Rosa's Cantina

We went downtown to the El Paso Museum of History last week.

More than we expected, with two floors of cranked up air conditioning (we wished we had brought winter coats to wear inside). They run a good show. They do a good job.

From a micro pop up exhibit on the drag scene in El Paso. (There is one.) To an exhibit on black history in El Paso (surprise, the interstate highway system paved most of it over in the 1950s.) To a Haute Couture EP history exhibit (read - high fashion back in the day). 

Changing exhibits, some that go right at the eggshells of today (I love that), this was a good hour or two of our time last week. Time well spent.

But what seemed to be the small, but well done permanent exhibit, told the history of this place and its way, way back people. 

Indigenous settled along the banks of a river, running through a desert. A little green space, a gift from God in a vast dry, hot place, surrounded by low mountains.

Fast forward - common story, different places, different flavors. 

The Gringos came (my word, Gringos, not the museums). Here, it was the Spaniards who came first. Came, saw, conquered.

Looking for gold and then converting souls. Bringing the Godless to God. 

It was (still is) Gringo business.

We (Gringos) didn’t like adobe structures. We knocked a whole bunch of them (almost all of them, here, in EP) down. 

Adobe equaled Mexican. Gringo know better. Gringo like brick. Gringo erase (Mexican / Indigenous) ugly adobe and replace with pretty (white man) brick.

Am I hurting anyone’s feelings by sharing this story, what we learned spending a day at a history museum. Maybe they kept it so cold inside, so that snowflakes would not melt.

Well, I do like brick. I like brick well enough. Brick can be quite pretty. But adobe, have you ever seen a building built from adobe? 

We stayed in an old adobe home that Gringos bought and gussied up. It was gorgeous. The feel of it, inside of it. The acoustics, something about it. I could feel how solid it was, how suited to the environment.

Adobe = wonderful, in my book. Open mind and - - - look, listen, learn.

But no….

*****

Rather than back track, we drove back home going south and then a little west, before looping back north, along the west side of the mountain.

And wow, Mexico is RIGHT THERE, on the other side of the highway, across the train tracks. There is chain link fence, and even some rolled up razor wire. But other than that, we could almost touch Mexico, outside, left side of the car window.

Not that the zoning here (in EP, in parts of EP) is good. Some of the zoning here (like a lot of USA, it leaves a lot to be desired). But over there, just over the fence, I could see that zoning is a muy loco dream. 

There did not look to be any zoning - over there, on the other side of the fence.

Talk about free enterprise… 

How much free enterprise do you want (Gringo)?

*****

Enough razor wire - edge - edginess. 

Ouch, ouchie. I am melting….

To the photo.

We drove past this place, on a construction laden, dusty, rather barren stretch of road. Driving by, considering the location, the place, it looked kind of scary. 

A place by itself on a dusty, train track, light industrial stretch.

Lonely. Alone. Certainly, it did not look inviting. 

Home, I reviewed our route on my laptop, pouring over Google Maps.

Rosa’s Cantina. We drove past Rosa’s Cantina.

And, until C spoke with a Friend a month or so back, C told her Friend that we were fixin’ to move to El Paso. C’s Friend sang “the song”. 

We had never heard (this famous) song. Or, if we had listened to it before, we did not remember it. But now, new relevance. And… “when in Rome.”

I saw that we had driven past the famous place, a place from a song. And I read about it. And much like this town, this city, this outpost, a dusty, dry, far away place.

What I read was totally in contrast to my (Gringo) preconception. I liked the words I read. I trusted these words. I made a note, a mental note - “Self, feet on ground, we need to check this place out”.

The photo is Me, last week, standing outside, squinting in the piercing desert sun. I am standing outside a place from a song. Real place. Real song. 

And I am being photobombed by a mountain of a man. A guy from a truck commercial. I did not know that he was standing behind me. Bombing - photo bombing me. 

Nice guy. I liked him. Thanked him for the photo bomb. I love it. Patted him on the back, and I think I hurt my hand. 

Mountain Man. We should go horseback riding some day, one day, together.

And Rosa’s was good. Cool. Kind of hip desert, authentic cool. A true gun slinger place, in the good sense of the phrase - gun slinger. Like a movie. Like a song. (The places where gun slingers should live, stay, belong…)

A place full of Mountain Men, Bikers, Pee Wee Herman, platform shoes dancing to the song Tequila, on the bar. 

We went there, and for a moment, we were Gun Slingers too. 

S & C, drinking big ass margaritas with Marty Robbins at Rosa’s Cantina, bellied up to the bar.