My friend Liz was flying into El Paso to join me for a West Texas road trip. I had a few free hours to fill before her arrival. Naturally, I went hunting for murals. My search took me through neighborhoods I might never have seen otherwise, and even then I only scratched the surface.
With a three-hour drive ahead, I wanted to stretch my legs. First plan, a Saturday craft and farmers’ market. According to Google, it was open. According to reality, it was not. Plan B, the municipal rose garden. Not a single rose in bloom. But, in true travel fashion, the detours paid off. I ended up in a long, engaging conversation with an El Paso native, the kind of spontaneous exchange that reminds me why I love traveling.
Once Liz arrived, we headed east toward Marfa. Leaving El Paso, the landscape opened up into long stretches of flat desert, dotted with tumbleweed and cacti, with mountains hovering on the horizon. The speed limit jumps to 80 mph, a number I have not seen since driving through Montana years ago. We leaned into it and made good time.
Neither of us had eaten, and hunger was setting in. The problem: there were no towns, hence no food. We exited I-10 at Sierra Blanca and followed “Business 10.” It felt like driving into a near ghost town. Faded buildings, empty streets, a sense of something that once was. I loved it and took photos while we searched, unsuccessfully, for anything resembling an open restaurant.
Relief came in Van Horn. The Hotel El Capitan was not only open, it was also charming, and the food was surprisingly good. A small oasis exactly when we needed it.
The final stretch into Marfa brought a dramatic shift. The Davis Mountains rose up, greener and more sculptural than anything we had seen so far. The road curved and climbed, offering wide, cinematic views. Even here, on a two-lane road, the speed limit was 70. Of course there were alost no other cars, so it made sense.
Then, as if on cue, the surreal appeared. I pulled over abruptly when I spotted it, the Prada store in the middle of nowhere. Not a store, of course, but the famous installation. A small crowd had gathered, and several young women had dressed for the occasion, striking their best poses. It was highly entertaining.
Further along, we both spotted something strange on the horizon, something that looked like a massive balloon or perhaps a dirigible. We speculated, debated, and never solved the mystery. It simply hovered there, another unanswered question in an already curious landscape.
Marfa initially became famous as the location for the movie Giant in 1956, starring James Dean, Elizabeth Taylor, and Rock Hudson. Just outside of town, towering cutouts of the actors stand like silent sentinels, larger than life, a reminder that even in the middle of nowhere, stories linger.
My friend Liz was flying into El Paso to join me for a West Texas road trip. I had a few free hours to fill before her arrival. Naturally, I went hunting for murals. My search took me through neighborhoods I might never have seen otherwise, and even then I only scratched the surface.
With a three-hour drive ahead, I wanted to stretch my legs. First plan, a Saturday craft and farmers’ market. According to Google, it was open. According to reality, it was not. Plan B, the municipal rose garden. Not a single rose in bloom. But, in true travel fashion, the detours paid off. I ended up in a long, engaging conversation with an El Paso native, the kind of spontaneous exchange that reminds me why I love traveling.
Once Liz arrived, we headed east toward Marfa. Leaving El Paso, the landscape opened up into long stretches of flat desert, dotted with tumbleweed and cacti, with mountains hovering on the horizon. The speed limit jumps to 80 mph, a number I have not seen since driving through Montana years ago. We leaned into it and made good time.
Neither of us had eaten, and hunger was setting in. The problem: there were no towns, hence no food. We exited I-10 at Sierra Blanca and followed “Business 10.” It felt like driving into a near ghost town. Faded buildings, empty streets, a sense of something that once was. I loved it and took photos while we searched, unsuccessfully, for anything resembling an open restaurant.
Relief came in Van Horn. The Hotel El Capitan was not only open, it was also charming, and the food was surprisingly good. A small oasis exactly when we needed it.
The final stretch into Marfa brought a dramatic shift. The Davis Mountains rose up, greener and more sculptural than anything we had seen so far. The road curved and climbed, offering wide, cinematic views. Even here, on a two-lane road, the speed limit was 70. Of course there were alost no other cars, so it made sense.
Then, as if on cue, the surreal appeared. I pulled over abruptly when I spotted it, the Prada store in the middle of nowhere. Not a store, of course, but the famous installation. A small crowd had gathered, and several young women had dressed for the occasion, striking their best poses. It was highly entertaining.
Further along, we both spotted something strange on the horizon, something that looked like a massive balloon or perhaps a dirigible. We speculated, debated, and never solved the mystery. It simply hovered there, another unanswered question in an already curious landscape.
Marfa initially became famous as the location for the movie Giant in 1956, starring James Dean, Elizabeth Taylor, and Rock Hudson. Just outside of town, towering cutouts of the actors stand like silent sentinels, larger than life, a reminder that even in the middle of nowhere, stories linger.