Santa Fe Domiciles

A look back at various places in Santa Fe where I have stayed over the last 12 years:

Elena Street (2025) was a nice pseudo-adobe that was artfully decorated yet fully furnished. Someone had definitely lived here, the layout of everything made sense, and it was situated in a real residential area. An unmitigated joy, a best-case realization of the Airbnb concept:

East Alameda Street (2023) was over-the-top in its decor, but well-furnished. Another ‘real’ adobe, its open-plan layout wasn't exactly cozy, but its only real drawback was a furnace that sounded like a jet engine:

It was run by a management company, not by an owner who had lived there. It was just off Canyon Road, not really a residential area, but it had an inviting courtyard, a bit chilly in the winter, however:

We were the last people to stay at this adobe house on Sanchez Street, just before Covid hit in 2020, after which the owner removed its listing. It was the home/studio of an artist, and an absolute delight:

It even featured a Buddhist shrine in the back:

I sent a follow up note to the owner when Covid hit, it was a sad situation for both of us.

Our first stay in Santa Fe was at Dunshee’s in 2015, a private rental. It had a ‘designer interior’ that wasn’t very homey but it did have several antiques in the ‘distressed desert’ style:

The owner had mentioned that she wa near retiring and its listing disappeared soon after we had stayed there. Its shady patio would have been nice in warmer temps:

There are numerous offerings of lodging in Santa Fe: some, if not most, are run by management firms and offer a generic experience, like a chain hotel room decorated with a few southwestern-themed furnishings. That is fine, especially if you are the type of tourist who is always on the go and only need a place to sleep. But if you desire a sense of place there are still opportunities to be found there if you look between the lines.

Flower Pots of Reykjavík

One of the more welcome additions to the Reykjavík street scene is the proliferations of numerous planters in the city center.

Regardless if these are exceptionally hearty plants or they are heated by hot water coils in the sidewalk, they thrive into November.

There had been a heavy snowfall a week prior, but this foliage showed no signs of trauma.

Ahead to the Past, at Last

20 Years Ago on FITK

Continuing the saga of our week-end escape, the Weaver and I ended up in Red Wing, Minnesota at this 19th century octagon house:

An eight-sided house has, by definition almost, quirks and ours was no exception. Spiral staircases, a cupola and surrounding porches and vistas from the roof-top (note to self: return in the summer!) and rooms with an occasional 135° angle where the walls met all added to the charm of this historic dwelling. The topper for me, (satisfying my peculiar fascination with antique plumbing), was a porcelain “foot bath”- a small tub about 2'x2'x2' with its own special fittings- intended for podiatric hygiene. Civilized…

We were hosted by Penny Stapleton, who regaled us with vivid stories about the house over canapés and wine. We slept in luxury. Most Civilized, indeed.

Red Wing itself, one of the first cities in Minnesota, is certainly worth a visit. Because many of the founding families lived there for generations many of the fine older homes and buildings have been preserved so that a walking excursion in the downtown and nearby residential areas brings many pleasant examples of architecture into view. With its proud history of manufacturing (Red Wing™ shoes, Red Wing™ pottery) there is plenty of well-preserved local color worth at least a week-end of exploration.

Hólavallagarður

Another of Rekjavík’s quiet charms is Hólavallagarður, the old cemetery on Suðurgata:

Mid-day sun casts a warm glow:

The low angle of the sun’s rays turn it into a cubist stage set:

Names on the tombstones in these images have been obscured to protect privacy.

Börger?

Hagavaginn, Vesturbær, Reykjavik, 2025:

Tommi’s Burger Joint, Austurhöfn, Reykjavík, 2025:

Kröst, Hlemmur, Reykjavík, 2025:

Hamburgers are popular in Iceland but expensive. No cattle ranching is done in Iceland, although I suspect that the older dairy cows eventually end up in this supply chain. One burger joint that I did eat at in 2004, American Style, wasn’t the best. Tommi’s has a béarnaise sauce that is supposed to be fabulous and the lamb-burger I had at Kröst in 2022 was worth it. I have walked by Hagavaginn dozens of times, but its greasy-spoon vibe (even the building’s siding looks greasy) has always put me off.

