Land of Enchantment (and Aliens): Roswell, NM

En route from Marfa to our next destination in Santa Fe, we wound up landing in Roswell for a night. Like pretty much everyone, our only knowledge of Roswell came from the alleged alien sighting in 1947, and I was curious to see what the town was really like.

I came prepared to see beyond Roswell’s campy reputation, but as it turns out, when something brings tourism to your otherwise unremarkable rural town for over 60 years, you lean into it hard. The bug-eyed, green-skinned, mysteriously buff visages of those classic alien figures stared at us from fast food restaurants, sporting goods stores, T-shirt shops, even the local tax service.

After a peaceful evening at Bottomless Lake campground, where we found relief from the New Mexico heat by spending exactly eight seconds in the frigid water before waddling desperately ashore, we ventured into downtown Roswell and spent some time at the International UFO Museum & Research Center.

I come to Earth just for the tanning beds.

If only we hadn’t run out of gas in Zeta-9, we would have arrived in the 90’s like we planned and these chokers would have KILLED.

Indisputable proof that aliens also enjoy playing Frisbee.

In spite of its silliness, I was surprised to find that the whole experience did actually leave me a little unsettled. After all, regardless of what you believe about the 1947 incident, what are the chances that we’re the only intelligent beings in the universe? And if we don’t have a monopoly on “intelligent life,” wouldn’t that be cause to rethink what it is that makes us human?

One of the most interesting items I came across in the museum was a framed excerpt from a declassified report explaining why the government keeps information on UFOs under wraps. This particular quote stuck with me:

“If the public learned that other intelligent life was actually coming to our planet, many of our social institutions would be disrupted…Perhaps most important from a political viewpoint, younger members of society, especially those who grew up with the space program, would push for a new view of ourselves. Instead of thinking…Americans, Canadians, Peruvians, French, or Chinese, they would start to think of themselves as earthlings…As idyllic as this sounds, I know of no government that wants its citizens to owe their primary allegiance to the planet instead of to the nation…The biggest fear of anybody in power,…is losing that power…National governments do not want their subjects to have a planet wide orientation.”

I’ll leave it at that. Peace out, earthlings.

Cosmic Fortune: Marfa, TX

After a rough night’s sleep in Sonora and a long, windy drive across western Texas (windy as in wind, not winding; I would have killed for some winding), our spirits lifted considerably upon landing in Marfa. Our first stop was the Tumble In, a bare-bones but decidedly charming RV park.

Regrettably, no sooner had we set up camp than the wind picked up with a vengeance and snapped not one, not two, but three of our tent poles.

The portion of the tent still standing continued to billow violently while we scurried around it in a panic, bracing poles, pinning flaps, all the while helplessly mesmerized by the magnificent sunset unfurling around us: “Quick, hold it down there! No, over there! Pull that part in — oh wow babe, look at the sky! — Are you pulling?”

Finally, we accepted defeat, took the tent down, and headed into town. At this point it was around 9 PM, and the few hotels in the area were closed, so we ended up renting a “safari tent” at a luxury campground (yes, you read that right) called El Cosmico.

While neither of us was particularly happy about paying Best Western rates to sleep in a tent, that tent did have metal poles and a real bed, which was more than our current setup offered. We slept like two dirty, cranky babies.

The next day we managed to Frankenstein some extra poles together and reconstruct our tent, and snagged a much cheaper spot on the more primitive side of the campground. While by no means economical, El Cosmico was undeniably magical — I’d glanced briefly at a Google review that described it as having a “Moonrise Kingdom” vibe, which was utterly accurate.

The grounds are populated with tipis, yurts, and a rainbow of vintage campers, as well as solar showers, an outdoor cantina, and bountiful “hammock groves.” They even hosted karaoke on Saturday night, where Sean brought the campground to its knees with a powerful rendition of Harvey Danger’s “Flagpole Sitta.”

We spent a hot afternoon roaming around downtown Marfa, exploring a handful of quiet little arts boutiques and galleries — notably an Andy Warhol gallery that housed just three wall-sized prints of his “Last Supper” series. (I found the work itself less intriguing than the gallery’s giant, cumbersome iron-and-glass door, naggingly postered with “DO NOT SLAM” on both sides.)

The town itself has a kind of majestic sparseness that seems to mirror west Texas landscape. Lots of windswept earth tones accented with flashes of color, terse neon signs proclaiming “bar” or “hotel” or “open.” After the tent debacle, and after getting safely situated at El Cosmico, Sean and I took the edge off at the Lost Horse Saloon, where a lanky Sam Elliott type served us strong gin and tonics and what could well have been the entire 20-something population of Marfa turned out for an electronic show.

Overall, however, we spent most of our time at El Cosmico, lolling in hammocks and playing guitar at our campsite, doing shots of tequila to prepare for karaoke (we had to lick salt off of the paper of Sean’s sketchbook because our hands were covered in bug spray).

It wasn’t until we were heading out of town and passed by the famous Prada installation on Highway 90 that it occurred to me we hadn’t really seen (or — gasp! — photographed) any of the things one is supposed to see in Marfa. I think I can live with that, however, and I hope you, dear reader, can too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from traveling over the years, it’s that there’s always going to be something you didn’t do, so you might as well focus on what you’re doing.

