Well. That was interesting.
My beloved and I, we enjoy
Ojo Caliente.
For those unfamiliar, it's a wonderful little spa in northern New Mexico that has a slew of hot pools of varying temperatures and mineral compositions, and it has a 'whisper rule' which we find most delightful, as we're typically there to escape the chaos and din that characterizes real life for us, both at work and at home.
There are accommodations available at the Spa proper, but it's a tiny town with a couple other options and we tend to like to explore a little (silly rabbits) and try other places. Well, after this past trip, I believe we're done with that. The first time we went to Ojo, we had made a reservation at this little joint called the Lomita Motel, which seemed wonderful, from all the reviews I could find. Read about *that* escapade
here.
We've since stayed at a very nice B&B there,
the Inn & Mercantile at Ojo, and it is just fine.
So tell me, friends, what it is that possessed me to branch out again. Damn that nomadic spirit. I had happened upon the web site for the
Black Mesa Bed & Breakfast and thought it looked great. Homey, down to earth proprietors, an enclosed private soaking pool...and all of this just a few miles south of town. Wonderful! I spoke with Lara, one of the owners, and she seemed great. I was very excited and had managed to convince Scott it was going to be wonderful too. Off we went. We opted to drive, instead of taking the bike, because it was supposed to be snowy and icy over La Veta Pass (it turned out to be just fine, so in retrospect, we should've ridden. But I digress.) Southbound, into the Land of Enchantment.
(here's where the majestic theme soundtrack squeals to a halt)
It was none of the things we were expecting. We drove up to the main house, directions to which had been accurate and easy to follow...and that was the end of the expected. First off, we couldn't find a front door, so meandered around for a minute or two trying to get our bearings, looking for Lara, the gracious Southern Belle of a proprietress with whom I'd spoken a number of times on the phone. And then, around the corner, she appeared, in a cloud of not-what-I-imagined-at-all. Down to earth? Yup. Homey? Sure. Overly comfortable in a big purple shirt, black leggings, and black L.A. Gear sneakers that 1982 would love to have back...but very nice, nonetheless, greeting me with a hug and a huge dirty furball of an Australian shepherd.
She showed us around the place, and our discomfort grew steadily...the main house was nice enough, furnished in a style you could call either eclectic or crazy-cluttered, depending on your point of view. The grounds were sort of disheveled, odd things laying around like a cast-off surfboard in the bushes (a surfboard?? in New Mexico?? Why?), boxes, tools, just stuff laying around in weird places. The enclosed private pool was a little weird, with its hinged "In Use" sign and foam swim noodles...and we chose to take a look at the guest house, as it was available and further from the dog's area of influence. We were trying to be such good sports, exchanging worried looks but expressing words of optimism. We said it would do, we paid in cash, and because she didn't have change, she laid our cash on the kitchen table next to our registration form and announced that she was going to take a nap while we settled in.
We couldn't settle in. The guest house was weird, the floors and counters were dirty, there wasn't really a comfortable place to sit - one wall of the bathroom was actually a pair of louvered closet doors, so if you were sitting in the living room you could see the movements of somebody who was pooping...
...and the last straw was when we took our bags upstairs to the loft bedroom (home of the tacky peach-satin-and-chiffon bedspread that looks like it was once a Detroit prom queen's dress) and Scott pulled back the bedspread to reveal a dingy, mangy, once-yellow-I-think blanket that had either dog hair or pubic hair or both matted into it. We were done.
We put our crap back in our car, snuck over to the main house in hopes that Lara was indeed sleeping...quietly retrieved our cash from the table, wrote as nice a note as I could muster, and fled.
Luckily we were able to secure a room at the previously mentioned Inn and Merc at Ojo, and the rest of the stay was very predictable and relaxing. A nice dinner at the Spa, a bottle of sweet German wine in the room, and then a couple hours of soaking and relaxation. And then a night of listening to the chunky hombre in the room next door cough his typhoid-riddled lungs out. But all in all, nice.
We got a kick out of this sign at the grocery/liquor store:
And an unsettling sight on the drive home that made us both do a double-take:
(happily, it was a semi towing another semi, not a horrific accident about to happen!)
It was a good trip, but next time we're not letting our friends Nate & Erin bow out, 'cause they need the getaway as much as we do!
Our girls, never normal for a picture.
