Here’s a cosmopolitan idea: go to Las Vegas and stay at the Plaza Hotel – in 24 hours. Forget the red eyes to Nevada and LaGuardia. Do it all in one New Mexico town.
The other Vegas caught my attention nearly 10 years ago when we staggered off Interstate 25 with an antsy baby in back. Desperate for diversion, we parked at a grassy oasis in the middle of town, where a huge, extended family was holding a picnic and invited us to chow down on watermelon, corn tortillas, tamales and barbecue. We left completely refreshed, and after that, I always wanted to go back – in part because I had the vague impression that the olden days had in some way never left this town.
No frills here
Returning after a decade, I saw that I was right – the streets were full of 50-year-old pickups held together with baling twine, some with three cowboys in one seat. There was an aura of dust, sage and bright Western light, and the buildings still were decorated with the giant advertising murals painted ages ago by the itinerant artists known as Wall Dogs. A curvaceous cowgirl in a fringed mini-skirt still waved Howdy on behalf of the Calumet Baking Powder company.
Inside the depot, now a semi-welcome center, a stern older woman explained the town’s history a little too quickly for comprehension. The place had been settled by Spanish nobles, the Santa Fe Trail had passed right through, and so had Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders, who stayed at a hot springs a few miles north. Furthermore, our lecturer implied, don’t expect a fancied-up tourist attraction. Treat us with respect. We are living history, oddly similar in that way to Mesa Verde.
A river bisects the city, chopping it into Old Town and New Town, but it all looked old to us. Drug store marquees outlined by neon and emblazoned with Coke logos evoked soda fountains and patent medicines. The Union Avenue Historic District just west of the depot featured old buildings, some beautifully restored, others so decrepit we could see ornate barbacks through cracks in the walls.
A history of saloons
Saloons were once such an overwhelming Las Vegas presence – 161 of them, if brochures can be believed – that the Women’s Christian Temperance Union built a water fountain in the center of town, hoping in vain to provide a rival beverage. It’s still there. So are quite a few saloons, doing bang-up business.
When I read up on Las Vegas’ history, it turned out scores of historic buildings, from adobes to Gothic mansions, had either burned or been removed to make room for things like drive-up banks and parking lots. You could have fooled me.
Because when we crossed the river into Old Town, where the main plaza was once a rendezvous point for Santa Fe Trail travelers, it seemed as if mountain men and vaqueros had just gone around the corner (to a saloon) and would be back shortly. We sat in the gazebo and looked around the square. The Navajo Textiles building was a hollow shell of broken windows and decrepit metal. But across the street, the door to Plaza Drugs was swinging open and shut like a metronome set on andante.
Sure enough, a marble-countered fountain served ice cream sodas and seltzer. The floors were creaky wooden planks, the ceiling was tin, and a display case held a dusty display of ancient meds, including something called “Koff Syrup.” A few regulars – taciturn, or perhaps even asleep – sat nursing Cokes at small tables, and the day crept by like a scene from Flannery O’Connor.
Next door, inside Tapetes De Lana, a weaving cooperative, a man sat creating a Navajo-style rug. Designed as a way to provide rural New Mexicans with a decent living, Tapetes trains weavers and sells their rugs, serapes, blankets and woolens-to
-order – one of the most excellent reasons this town is nowhere near extinct.
Checking out the Plaza
It was time to check out the Plaza Hotel, which stood, as it has since 1879, looking out on the remains of the Santa Fe Trail. We walked in past a saloon – natch – and a parlor so authentic it still contained a potbellied stove and a piano. Twin grand staircases swept up; it would have been nice to sweep right back down, wearing a Scarlett O’Hara dress.
Instead, we went up to 201, one of the grander suites. I looked out through old, leafy trees thinking I am Eloise? I am a city child? Nah. After a few minutes I switched to I am Nathanael West. It fit, but so did Doc Holliday, who had a saloon here, as a matter of fact, or Tom Mix or the female bandit known as Big Nose Kate. The view was exactly the same as it was in the 1800s, when Billy the Kid was dragged across the lawn to a cell at the Las Vegas jail.
All in all, the usual glitzy afternoon at the Plaza.
There were no hansom cabs at the curb, but I know what I like.
Robin Chotzinoff is a freelance writer who lives in Evergreen.
The details
- Las Vegas is 325 miles from Denver, south on Interstate 25, exit 345.
- Plaza Drugs, 178 Bridge St., 800-266-5221.
- Historic Plaza Hotel, 230 Plaza, 505-425-3591, lodging@plazahotel-nm.com.
- Tapetes de Lana, 1814 Plaza, 505-426-8638, info-info-t@tapetesdelana.com.
