EMPTY AMERICA: Santa Fe

After saying good-bye to Mom and the eerie shell of a city that is Las Vegas, I continued my journey West.


Next stop: My brother’s house in Albuquerque, NM.


It’s my hometown, so it’s OK if I’m a little glib about it, but driving into the city, across town and up to my brother’s house near the mountains, I didn’t feel much of a change in that city. It may boast half-a-million residents, but it’s usually sleepy. Or at least that’s my perception of it after having spent so much time in Los Angeles and comparing the two. If I was being completely sarcastic, I’d say it was about as bustling now as it was before.


However, the trek across Arizona and into New Mexico continued the theme of wide-open highways dotted with cross-country truckers and only a handful of personal vehicles. Yes, it’s mostly desert and, hence, mostly deserted, but the ratio of big rigs to tiny sedans is unnerving if you’ve done the drive and you’re used to the opposite.


Though Albuquerque may be more sparse, I know Santa Fe usually has a populated Central Plaza scene, full of Southwestern art galleries, green chili eateries, streets lined with Native American and local artists with goods splayed out on blankets and a hustling tourist scene.


If I was going to find an area where the virus fear had taken hold in New Mexico it was going to be in Santa Fe Plaza.


You don’t have to be a gambler to win money on this bet. It was deserted.


This is when I started noticing the signs in the windows of now-closed businesses. Some are form letters stating the obvious. Some are optimistic informing their clientele that they’d be open in early April. Some are hand-written and genuinely apologetic. All of it is disturbing when you see, doorway to doorway, that every usually open entry-way was closed, locked and papered with some sort of explanation.


The Plaza was fairly empty except for what is the now-usual handful of homeless people, a few joggers or dog-walkers and what can only be described as disappointed tourists who either didn’t know what the affect of the virus was going to be or had held out hope that it wouldn’t reach this art Mecca of the Southwest.


It did. And it emptied out the Plaza.


There’s a particular row of sidewalk on the north side of the Plaza that houses most of the Native American salespeople. It’s usually crowded and buzzing with locals hawking turquoise jewelry, dream-catchers and other handmade crafts.


That particular sidewalk is not only empty but cordoned off with police tape lest some enterprising individual tries to corner the market on New Mexico keepsakes and sets up shop regardless of governmental mandates.


The feeling here was not just “go home, there’s nothing to see here” but more so “and don’t even try it.” (Having grown up here and known New Mexicans, they would)


I took a few pictures and video and made my way back South.


However, just before leaving town, I couldn’t leave New Mexico without a green chili cheeseburger, a staple.


This started another theme that I was happy to propagate: Eating locally.


I’m always a fan of avoiding chain restaurants when I travel, but this particular excursion has put a finer point on my usual habit. With restaurants and bars closing for dine-in across the nation, there are more than a few places that more than likely won’t survive the shut-down. Many, it seems, have already given in, closed doors, probably laid off their staff and are just waiting and hoping. Yet there are a few that remain open with online orders, deliveries or curbside assistance.


If I can do anything to help on this project, aside from documenting it, I will. So part of my cause has been trying to help out a local business when I can.


Case in point: On the way out of town we saw a truck labeled “New Mexico Eats” on the side of the road which seemed open. It may be risky to order now, but I have to eat and they’ve gone through the trouble of risking it all to get a few extra bucks during the shut-down that the government probably won’t provide, so it’s a symbiotic relationship: I get local food (in this case a brilliant smashed green chili cheeseburger), I get to support a local food service and hopefully we all come out of here not as bad off. Also, a little human interaction (very little because of safety measures) means the world right now to all parties involved.


Also: Always leave a tip. A generous tip. My rule of thumb: 50% seems about right.