Welcome to Taos: Through New Mexico's Enchanting Town

On NM-68, after the road splits from the Rio Grande and climbs out of the canyon, there’s a moment—just past the cliff—where the land opens. The Taos Gorge appears like a wound in the desert, as if God himself tore the earth apart to make room for the village under the mountain. It’s a sight that stops you: a kind of recognition.

Taos sits in north-central New Mexico, fifty miles south of the Colorado border. It’s known mostly as a ski town, though the snow in the Taos Ski Valley hasn’t been as good as the mountain above Santa Fe in recent years. The town is quiet. Introspective. Artistic. A place for introverts who live simply.

I wanted to like Taos. There are things I enjoy: the gorge, the Earthship houses, the hot spring tucked beside the Rio Grande, the small shopping district north of the plaza, and the Taos Pueblo. You can experience most of it in a day. Taos is beautiful. That’s undeniable. But even for someone like me, who finds joy in the simplest things—tea on a patio, people-watching—that isn’t Taos.

The last time I was there, the hot springs were closed. They’re on private land. The owners used to allow access, but people ruined it, trashed the road, the lot, the path, and the springs. Now the landowners are cleaning up. Signs suggest they’re reconsidering. I don’t know if I would reopen it either.

I drove to the bridge over the gorge. Parked in the opposite lot. I took a few pictures. Walked to the center and stood there, looking down 600 feet at the Rio Grande. It looked small. Across the bridge on NM-64, several miles out, are the Earthship neighborhoods and the Biotecture Visitor Center. I never tire of Earthships. Homes are built into the land using recycled materials, glass, and aluminum. Designed for temperature control and water conservation. They’re like living sculptures. Like the Bio-Dome, but real.

Taos is one of those places where the charm lives mostly in the story. People talk about it like it’s New Mexico’s Mecca. Aspen. Telluride. Vail. A city in the clouds. When I travel, I look for food, local rhythm, the types of businesses, the people, and the aesthetics. I seek out coffee shops, bars, galleries, bookstores, museums, parks, and natural uniqueness. The gorge. Pueblo. The places that don’t try to sell themselves.

I don’t understand why people vacation and eat at chains. Why do they shop at novelty stores in designated tourist zones? You don’t get to know a place that way. You leave with an illusion. Taos isn’t a McDonald’s receipt under your car seat. It’s not a neon green shirt that says TAOS and never gets worn. It’s unwelcomingly welcoming. Distracting, like a red cape to a bull.

Maybe Taos lost its allure for me because it’s too familiar. I knew it with an air of magic, like it had once been lost to mystic realism and then rediscovered. But when I arrived, the magic had already drifted.

On my last visit, I walked the plaza a few times. Hoping to be pulled in. Inspired. That often happens when I’m somewhere new. But the pull never came. I walked back to my car and drove toward Santa Fe, wishing the experience had been more crowning.