment including massage, $195).

Now that the outside of your body has been fed, the inside won’t be far behind. The spa restaurant menu boasts calorie and fat counts, but, most important, it is gourmet dining and everything tastes great. After meals, you can go kayaking on a private stretch of the Colorado River, meditate in a hammock, or participate in Pilates, NIA and exercise ball classes. So if you feel wonderful when you go home, who knows if it’s the food on your body or the pampering of your body, mind and soul.

Of all the foodie spa treatments, surely the most unusual is a short flight away in Dallas, at the luxurious spa at the Crescent hotel. You can opt for the Javanese Lulur, which was originally given to brides for forty consecutive days prior to their weddings ($225 for almost two hours). After a massage with jasmine oil, the body is scrubbed in an aromatic mixture of turmeric, rice powder, jasmine, frangipane and cool yoghurt. Then you are bathed, served ginger tea and moisturized. It is one of many lovely treatments, but it is not the piece de resistance. That distinction is reserved for-are you ready?-a treatment in barbecue sauce. It is the only place in the world where you can get the treatment. And if you are a chili addict like I am, this is the ultimate rush.

At a recent visit to the Crescent Spa, I was assigned a therapist named César. Once he had ceremoniously laid out on the massage table, he gently sheathed my body in a mixture of cabernet wine and water. Then, with a fairly vigorous hand, he applied a pineapple scrub. He rubbed me with the mixture of crushed peppercorns and pineapple. Soon, he pronounced me ready for the warm up. In a beautiful little bowl he mixed body barbecue sauce for me: tomato paste, honey, lemon juice, cayenne pepper and paprika. Then he applied it to my body, wrapped me in cellophane and blankets and left me to relax.

At first, I felt pampered and relaxed and nothing else. You see, it’s a creeper. After about ten minutes, I understood exactly how a baby back rib feels. I started to heat up. My back began to tingle. Then I began to burn. It was sexy, exotic, exciting. I mean, I was HOT!

Then César cooled me down with a margarita lime lotion. The body meal was over.

So what will it be for you: chocolate, algae, grapes, corn silk or barbecue? With the success of these culinary body indulgences, other foods will certainly follow. Honeydew melon, perhaps? Or, can lobster bisque be far behind?

IF YOU GO:

Hotel Hershey in Pennsylvania, 400 Hotel Road, Hershey, Pa 17033. 717-520-5888.
The MacArthur Place hotel, 707-938-2929 or www.macarthurplace.com
Lake Austin Spa and Resort, 1-800-847-5637 or www.lakeaustin.com
Crescent Hotel, 214-871-3232.

PLEASE NOTE: Photos are available for all locations and articles listed in the “articles” section. Please contact us for samples and pricing