We decide to go to Durango to eat. Andrew has never been to Colorado, and while we'll be there again the morrow, Farmington doesn't appear to have much. So away we go.
It's weird. It's like the mountains knew to stop precisely at the state line.
And I want to know, now that's I've driven through a lot of New Mexico, why everyone in that state who lives near a highway lives in a shack or a trailer and has fourteen tons of junk on their property. Is it a state law or something?
Durango is a kitchy but nice town. Andrew parks next to three very, very, very drunk men who I am convinced will throw up on the car. It appears some festival is just now breaking up and there are tons of college drunks around, but the three aforementioned men appear to be professional alcoholics. We wander around, reading menus, and I settle on Ken and Sue's. (Pictures)
We have a lovely dinner. It's no Geronimo, but that's fine. I have a pistachio crusted fish, Andrew gets meat. We sit on a patio and Andrew glares every time an employee appears to want to turn on one of the heaters.
Tummies full, Andrew gets Starbucks. I want some wine to take back to the room. I discover that not only are liquor stores not open on Sunday in Colorado, the only thing you can get from a grocery store in Colorado is cold beer. The stupidity of this astounds me. Why, if your goal is to monitor the morals of others and prevent drinking, do you ban things that require some effort and instead sell only items that are ready to consume in a car?
When we cross into New Mexico I hit the Safeway and choose a local wine (always one to try those). We get to the room. I open it up. It SUCKS. I hate sweet wine and this was Kool-Ade.
Oh well. To sleep. I have a big day ahead of me.
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