Santa Fe, like Montana, was someplace I’d never been but was really looking forward to. I’m not even sure why, if it was because so many people said we’d love it there, or because I’d read about all the good shopping and dining and sightseeing in the guidebooks, or maybe because we’d been visiting a lot of national parks and had just stayed in a wigwam and I was ready to just relax and be, you know, civilized.

I decided from the start we weren’t going to do anything that specific or plan anything that major while visiting Santa Fe. I explained to J that I’d go shopping or sit and drink coffee if I wanted to, and if he came along, fine, but I wasn’t going to be deterred from whatever non-taxing activity I chose to partake in. If he wanted to get up early and check out the local wildlife, cool. I’d be just fine sleeping in.

Luckily this sort of toned-down, non-frantic lifestyle was very easy to adapt to the two nights we were there.

We chose to stay in an adorable bed and breakfast called Hacienda Nicholas. We couldn’t get over the place. After many nights in cheap motels, staying in a little guest room in an adobe building built around a courtyard was so thrilling it’s a wonder we made it out into the town at all. Every evening, around five, the innkeeper (a very nice and talkative local woman who gave us all the info on the good restaurants nearby) would pour the guests a big glass of wine, put out cheese and crackers, and we’d all sit around the fire blazing in the cozy common room and talk about what we’d done that day, and what we had planned for that night. This was a very pleasant departure from our normal nightly course of action (get the key to the room at a cheap place in the area, but one that’s not so cheap we feel scared or grossed out, fall into bed and watch “Law and Order: SVU”).

Santa Fe’s elevation is roughly 7,000 feet. The town is situated around a central square, where local Native Americans come each day to sell handmade jewelry, belt buckles, money clips, bookmarks and tons of other crafts. Shopping is the most notable activity. Honestly, the amount of shops selling turquoise and handmade blankets and wooden carvings and God knows what else - it’s amazing, and pretty overwhelming. When I asked my mom, who has been to Santa Fe a few times, what it was like there, and what we should do and see, she told me that Santa Fe is really touristy, but somehow it gets away with it, and I got what she meant when we arrived and went exploring.

We ate good food - Italian the first night, Tapas the next and New Mexican fare at Cafe Pasqual’s for lunch because everyone said we had to try it.

Before we left we had massages at the Indonesian spa connected to our hotel. Afterwards we had this rose petal bath (exactly what it sounds like, a hot bath filled with rose petals), which is an Indonesian tradition, apparently. It was so cold outside, and there we were, so warm in this bath with rose petals surrounding us drinking ginger tea and eating the fruit and cucumbers they’d put out for us and after I got over laughing about how ridiculous it was, I decided Santa Fe was my favorite place in the world. Or, it was my favorite place in the world at that moment, anyway.

So, we accomplished our goal. We relaxed and, while we did enjoy checking out the awesome New Mexico landscape on our way in and out of Santa Fe, we didn’t spend that much time driving around trying to take in all the natural beauty. We took a few days off from that and it turns out that even when you’re not looking for it, you tend to find all the good stuff a particular area has to offer anyway.

My favorite part of our stop in Santa Fe, though, was talking to the people staying in the inn, over wine in the evening and homemade breakfast in the morning. We talked to a lot of people on the road, but this was the first time we really had the time to talk extensively with anybody, simply because we weren’t in a hurry to get somewhere else. We talked to the other guests about so many things, from our trip, to the local attractions to careers to the environment. The fact that it was winter made it all the better because staying inside for a few hours and socializing by the fire seemed the best option, and I think much like I will remember other places not only for the scenery and local culture but for our own specific experience there (that unending hike in Missoula…the ham and cheese sandwich in the roadside cafe in South Dakota), I will remember Santa Fe for its effortless ability to foster such intimate conversations as the meteorologists threatened snow and our car sat outside in the gravel parking lot enjoying a few days of respite during a long trip. Resting, like us.

I’m not sure what the deal was - if we were just jaded after seeing so many national parks, or maybe our feelings were actually appropriate in response to this particular site - but when J and I got to the Petrified Forest National Park we only spent a few minutes extolling its virtues before we both admitted we didn’t really have it in us to get all excited about petrified wood.

The thing is, it’s not that we weren’t impressed. In fact, before we went driving through the park we sat through a lecture given by one of the volunteers working at the park, mostly because she seemed really excited we were willing to listen, but also because we wanted to learn.

Maybe we were tired. Or, maybe petrified wood just isn’t our thing. I mean, come on, it’s petrified wood. Petrified. Wood. Wood turned to rock. I know this probably sounds really disappointing to people who are interested in fossils and other relics of ages past. I guess I’m just interested in stuff that’s, you know, more alive.

