Walk in, it's worth it.

As most people know when they shift to new frontiers, it's a good idea to get out of your comfort zone and put yourself out there. All very easy while in the planning phase. I looked at my move to the Southwest as an adventure, ignoring the warnings from friends who feared I might go bonkers from isolation. There were going to be no such issues for me. Even before leaving I was all set to bake cookies on arrival and do the introductory rounds of the neighbourhood. While waiting for my work permit, I would volunteer and get to know the community and research entrepreneurial opportunities. I'll be honest, it didn't quite happen like that.

I was quite diligent about this positive transition, getting myself out of the mountains and developing a routine of sorts, to ensure I wasn't still in bed with greasy hair and mounting depression when my husband came home. With one car between the two of us it was a perfect incentive for me to get out of bed and avoid the Today Show in order drive him to work and then explore the highlights of sunny Albuquerque and its surrounds. After exhausting all the major attractions alone, I began my days with a visit to a cafe on the main drag. Interesting place, that seemed to be an unofficial home to various hard-core religious group meetings, while also acting as neutral territory for local business managers to fire employees. It was a fascinating insight and I wondered if the religious groups realised their potential to recruit the newly unemployed and down and out. I wasn't about to facilitate, although; weeks of not speaking to anyone almost forced my hand.

This period of repeat visits to Costco (intriguing warehouse type establishment, everything is not only super-sized but then sold in bulk - you can get a 10 gallon drum of pretzels - who knew), I realised I was in serious need of some human interaction, especially when I found myself dining at the Costco pizza bar alone. I was beyond desperate for a a glass of wine and a chortling laugh with friends. I wasn't sure how this place ticked and my good intentions of greeting friendly neighbours turned to fear and paranoia. Who lived in these hills and were they on dubious wanted lists? It was then decided that a trip to 'the local' was in order, neutral ground from which we could observe and possibly interact.

During the search for the thriving social scene, my husband noted a flickering sign along old Route 66 that marketed what seemed to be the only bar in the village. The car park indicated that it had a healthy level of clientele. We settled our ride between the bikes and pick-ups. There were no windows to provide insight into this watering hole, just a sign asking patrons to wear shoes. Luckily, we had shoes. I'll be honest, I hesitated, I'm a woman from the city in my 30's not a 21yr old back-packer looking for adventure (I know I mentioned adventure before but I was well and truly over it at this point). After our initial hesitation, we entered the barn doors, yes barn doors. There were a few people scattered at the bar and tables and I kid you not, all conversation stopped upon our entry and we weren't exactly greeted with smiles. This place had obviously not had a re-furb in quite some time, the neon lights and sticky carpet giving it a rustic, vintage character if you like. Little did we know that this filthy place, would be our connection to a social life.

Once it was established that we weren't in-fact unwanted tourists in town for the Balloon Fiesta (Albuquerques #1 tourist attraction, and worth a visit might I add) but new members of the community, the bar-maid kindly introduced us to the locals who, at my relief, were keen to chat. We spent the next hour learning about the various events that take place in this community hall of sorts, weddings, pot lucks and even an annual chili cook-off. Then in came famous patron Robert. I have to say Rob looked a little threatening to me, he was missing teeth and could have easily been the third member of ZZ Top. Oh, I forgot to mention that the bar is generally a biker bar - yep. I can happily say that first impressions are not always what they seem. Rob was the most popular fella in the bar and after my initial reaction, I could have cried when he stayed to chat to us while all his friends clamored for his attention. He made sure we were aware of the plethora of great local bands that were scheduled to perform 6 days a week, every week, all year. He was a force to be reckoned with on the dance floor and I am happy to admit that I was on his dance card several times that evening.

So we ventured back to our welcoming biker-bar, avoiding the beer on tap because the keg had obviously not been replaced since 1967. On one occasion, I recognized one of the lads on the dance-floor, he happened to resemble the man who lived on the property next to us. A few drinks had provided me with enough social lubricant to say hello and wouldn't you know it, he has never featured on any dubious wanted lists. From that evening on we became part of the infamous Campo Corner, a truly wonderful mix of vegans, vegetarians and meat eating hunters who welcomed us into their crowd with open arms. Many of these new friends moved to New Mexico for the same reasons we had, adventure, space and outdoor living. Mind you, I'm still coming to grips with the outdoor living bit. I believe that part was decided after a third bottle of wine in a crowed bar somewhere in New York.