Until next time, Texas.

Underground Treasure: Sonora, TX

After three weeks of visiting friends and family, Thursday marked our first day of venturing into the unknown. The unknown started with the Caverns of Sonora in Sonora, Texas, where we pitched our new tent in a beautiful little campground, alone except for a small band of deer and a frustrated peacock.

On the way to Sonora, we’d worried about having enough daylight to set up camp in, but towards 9 o’clock we were still watching a phenomenal sunset. This is probably because the sky in Texas is about twice as big as anywhere else — something that a scientist might contest, but only if they weren’t from Texas.

As we were admiring said sunset, we ran into one of the park’s tour guides, Chris, who was out walking his dog and looking for birds. He showed us the woodpecker nest he’d been watching and explained that the male woodpecker builds a nest before finding a mate, to show the females he’s worth their time. (Our peacock friend could probably learn a thing or two.)

Unfortunately, this magical evening gave way to a decidedly unpleasant night. The sleeping cushion I’d bought for seven dollars at Walmart — really more of a yoga mat made out of flip-flop material — was only marginally better than sleeping on the ground, and the stuffy air and insects kept us both up half the night. Worse still, when we finally stumbled out of the tent in the morning, we discovered that raccoons had gotten into our cooler bag (damn those nimble, adorable fingers) and half our food stash was gone.

It was a rough start to the day, but things looked up when we took a tour of the caverns with our new friend Chris. The experience gave me a profound appreciation not just for the vast and bizarre world that exists underneath us, but for the people who worked to explore and study the caverns back when they could only see a flashlight’s length into what lay ahead.

Also, it was nice and cool down there. Why hasn’t Texas built an underground city yet?

We wanted to stay in Sonora an extra night, but none of the three outdoor supply stores we checked in town sold camping gear, and I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping on my flip-flop mat again. Instead, we packed up and headed for Marfa, Texas. Stay tuned for tales of (hopefully) weird art and alien sightings!

Stomping Grounds: Plano, TX

About a week ago Sean and I made it to Plano, Texas, where he grew up. As a country kid, I used to be confused when he told people he was from “the Dallas area” — like, are you from Dallas or are you from a completely different town? (Fortunately, when I tell people I’m from Iowa their only question is whether that’s the one with corn or the one with potatoes. It’s the one with corn.)

Now, having spent some time in Dallas, I understand that Plano is part of Dallas in much the same way this park bench is part of the creek:

Plano’s Chisolm Creek on Sunday. What climate change?

Basically, the Dallas area is like a transformer made of towns that it swallowed up. This is all very foreign to me; New Orleans, though it contains enough weirdness for a few Dallases put together, is actually a very small city. I’ve never lived anywhere where the downtown had more than three exits. In fact, the town where I grew up could probably be comfortably housed inside one of Dallas’s skyscrapers.

As luck would have it, this turned out to be the perfect time for Sean to visit his childhood home: the day after we arrived, his parents put it on the market. After 20+ years in Plano, they’ve set their sights on something a little more rural. I’m excited to visit them at their fainting goat farm next time around, but I imagine it’s pretty weird for Sean — it’s hard to say goodbye to the place you spent your formative years in.

While his parents shopped for their new home, Sean and I decided to become homeowners ourselves. Our budget was about $12.99, and I think we did pretty well for ourselves.

Feel free to visit! We have a guest wing.

Our visit was also well-timed because it coincided with Father’s Day, and Sean has one of those. His grandfather, Richard, also lives in the area, so the lot of us went out to celebrate their fatherliness with pizza and beer.

We also took a little day trip to Denton, where one of Sean’s high school friends is now a father himself. We spent a few hours in the thrall of Neva’s cuteness, discussing matters such as “hat!” and “hi!” We learned that any item can be classified as a hat when you put it on your head, including but not limited to plastic stacking cups and my hoop earrings.

Take a look at that little tum-tum and tell me you’re not in love.

After Dallas we’ll be in uncharted waters for a couple weeks, covering some territory that’s unfamiliar to both of us. With our hearts full of Texas love, we’re ready to take on anything.

Deep in the <3: Austin, TX

One thing you’ve got to know about Sean: he’s a Texas boy. I’m pretty sure his heart is just one big cast iron star. If you sang “the stars at night, are big and bright,” he’d probably clap four times in his sleep. As soon as we passed the sign welcoming us to the “Drive Friendly” state (which mostly means your fellow drivers will wave as they cut you off), he was in seventh heaven.

I know, I hate the phrase “in seventh heaven” too, but you see what I did there, right?

As evidenced by the surreptitious marketing above, (feel free to sponsor us now, @GuerosTacoBar!) we have indeed been eating a truly impressive amount of tacos. I think it may be a state law that every block in Austin have at least four taco stands. Every imaginable name describing an establishment that serves Tex Mex has been used: Taco Palace! Burrito Canyon! Tamale Wigwam! Nacho Gazebo!