NOTE: All restaurant prices in Iceland have jumped in the last couple of years: a burger, fries and can of pop will run at least 25 USD. When I first went to Iceland in 2000 there were still McDonalds but the last one closed in the wake of the 2009 Kreppa. The last meal sold at that one still exists, under glass.

Pack Ice

Twenty Years Ago on FITK

Driving over the Mississippi River (on a bridge) I noticed that the ice had been breaking up and drifting down in floes. That reminded me of a time, some forty years ago, when two of my classmates thought that a semi-frozen river was a good place to play.

Barry and Dan were down by the river at a spot called “Old Camden”, where the remains of a nineteenth-century shingle mill had been located. The weren’t any structures, just a few pieces of concrete here and there, and the sluiceway that fed the old mill. The boys had been poking around the shore and found a dead cat. In an act of idle curiousity they threw the cat on an ice floe that was circling in a back water. The cat and the floe continued in their oscillation. Feeling brave (or was it just stupid) the boys hopped on the floating berg. They too went round and round. Barry, as teen-aged boys are wont to do, grew tired of this activity and leapt back to the shore. The extra kick from his leap pushed the floe out into the mainstream. Dan was now the captain and crew of the USS Icecube, heading down the river.

Oh, did I mention the waterfall? But that’s getting ahead of the story.

Dan was adrift, and too far from shore to jump and, with the water being a cozy 33° F., swimming was not an inviting option either. Barry was on shore and was, as teen-aged boys are also wont to do, laughing. Dan was getting scared now. A passing motorist saw his plight and phoned police. The fire department brought out a boat to the nearest landing—about two miles downstream. Just before the waterfall. There was quite a crowd when they snatched Dan from what could have been a watery grave.

The next day, there, on the front page of the newspaper, was Dan, drifting down the Mississippi on pack ice, in the middle of February. He became a local legend. No one else ever tried to copy that stunt, however.

Most teen-aged boys, thankfully, aren’t quite that dumb.

Walking on Thin Ice

Reykjavík, 31 October, 2025

This pool is above the underground city hall parking ramp.

When ice forms on it it needs to be broken up, perhaps to prevent damage.

I think the pool is only a few inches deep but I don’t envy this man’s job.

Street Vendor Huts

On Austurstræti in Reykjavík there are often a few portable huts where vendors sell knitwear, jewelry and other hand-crafts.

Before they had the huts, vendors would just sit on the street, often in near-freezing weather. The hut pictured below was occupied by a jewelry seller who didn't let the darkness stop him—he had several battery-operated lights illuminating his wares. When I took the shot below (at about 7:00 P.M.) he was just starting to pack up.

In just a few minutes he had finished and he strapped his case onto his bike and was gone.

The Ugly American

Twenty Years Ago on FITK

Watching the Winter Olympics opening ceremony last night gave me a small shiver of hope- at least some of the people of the world can get together and have a go at something other than warfare or explotation. I grant that there is as much politics and behind the scenes manuvering as in any human endeavor, but at least some people are connecting in a small way with others from around the world. The pageantry, especially the choreography, is a little (!) on the hyper side, but that too is ok, this ceremony is really a dress-up party for the world (…loved those Mongolian hats!)

At the end, in honor of the great Italian operatic tradition, the greatest living Italian opera star, Pavarotti, sang Verdi, arguably the father of modern Italy.

Viewers in the United States got to listen to Bob Costas talk over the opening bars of Mr. Pavarotti's performance. This wasn’t an accidental oversight, the show was (like most of the Olympics) taped (NBC evidently thinks US citizens can't handle real-time events- or that it can sell more commercials) and STILL Bob thought we should hear him prattle on instead of this musical giant, a master, singing in his home country, with hundreds of years of tradition behind him. Proving once again that Americans just don't get it. An ugly American: crass, mercenary, and self absorbed to the point of idiocy, real classy, Bob, real classy…

Reykjavík at Night

From my 2025 trip: