So, about the Taos Wool Festival:

I have wanted to go to this shindig for years, but never seem to have the wherewithal to get organized and make the trip. Last month I made the decision: I was going. I called around to a bunch of Taos hotels and listened to the hoots of laughter: You want a room when? Don’t you know that’s the Wool Festival weekend?

Well, yes, I do.

I finally found a hotel willing to give me a room. I have very mixed feelings about this hotel. On the one hand, it was one of the worst hotel rooms I’ve ever stayed in. On the other hand, it wasn’t THE worst hotel room I’ve ever stayed in (that honor belongs, coincidentally, to another Taos hotel). E-mail me if you want to know its actual name. For now I’ll just call it Casa Cucaracha.

The grounds of this hotel are nice, with the biggest cottonwood trees I’ve ever seen towering over the little hotel complex:

Also, a nice little courtyard:




But as I approached the door, I had a sinking feeling.

And then I went inside.

I wish I could blog in smell-o-vision, because that was at least half the problem. Musty cigarette-y mystery smell splashed with copious amounts of “Oust” or some similar liquid stink-masker. To my Calvinist soul it smelled like “Eau de Mortal Sin.”

But this was it. There were no other hotel rooms. I shook out the cotton blanket I travel with and covered the bed. I did a closer inspection, and discovered there really wasn’t anything super objectionable . . . the bathroom was passably clean, although in a sad state of disrepair . . . ditto the main room. . .



And then I saw it. In the framed artwork. Ack!! . . .

Maybe it’s not a roach, but it looks mighty roachy to me. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I decided to not think about it (never underestimate the power of denial) and walk over to the Wool Market. I would deal with Casa Cucaracha when I absolutely had to and no earlier.

Tomorrow:
Woolly Goodness.