Window to a New World

I’ve been mulling over this post for far too long, some would call it procrastination, nevertheless, I had expected to inform you of the glories of the Santa Fe International Folk Art Market, an annual two-day market featuring selected artists from all over the world. The market has an international reputation that lead to Santa Fe being named a UNESCO City of Folk Art. While this all sounds very impressive, I really didn't feel I could boast for an entire post. Don’t get me wrong, it was well worth the visit but there was something that wasn’t sitting quite right with me and I couldn't put my finger on it until this weekend.

As they pitched it, the market really is a 'window to the world', and I will say this, I loved seeing the artists in their national dress. Coming from a country where the national costume is a stereotypical vision of board-shorts, singlet tops and thongs (otherwise known as flip-flops) the elaborate attire on display forming a kaleidoscope of color was an event in itself. These people know what it is to be festive and festive they were. The market was heaving with visitors all clamoring to see, be seen and purchase. I honestly don't know how the artists retained their composure with the throngs of people fingering their painstakingly made traditional merchandise and crowding in on them with umpteen questions.

I understand the merits of this event, providing insight and exposure to other cultures, allowing artists from mostly developing countries the opportunity to engage with their brethren from other points on the globe while selling their wears to an influential art savvy community. But for me, while I loved the work, the music and the interaction, I would have felt like a fraud if I came home with an elaborate, floor length traditional Afghan coat that I purchased for $1000 from a market in Santa Fe. I mean really, where would one wear such a garment in downtown New Mexico. When I posed this question to my friend she looked at me as if I were completely naive before saying, “next year’s market of course.” There was clear evidence of those who had purchased from the previous years events.

My personal thought was, If I'm going to purchase an original piece of traditional art, especially with that price tag, I want to have a bit of an anecdote and some experience of the place to go with the trophy. But that's just me and that was the problem I had, why were all these people going berserk over objects that had no meaning to them – yes they were beautiful but didn’t they want the story behind it.

It was this weekend while sitting in a raft on the Rio Grande River just outside Taos, NM that I understood. I'd been bemused as to why those people were in Santa Fe filling up on traditional art from other parts of the world when there were communities so close to them that could use their support. I'm in New Mexico for an experience and who am I to judge. These people might need a bit of a release from their surroundings, after all Santa Fe is home to them while it's a whole new fascinating world to me. That guy sizing himself up in his new loud silken Afghan coat might've, only last year been in Kabul and since then has been kicking himself for not making a purchase of something that would remind him of his time there. The point is, I could be doing the same thing if a Navajo artist went to Sydney in the future when my days in New Mexico are long gone. So I will no longer judge and keep my mind focused on my own adventures.

I must say that while I don’t have much in the way of tangible articles to remind me of my life here (note to self: need to save up for Navajo rug, although looking at the price tags that may take a lifetime) I do have wonderful memories and this weekend will be one of the highlights.

In our promise to ourselves to be ‘outdoorsy’ people, I thought I should book in a few weekends of outward-bound activities before returning to New York to visit and report back on our mountain way of life. Whitewater rafting seemed like an adventurous outdoor pursuit (you don’t see much of that on the Hudson) so off we went in search of rapids. I was glad the say that we caught the tail end of the season so the normally 3-4 class rapids were now 2-3 class and I could ease into the sport gracefully.

It was grey and slightly cool on the Rio Grande and we were informed that an electrical storm was fast approaching. This was no deterrent for outdoorsy me as a sunny day in the desert can be unbearable if you can’t access shade. We took off in our raft of four, plus our guide, down the river watching the lightening strike in the distance through the crack in the deep canyon walls. The thunder echoed off the cliffs and I felt truly adventurous. I don’t want to get the clichés out but I could barely take in the beauty of this place. As the rain began to fall and we navigated our way through the large rocks I imagined I was Meryl Streep in The River Wild, except Mike, our guide, was far too chipper to play the role of Kevin Bacon and my Husband being an ex-rower was more adept at this sport than David Strathairn’s character and of course me.

The water felt lovely and warm on my leg but that may be owing to the fact that after 20mins of rain my body temperature had lowered significantly, made obvious by the extra-large goose bumps appearing on my arms and legs. But I was happy with this as it and the act of paddling meant I was expanding energy that could be replaced by indulging in a massive gourmet meal later that evening.

At one stage we needed to eddie out (that’s rafting lingo meaning to pull up onto the shore) under a bridge, a very old construction of wood and steel. I must admit, sidling up to a steel pole while in water didn’t seem the wisest of moves in an electrical storm and my sense of adventure did falter for a mere second to become terror but we were off and away in no time surfing rapids with inventive names such as The Toilet Bowl. Big Rock was my favorite as we spotted petro glyphs from ancient communities that had once lived in these lands. After three hours I wasn’t ready to finish except for the fact that maybe mild hypothermia was setting in. I loved rafting and I can honestly say that, whereas previous attempts at outdoor sports were just ok at best (this would include hiking up steep mountains at altitude after a night of too much wine). I’m raring and ready to tackle the 4+ rapids of the Taos Box.

I’m extremely lucky that I have the opportunity to travel and I have to remind myself that not everyone has these opportunities but it doesn’t mean that they don’t want to experience different cultures any less. And for those who appreciate beautiful objects for reasons other than their utility or tradition who am I to judge your helping to sustain a cultural heritage and that’s all good.