By the time I started vacationing, I had already been in Santa Fe for two and a half days, wandering its streets with fellow AFS meeting attendees as we mixed the attractions of the location (which are many) with papers and plenaries. In order to cut costs, I shared a room at one of the conference hotels, the Hotel Santa Fe, with two of my colleagues, who departed on Sunday morning back to work, family, and life. I headed out into the town, in search of breakfast and Mass.
I found the first at Tia Sophia’s, heading into the plaza. I had stopped to browse the menu, which had been taped to the window, when a local who was gathering her party together for seating told me it was worth the stop. One of the benefits of traveling solo is that I could bypass all the others waiting on a Sunday morning and took a seat at the bar, where without too much pondering, I ordered a ham, cheese, and guacamole omelette with tomato slices on the side. Thus fueled for the day, I headed back out on San Francisco Street toward the cathedral. Of course, it would not be Santa Fe without a little engagement with the commercial sector, so I poked in to look at the goods for sale in a low end kitsch store, since I know the high end in Santa Fe is way out of my league.
I finally made my way to the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi at the end of the street. I expected a darkened 17th century Spanish cathedral inside, and was pleasantly surprised to find it filled with light and simply designed, up to date with Vatican II-era reforms and redesign. After Mass, the docent pointed out that the parish opened the cathedral roof with skylights in the 1960’s and the result is a bright, welcoming church. I was there for the youth choir Mass, so the singing was enthusiastic and hip (I think there was a drum set), and the congregation was welcoming. 
Afterwards, I toured the church, which makes an effort to blend old and new. The screen behind the main altar depicts exclusively North American saints (once you exclude Francis the patron). On the church grounds is a prominent statue of St. Kateri Tekakwitha, a Mohawk from New York.
At the same time, the cathedral features a prominent 300 year old chapel for La Conquistadora, the image of Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady of Conquering Love, or Our Lady of Peace, depending on your era of Catholic practice. Perhaps her 350+ year history explains why she has so many names. This statue was brought to Santa Fe in 1626, making it the oldest representation of the Virgin Mary in the US. The material in the chapel credits it as the oldest single item of veneration as well. Originally, she was Our Lady of 
the Rosary, but she was renamed La Conquistadora in 1693 when the Spanish settlers of Santa Fe peaceably regained control of the city following the Pueblo Indian revolt in 1680. The cathedral’s brochure points out that the title is meant to symbolize conquering hearts with faith and love, rather than by force presumably. Anyway, on this particular day, the chapel got a share of tourists, pilgrims, and one Santa Fe Queen, who had been selected at the Fiesta in September, and was dressed up for photos around the city. If I ever figure out how to post video to this blog, I’ll add her. For now, the older queen and her chapel is below.
I headed out from the Cathedral toward the Loretto Chapel on the advice of a fellow folklorist. That chapel, which is privately owned, contains a staircase, which is an item of local lore. The sisters of Loretto built the chapel in 1878 and while nearing completion, discovered there was no way to access the loft 22 feet above the chapel other than a ladder, which would be hard for choir members to climb in full habit. The sisters prayed a novena to St. Joseph–a carpenter–for a solution to the problem, and on the ninth day, a carpenter 
appeared looking for work. He spent months there building an exquisite winding staircase, and upon completion, disappeared without being paid. The staircase he left behind makes 360 turns and has no visible means of support, relying on wooden pegs and not nails for construction. When I visited it, the bookstore played a TV movie from the late 1990s starring a number of familiar actors as earnest sisters, mysterious carpenter, and cynical church authorities. In any case, the chapel is lovely, and worth the $3 cost of admission.
From the Loretto Chapel, it is a short walk to some of the oldest of Santa Fe’s buildings. I poked around the 
oldest house, but since there was no way to get inside, headed over to the San Miguel Chapel, which some consider the oldest church in the US. Oral history indicates that it was built in 1610, and documentary evidence exists from 1628. The original was built by Tlaxcalan Indians who came from old Mexico in 1598 
with the Spanish settlers. The church served the Indians, laborers, and soldiers who settled in this part of Santa Fe at the time, and has been destroyed and rebuilt numerous times (as I write this, I must note the irony that they Gospel reading on this particular Sunday was about Jesus destroying and rebuilding the temple in three days). Most recently, a major restoration was carried out in 1955 when the Christian Brothers nearly demolished the structure and Santa Feans stepped in to help sustain it. Given that it was originally built to serve the most humble members of the settler community in the early 17th century, its survival demonstrates the commitment of generations of community members.
Unfortunately, I could not get into the chapel. I was about to give up on seeing the inside when I realized that Mass was going on. Soon somebody stepped out, and then an usher poked his head out and welcomed me in. I did not want to disrupt, so I asked him when he thought it would be finished. He smiled. It was the Latin Mass, and the priest celebrating it is in his 80’s. He moves slowly, the usher advised, so I should come back in a half hour or so. I headed out to a nearby set of stalls to browse the items for sale. 
Then I headed back over. The same friendly usher informed me that Communion was in progress so I sat outside in the sun waiting for the end of Mass. As I did, another pair of visitors arrived, and the woman asked me why I was waiting. When I told her Mass was in progress, she indicated she was going in, as “that does not bother” her. I reminded her that it might bother them. Thus shamed, she waited with me in the sun for the remaining five minutes and I pondered how to get my folklore friends back for the rest of my trip. The inside was humble but sincere. The altar screen depicted a variety of saints, not all of whom were familiar (I must confess here that ever since winning the All Saints Day contest in 7th grade, I find churches and altar screens to be a personal challenge. New Mexico has a surprising number of images of St. Gertrude, a German saint, which throws off my score completely). 
As I left, the very sweet usher invited me to stay for English Mass in an hour. I asked him if it would go late like the Latin. He assured me that the English speaking priest was former military and very efficient with time. 30-35 minutes tops for the Sunday service was his estimate. Then he added sincerely, “he’s very prayerful.” I was sorry to leave it and disappoint the usher, but the day was growing short.
With only an hour before closing time, I arrived at the Georgia O’Keefe Museum with little background on her art. The docent was encouraging: the museum was a 45-60 minute experience she assured me. So I headed in for the documentary films providing background on her life and relationship to the area. They were very helpful, and I was fortunate that when I got up from them, the other visitors still had more to see, so I could wander around the paintings by myself. One in particular, whose name I cannot remember, caught my eye. Another nearby docent came over to chat and admitted it is her favorite as well, probably because the paint is thicker on the canvass. “Normally, she’s so light on paint,” said the young woman. It struck me as an interesting idea, so I revisited the six galleries a second time before heading out, considering how the artist put paint on the canvass.
Once outside, Santa Fe seemed to be closing down around me. Shops and restaurants were darkened, so I wandered over to the plaza and cathedral park, absorbing the markers and taking photos as the sun set. 
Since the town was shutting down, I headed back to the 
Hotel Santa Fe for a delicious burger with more avocado before heading out to my more economical hotel for the night.