Story and photos by Shilo Urban
Flick…flick…flick. A woman is softly flicking my shoulders with a wild turkey feather, sweeping away the unsettled energy. Smoke curls skyward from a burning bundle of sage.
Soon I’ll be covered in adobe clay, wrapped in a cocoon of white cloth, and massaged with juniper oil and hot basalt stones.
Stones, clay, sage…for a spa session that promises grounding, it doesn’t get much more earthen than this — and for a slow-paced trip with a spiritual side, Santa Fe elevates both body and soul.
My best friend and I are 7,000 feet above sea level in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, just outside of town at the Four Seasons Rancho Encantado.
Fragrant piñon and juniper trees stretch across the ochre landscape, their rosy hues rising against the purple peaks and cobalt sky beyond. All is quiet. All is still. I hear only the crunch of our footfalls as we wander the resort’s hiking trails over the sagebrush-studded hills.
It’s easy to see why so many artists have found their muses in the mountainous city of Santa Fe, a creative crossroads of global renown and a day’s drive from Fort Worth. We walk slowly on Canyon Road, past sunbaked adobe dwellings, their rounded shoulders unstirred by the centuries passing. Once an ancient footpath for Pueblo peoples, Canyon Road has since added art galleries, studios and boutiques to its half-mile stretch. We step into some, snap photos of others, and make our way to the Plaza. There’s no need to rush.
Before Santa Fe was a stop on Route 66, it was on El Camino Real, the Royal Road of the Spanish. Spaniards laid out the footprint of Santa Fe over 400 years ago, building chapels, convents and shrines. Some still stand, like the Palace of the Governors, whose porch has shaded generations of Native artisans selling their wares.
We peruse their turquoise earrings and beaded bracelets, then get lost in the labyrinth of Santa Fe’s shops. We hunt for spices at Los Poblanos, swish through silk kaftans at Serrahna, and drool over work-of-art cowboy boots at Back at the Ranch. We find handicrafts from 100 countries at the International Folk Art Museum’s gift shop: colorful Sicilian ceramics, whimsical wool animals from Nepal — and bundles of Santa Fe sage, of course.
Like Santa Fe’s shops, the many museums also merit a linger. Should we see famous flowers at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum? Prehistoric pottery at the Museum of Indian Arts & Culture?
Mind-bending wonderworlds at Meow Wolf? We decide on SITE Santa Fe, known for cutting-edge installations, and discover an avant-garde exhibition of Indigenous art.
Art also appears on our plates, starting with the Christmas enchiladas (with red and green chile sauces) at La Choza, a local favorite and well worth the wait. Green chiles appear again in our buttery Tex-Mex mussels at Market Steer Steakhouse, where we camp out on the patio for an hours-long evening feast. Which sauce do I want on my ribeye? I can’t decide — so I order a sauce flight and try all eight, from the roasted Fresno chimichurri to the horseradish caramel. A side of smoked tallow French fries lets us dip and sample each one.
We tarry even longer the next night at Terra, the Four Seasons’ restaurant, where we indulge in a Chef’s Table tasting with sunset views. The fading sunlight turns the boundless vista into a spectacle of shifting colors, and every dish the chef delivers feels like a welcome surprise.
I’m also surprised by the Gruet Blanc de Noirs, a brilliant New Mexico bubbly that I sip in my mimosa the next morning with a blue corn pancake. We’ve booked a sound therapy session, which eases us into our day by lying on the floor for an hour. I almost doze off as the crystal bowls sing, then shuffle into the spa for my feather-and-sage massage.
Flick…flick…flick. It’s a much-needed reset, a balm for my muscles and mind. But there’s nothing better for my well-being than what comes next: whiling away the afternoon with my best friend in a poolside cabana, sharing a bowl of queso and chatting about life in the shade. We dip in and out of the water, curl up with our books, and order a round of rosé. Beyond the sunshine and sparkling swimming pool (and the wine and cheese), what matters is the space to spend time together — and Santa Fe supplies it in spades.
That night, we lit the kiva fireplace in our casita… well, we called a valet to light it for us. It’s not cold enough for a fire, but we want to smell the sweet perfume of piñon smoke. Wrapped in our robes on our patio, we gaze up at the stars, sleepy for bed but not moving, not just yet.
We leave the next day, unrushed as we roll out of town. I pick up a last-minute souvenir before I go: a bundle of local sage, a reminder to slow down, stay grounded, and find my way back to Santa Fe whenever I can.