Despite our less than enthusiastic response to the park (and because we wanted to make it to Santa Fe that afternoon) we didn’t spend as much time running around exploring the petrified forest like we did in some of our other favorite places - Joshua Tree and the Redwood forest, for instance. We did stop at the designated pull-offs, however, and take some pictures, especially when we got to the part where we could see the Painted Desert.

I know how annoying this sounds. That we got to see yet another amazing natural wonder and we basically shrugged it off and got back on the road, but I figured I’d be honest with you guys and let you know that if you happen to have the opportunity to visit the Petrified Forest National Park OR get to Santa Fe a couple hours early and do some shopping, well, maybe you might want to choose the shopping. I’m just saying.

We had the chance to drive on Route 66 a few times on our way back, and while we did learn a little about the history of the well-traveled highway, mostly, let’s face it, we were interested in things like life-size dinosaurs, which we just so happened to see in a town called Holbrook in Arizona.

Because we ended up in Holbrook near sunset after seeing the Grand Canyon, and because the Petrified Forest was nearby and next on our route, and we really wanted to see that, we decided to settle down for the night in the little town.

Especially when we discovered that one of the lodging options looked like this:

Yeah. A wigwam, for Christ’s sake. A whole bunch of concrete wigwams. The Wigwam Motel.

When we saw this, The Wigwam Motel, and decided that staying there was very, very important, I went to the office to inquire about prices and was greeted by a kind, elderly woman, sitting by a fire and reading a romance novel. Settled, I thought. We are staying in the concrete wigwam with the grandma as innkeeper on Route 66! And the road trip shall be immediately declared a success!

Sleeping there that night, in our own tiny building after eating Mexican food at a local joint, wasn’t only funny (which was pretty much guaranteed) it was also cozy and quiet. Except for, you know, when one of us would declare “WIGWAM!” in a gleeful shout before erupting into laughter, because seriously, you just can’t help yourself in that kind of situation.

We took a few videos with my digital camera during the trip. Below is probably the most interesting (we’re probably not gonna be up for an Oscar this year), which we took way back when we were driving through the Badlands in South Dakota.

There’s no sound, because I stole this camera from my parents about three years ago and it doesn’t have modern capabilities like recording sound, but you can get a general feel for the strange landscape we encountered there. It’s probably better that there’s no sound anyway, because I have a feeling any accompanying soundtrack would have really dimished the natural wonder of the place. Something like “You’ve had control of the music for hours and I really want to listen to NPR. Come ON.”

At Walnut Canyon National Monument.

We’ve seen so many mountains, and sun-soaked valleys, so many canyons and vistas and ocean views, and then you get to the Grand Canyon, and it’s just so…

We have woken up in our little motel room before the sun is fully up in order to get to the Grand Canyon and still have time to make the most of this day. It is 8:30 a.m. and we have been on the road for a little over an hour, and J puts on “John Denver and the Muppets, a Christmas Together.” He plays the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which features a different muppet singing each verse, and he explains to me that he’s going to do each voice, singing along in time with the song, and then, once the song is over, I should tell him which voice he does the best, and I ask him if maybe, just perhaps, it’s too early for this?

Leaving California and beginning our trek east means we are on the way home. We still have many miles to go and lots to see and it won’t, by any means, be a short trip, but psychologically, it’s comforting.

I feel like I need to defend myself when I say I’m excited about going home - remind whoever I’m talking to that this has been the best vacation and I’ll never forget it - but I guess it’s somewhat understandable. We’re living out of a suitcase and, I mean, it’s getting to be the Christmas season and we’re ready to relax at home (even considering the obvious fact that we don’t, technically, have a place to to live - a house of our own - just yet).

We’re having the time of our lives, too, but my mom always says that the sign of a good vacation is that you’re ready to go home. We’re definitely geared up to make the most of this last part, however, so that when we do make it back to our family and friends we’ll have good stories to tell. And so, so much laundry to do.

In Flagstaff, AZ.

We are driving across Arizona towards Flagstaff. The sun is shining down through cracks in thick, gray clouds on miles of yellow desert grass and pale green scrub in a valley surrounded by faraway peaks on either side. J is sleeping in the passenger seat after saying he is a little tired and I convinced him to put the seat back and take a little nap, that I didn’t mind at all. I am listening to the album “Alligator” by the band The National and I really feel like I could drive forever as this is one of those rare moments I don’t care where we end up, it’s just so good to be on this trip.