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We entered New Mexico in the north west corner of the state and I can’t say I liked it much, if at all. It is desolate, but in a very forlorn, unwelcoming sort of way and appears quite impoverished. Trailer homes, double-wides and aluminum-clads outnumber houses at easily 25 to 1. This is natural gas and ranching country although the ranches are not affluent by any stretch of the imagination and Lord only knows where the cattle (the few heads that we saw) actually find anything nutritious to eat amongst all the sage scrub. And the people living in these trailers were what we referred to as “external hoarders”. It seemed that every type of once motorized vehicle that they, their father, their grandfather and all their aunts and uncles ever owned, was randomly abandoned hither and yon, scattered throughout the property. Along with half finished sheds, listing outhouses, children’s toys, weathered wooden skids and rusting barrels. I shudder to think what they had inside. John said whatever wasn’t abandoned was covered in rust and dust. Well put. And if impressions of places can be described in colours, Utah was a lovely rich deep red/orange but New Mexico an unappealing pale Dijon mustard yellow. My opinion became more positive as we made our way south east, but this was my first reaction. So why were we here? We wanted to get to Chaco Culture National Historic Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was easier said than done.

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