It’s been a while since my last blog and I am almost embarrassed to share the reason: I had a bad couple of days and wasn’t sure how or if to blog about them. At some point, I knew I would have days when I missed home, got really sad, or just wanted to stay in bed. Let’s be honest, “normal” life is not immune to bad days, so why would life on the road be any different? So here is part one of a two-part blog about my time in Santa Fe, New Mexico, my first patch of rough road.

As I stated in an earlier blog, I wanted to experience new things and try out stuff that I’ve never had the chance to do. The Navajo hogan had been awesome, so I was excited about the next place I’d booked: a yurt on a llama farm. Yes, I’ve always wanted to stay in a yurt (my brother-in-law helped build one on his parents’ property in Oregon), and I thought it would be so cool to sleep in a round, canvas-walled room. What’s more? This yurt happens to be on a llama farm. A LLAMA farm!!! Adventure, here I come.

In addition to the yurt and llamas, my host also owned the local roller rink. Seeing as I pulled into town very late, he had me meet him at the rink where he was working to get the keys/instructions there. The rink was a Roswell alien theme (this was New Mexico after all). There was silly alien decor everywhere, the music was spacey, and kids from town were having fun. Then I noticed a huge mural on the back wall that looked like the parting of the Red Sea. I looked closer and there was an alien in the center. I asked my host about it and he said he bought the building from a church and converted it to a roller rink. He said yes, that was in fact the parting of the Red Sea, but who wants to see Moses starting at them while they skate? So he put an alien there instead. I guess I nodded in understanding (?).

At that point my host (who by the way looks exactly like a skinny version of Doc from Back to the Future) starts railing a bit on “right-wing Christian Republicans.” Now don’t get me wrong, he was actually a very nice guy; he just had some very strong opinions. This is nothing new. I mean, I’d lived in San Francisco, after all. But it was hard to take after a very long drive, and the alien parting the Red Sea was started to creep me out. I thought if I could just get to the yurt I’d be okay.

After my host closed up, we went back to his property and he showed me what he called, his “Enchanted Yurt.” It was clean and modern inside, and he took delight in showing me how he built it, how he used special NASA materials for the walls (which meant if I wanted wifi I had to sit in front of a window because the “astronaut walls” blocked the signal). He then fired up the pellet stove, the efficiency of which he was more than happy to explain. The stove kept smoking and even shut off twice during my orientation, but he assured me it would be fine in just a few more minutes. Just as I began to notice there was no bed, he pulled out this large corduroy bean-bag-like thing. He unzipped the cover and unfurled what was essentially a queen-sized sack filled with tiny bits of foam chunks.  He swore it was so comfortable that many guests had overslept. I wasn’t so convinced that would be the case for a big girl like me. Lastly, my host showed me his most prized feature: the composting toilet. Practically giddy with excitement, he explained how how much water is wasted with regular toilets, how green this apparatus was, and how much mulch/soil I would have to scoop on top of my business every time, depending on which number I went (there was a large bag of mulch next to the shower). But the most worrisome part was that the whole contraption was very tall, and the seat itself was a very precarious 4.5 feet off the floor. One had to seriously climb on to use this thing. Perhaps this was a little too much adventure.

After a few more political statements about the environment and the evils of capitalism, my host left me to get settled. I put the sheets on the glorified floor pillow, turned the pellet stove back on again, and headed to the bathroom for my evening ablutions. After I finished brushing my teeth, there was no more avoiding it. I really needed to go potty. It took me more than one attempt to climb Mt. Compost, figure out a way to turn around carefully and sit, and then to safely dismount. I was relieved (pun intended) when I navigated all of that successfully, but then I got a little stressed out playing chemist, trying to figure out my exact mulch-to-liquid ratio for scooping afterwards. At this point it seemed easier just to have copped a squat behind the bushes.

I got into my pjs, turned the stove back on one last time, and climbed into the foam-sack-pillow bed. I immediately sank to the floor. All the foam bits in the “mattress” got pushed to the edges, and I was essentially lying on the floor surrounded by a ring of foam. Great. Then the stove shut off again. Awesome! Two hours of not sleeping later, I had to go potty – no!!!! – and not the lower number. Crap! Literally. So I struggled to climb out of the foam donut and get off the floor. The place was freezing with no heat, and I staggered into the bathroom in the dark. I will spare you most of the details of my second attempt to climb Mt. Compost, save to say I ripped the toilet paper dispenser off the wall trying (unsuccessfully) to save myself from tumbling off. Bruised and lying on the floor of the bathroom in the dark with the broken toilet paper dispenser next to me, the decision was easy: I’m booking another place.

I got myself squared away, put on another wool sweater to stave off the cold, pulled out my laptop, made sure I was in front of a non-NASA-blocked window, and trolled for other accommodations. I found another place, and I immediately booked it. I then climbed back into the foam donut, bundled up against the cold, reminded myself that I had been a camper and a Girl Scout for years, I could do anything for one night. And then I started to cry.

NEXT UP: Santa Fe, Part 2 of 3!