We spent most of our time in Austin bouncing happily from one beer dispensary to the next with various combinations of friends, braving the heat to take in some local art and scenic views.

“Water Woman” by Wangechi Mutu at the Austin Contemporary

Regrettably, this view was made somewhat less peaceful by the church group playing amplified Jesus rock at the lookout point.

Sean and I also spent some time exploring on our own. We passed a morning sunbathing at Barton Springs, a gorgeous spring-fed swimming pool where Robert Redford apparently learned to swim as a child.

We also checked out (get it?) the Austin Central Library in the Market District. As a wandering introvert, I consider myself something of a connoisseur of libraries, and this one topped the charts. Art galleries, tech rentals, work rooms, 3-d printers, a literary puppet exhibit, a rooftop garden, even a cafe and bar. (If you get drunk at a library, it’s still automatically classy, right?)

I’m pretty sure Sean and I could never afford to live in Austin unless we a) won the lottery or b) became sewer people, but it’s nice knowing we’ve got so many good people in such a fascinating and progressive place.

Staycation: New Orleans, LA

You know those little toy cars you used to have to wind up by running them backwards on the ground, letting go, and then watching them shoot across the floor, inevitably into your dad’s leg? (For those of you under 25: find a YouTube video. I’m not going to explain it to you.)

Basically, going to North Carolina was our wind-up. We started in the middle of the country (Louisiana), backed up to the East for a few hundred miles, and now we’ve set ourselves loose across the country. We just needed a little momentum.

Hopefully, no one will step on us and then give us a time-out because we were supposed to be cleaning our room anyway.

Before venturing into the great unknown, however, we decided to spend one last night in New Orleans. This was partly because it was on the way to our next stop, and partly because we’d won a luxury hotel stay in a Christmas raffle, and nothing prepares you for four months of roughing it like a king-size bed and HBO.

We weren’t exactly pining for New Orleans after a mere week away, but there was something liberating about being back on familiar ground without all of our usual duties and obligations. We did our best impersonation of tourists, roaming the streets in sunhats and fanny-packs, blocking traffic to take pictures of random buildings because “the lighting’s just right.” In our 12th-floor hotel room, we admired the view of boats hauling up the river, neon signs flashing below, and some guy ironing in the Marriott across the street.

We also had the pleasure of catching the first day of the Lucky Art Fair, a very ambitious and promising art collaboration conceived by a handful of New Orleans badasses. These installations did for me exactly what I always want art to do: invite me to lean into my own discomfort. Am I supposed to open this door? Am I supposed to touch this? Should I stand next to this total stranger while we read the incredibly intimate poem written on this wall? Is this a bathroom, or a work of art?

This guitar said “play someone a song,” so I did.

I wish we’d had days to roam through the rooms. (Fortunately for you, if you live in New Orleans you can see it next weekend, and you should.)

Our next stop is Austin, where we’ll hang out with Sean’s 57 best friends from high school and hopefully eat tacos for every meal. As for New Orleans, consider this our awkward second goodbye like after you’ve already said goodbye once but then you realize you’re walking in the same direction. Love y’all!

Day Zero: Durham, NC

For about six weeks now, Sean and I have been counting down obsessively to our launch date. As soon we wake up in the morning, he’ll ask, “how many days?” and I’ll say “forty-one!” or “twenty-seven!” or “thirteen!” If I’m having a particularly bad day, he’ll just pat my back and say “nine more days, babe.”

Nevertheless, I don’t think either of us was prepared to actually wake up to Day Zero. We’ve been anticipating and saving for this trip for so long, it’s hard to conceive of it existing somewhere other than the future.

We’re a few days in now, and it’s almost starting to feel real. (We’ve stopped counting the days out loud, for the same reason we’ve stopped proudly reporting the contents of our savings account to each other: it’s not quite as exciting when the numbers are going in the opposite direction.) We made it to Durham, North Carolina, where we’re temporarily entrusting my mother with our pride and joy:

Phoebe doing what she loves: sitting on stuff I am trying to use.

Two days in the car for Phoebe was, I imagine, something like having the only two people you thought you could trust throw you into a rocketship with no space training and no perceivable end in sight. Aside from a few angry naps and about five minutes in Mississippi when we bought her some tuna at Subway, she kept up a constant monologue of desperate, accusing meows. By the time we got to Mom’s, she seemed happy to make her home anywhere that wasn’t hurtling forward at seventy miles per hour.

If you ever decide to embark on four months of uncertainty and adventure, I highly recommend you start it off by spending a few days with one of the most loving and nurturing people in your life. For me, that happens to be my mom. For two days we slept deeply, ate insanely well, and even attended a baseball game at the Bulls’ stadium. This was my very first ball game (possibly the first sporting event ever that I didn’t bring a book to), so Sean had to lay out some of the rules for me beforehand using my childhood Playmobil set.

Now at bat: the tiny elephant that came with a beach scene for some reason.

We said goodbye to Durham this morning and set off for Atlanta, where we’re staying with a generous host through Couchsurfing.com. Tomorrow we swing back through New Orleans to cash in on a luxury hotel stay, then on to family and friends in Texas before we sweep the West Coast. Stay tuned, good people!