We walked over to Carmen's Cafe for breakfast. (We both miss living in a pedestrian friendly area!) We'd it in a New York Times' article about Marfa, and were not disappointed. The place quickly filled up with regulars as we were eating, testimony to the quality and value of the food. We were the only "strangers" there; everyone else was greeted by name as they entered. Everything -- salsa, tortillas, beans, potatoes -- is homemade and the eggs are cooked to order. Mike is still raving about the huevos rancheros. Our only regret is that we didn't leave room for a fresh, homemade doughnut -- and that we weren't in Marfa for lunch.
Mike was still determined to go into Mexico at Ojinaga, despite the warnings from the woman at the Chamber of Commerce yesterday. However, one of the customers at Carmen's put that idea to rest. He'd asked us where we were going, and when we told him Big Bend, said that we would love it, but advised us to take food with us because "You'll pay 10 dollars for a burger and coke." Then when Mike mentioned going over to Ojinaga, he exploded and told us in no uncertain terms, "Don't you go into Mexico! Don't go! My wife and I used to go all the time, but we haven't gone in two years. People like us -- like you and me -- can't go into Mexico!" I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that, as he was clearly Mexican-American and spoke fluent Spanglish, sprinkling his conversation with "Andale!" and other Spanish terms. He explained that Ojinaga is an entry point for drugs into the U.S., and that there are killings daily. Mike grudgingly agreed not to go. I know that he was very disappointed, but I think he would have been in any case. Bordertowns are not the same as the rural villages of Oaxaca that he visited 10 years ago.
Back to the hotel to check out and get on the road. Mike noticed that the barbershop had opened while we were at breakfast, so he took advantage of the opportunity to get a haircut in a real barbershop, not a styling salon. I was forbidden to sit and wait for him, as it is a solely masculine domain. Finally, we fired up Darlene, and headed out of town toward Presidio and the Rio Grande River Road.
We hit Presidio about lunch time. Border patrol making their presence known. According to our GPS, El Patio was the nearest restaurant, so we stopped and are we glad we did (bless you, GPS). The food was pure Tex-Mex. The chicken enchiladas I had were amazing! Strangely, the decor is straight out of Cervantes. A primitive (or modern?) wooden sculpture of Don Quixote graces one corner, which is painted with a mural of southern Spain. In honor of the season, he sported a Santa hat.
Darlene got us out of town, but then began giving us bizarre and obviously erroneous directions, which I wisely did not follow. After telling us to "drive 47 miles," she would tell us to take every road that branched off to the right. She spent a lot of time "recalculating." She also did not recognize Fort Leaton as a destination. However, I can still read and follow road signs, which I did, and gave Darlene a rest.
Mike had spoken with a retired Border Patrol agent in the barbershop who had recommended Fort Leaton, and as it is just a few yards off the highway, we stopped. A sign on the door of the gift shop told us that the Ranger had left on an "errand" (I believe that is spelled "l-u-n-c-h") and would return soon, so to just wander at will, which we did. Interesting and unusual site of a 19th century fortified (hence the "fort") adobe trading post built and run by Ben Leaton (hence the "Leaton") from 1848-1851. Spectacular views, as well, as it's situated on a high point.
With Ojinaga clearly visible to the southwest across the Rio Grande (or Rio Bravo del Norte), it wasn't surprising to find a detailed exhibit about the Battle of Ojinaga and Francisco "Pancho" Villa.
After meeting the single most voluble Ranger in the Texas State Park system and purchasing a few souvenirs, we managed to break away and get back on the road toward Terlingua Ghost Town.
Finding the Big Bend Holiday Hotel was an adventure in itself. We found Terlingua, but Darlene could not find the address or even the street -- Ivey Road -- we were given in our confirmation e-mail, and we saw no signs for the hotel. The waitress at the Ghost Town Cafe sent us five miles down the road to the Big Bend Resort Hotel in Study (that's stew-dee) Butte where we lucked out by finding a convenience store clerk who was a local and knew not only the area but everyone who lives there. After I gave her the address, she said, "Well, Ben Ivey owns all that up in the ghost town, so it has to be up there by the Terlingua Trading Post," and sent us back to where we came from. We passed the Ghost Town Cafe and just kept going to the top of the hill, and there we were.
The Cinnabar Room did not disappoint. It appears that the owners are slowly restoring the rooms, doing them one at a time and going them right. The room was quaint, comfortable, and atmospheric with all of the right touches, including colored tiles and a rough wood bookcase with a pressed tin back and what appears to be a sotol (yucca) stalk ceiling. The linens, bed and bath, were high quality Egyptian cotton. They'd laid a fire for us in the chimena fireplace (but neglected to leave matches, so we weren't able to enjoy it), and left bottled water and juice in the mini-fridge. The only downside was that the bathroom is four doors down the porch. It is as well-appointed as the bedroom, however, and closer than those at most campgrounds.
Quick shopping at the Trading Post, as it was closing early for Christmas Eve, then a pre-dinner drink at the Starlight Theatre. Returned shortly for a dinner that even Gordon Ramsay would envy! We had read the reviews of the Starlight, but they still did not prepare us for the absolutely amazing food. I'd gladly stay a week in Terlingua just to eat my way through the menu. Everything was perfectly balanced. Mike had the pork medallions in a chipotle reduction which was rich, dark, smoky, and pleasantly spicy. I had the sauteed chicken with mushrooms and spinach in a cream sauce. Contrary to my expectations, the chicken was not in strips, but a half of a breast, cooked to perfection, with lightly sauteed mushrooms and barely wilted spinach in just enough sauce to coat. The vegetable medley of yellow squash, onion, etc. was also lightly sauteed, still with a bit of crunch. Mashed potatoes finished the meal. Sadly, we were not able to contemplate dessert, but I'm sure that it would have been astounding.
On the way back to the room, we were literally stopped in our tracks by the night sky. We forget how much we've lost due to light pollution. The moon had not yet risen, so the Milky Way was clearly visible, as were billions and billions of individual stars. It's always a humbling experience to realize how insignificant this planet really is in the vastness of the universe.
Asleep early again, to be awakened a few hours later by unidentified animal sounds. Mike thinks it was a coyote, but I've never heard a coyote make that noise. It was a strange yipping that turned into a screech rather than a howl. Desert fox? Screech owl? Coyote with a cold?
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