7 hours in Santa Fe, New Mexico

After three days on the road, Adam and I finally accepted that we Thelma and Louise of sorts. We had crept into ghost towns, trespassed on a ice cave, and gotten escorted out of a national park amongst a series of other questionable things. So why not continue the streak, I suppose? On the last day before our rental car was due back in Phoenix (and I booked a last minute flight to Dallas) we decided to take a detour Santa Fe.

This might have been the best and worst decision we made yet––to tease ourselves with cafes housed in 300-year-old stucco buildings, to come upon the oldest church in the U.S., and to get a whiff of old Route 66––all while knowing that we only had a few hours to absorb a city that could offer much more. Regardless, we let ourselves get lost in Santa Fe-ian things like “Frito Pie” (meat pie topped with––you guessed it–– Fritos), local galleries, and infant-sized burritos topped with green chili.

After our mad dash through the city, we hopped back in our car for an eight hour, speed-limit-optional drive back to Phoenix. I managed to catch my last minute flight to Dallas, while Adam headed south to Mexico. And with that, my co-conspirator and I promised to meet in another part of the world.