Without sounding too sentimental, I can honestly say that I have never encountered a group of people so accepting and inviting and I look forward to knowing them for a long long time.

Can you take the city out of the girl?

Well, here I am, having lambasted the world of social networking sites and computerised novel reading. Who says people can’t change. I am starting a blog all on my own. It was a move from a big city to a small mountain village that corrupted and inspired me.

I'm currently on a hiatus from the daily grind of working life - woohoo. Otherwise known as awaiting a work permit. The past three years have been hectic, living and working in London and New York and I now find myself resting in the glorious East Mountains of New Mexico, sans employment while my poor husband slaves away for our living.

Initially, this move was a prospect for opportunity. I’m pretty much a city girl at heart with very little prior use for practical skills. What I love about big cities are their service industries, in particular, restaurants and transport systems. They kind of go hand in hand. You meet friends, eat out, perhaps have a few too many vinos and wouldn’t you know it there’s a cab, tube or subway to take you straight home. I’ve been known to create online restaurant maps of major cities I travelled to that provided me, and anyone who cared, with reviews of where to eat and what to expect. I love food but I have to admit my cooking skills were lacking a little lustre due to a lull in practise. As for plants and gardens, my meagre attempts at small apartment horticulture had resulted in early and unnecessary deaths (plant life only of course) not to mention massive disappointment. This however, was my opportunity to shine in the areas of life that had once eluded me.

So here I was, living the dream on an acre of land and then reality dawned on me like a filthy hangover. There was no local Waitrose or Trader Joe's to pop down to for that emergency milk (or more likely Snickers) run. I was out of my depth. In those early days of arriving in NM I was prepared to drive for 40 minutes to sit in a cafe and read a paper. This was clearly a mistake. As I read the New York Times from cover to cover I was constantly knocked by the realisation that I couldn’t attend those reviewed shows or those end of season sales – where was I and was I really prepared for such a change?

I recall my initial weekend in the Land of Enchantment, I eagerly donned a pair of old ski-gloves (my substitute for lack of gardening gloves) along with a can-do attitude and got stuck into our high desert garden, pulling out whatever looked foreign –pretty much all vegetation if I'm honest. This was obviously not productive or safe. I decided my focus would be better served if I did some research on New Mexican flora and fauna. Being Australian, I am well aware of the dangers of snakes and spiders and thought I’d better know them before they decide to get well acquainted with me. Plus that physical work really takes its toll. It was clear that my projects needed to be scaled down a touch.

The compost became my immediate goal. Sadly, this focus was short-lived and has to this day not been revived but a valuable lesson was had. After reading somewhere that wood ashes from one’s fireplace was a brilliant compost ingredient, I decided that the remnants of the previous evening’s cosy fire would be a perfect addition to the existing compost ingredients. As I left the home that afternoon, off to celebrate my accomplishments along with my birthday, I imagined my growing compost and the joy it would bring me in spring. Oh what a gardener and conservationist I would be. Joy was not to be had that evening. After returning home several hours later, I noted flames leaping from the direction of my home. High winds and high desert do not make a stable environment for cinders. I really should have read the fine print suggesting ashes should be left for considerable periods to ensure no fire hazards. In my defense, how long is considerable, they looked grey to me. Thankfully we had our first snowfall that afternoon which saved me from the wrath of the new neighbours who were very nearly victims of my poorly researched project. Needless to say, the house was ok the garden was not.

Although my motivation has taken a mild beating, these episodes and others have taught me a lot. I’ve learnt to embrace and love this new rustic lifestyle of frozen water pipes, endless snowstorms and road closures. And while the self-improvement I anticipated is taking a little longer than hoped, my practical skills are developing at a rapid rate. Fire-fighting? Check!