Casinos, celebrity residencies, and neon everything are what usually comes to mind when one thinks of Las Vegas. But that’s Las Vegas, Nevada. The other Las Vegas—the original Las Vegas—is miles away in New Mexico, and miles apart from its flashier cousin.
Slivers of golden light are bursting from behind the towering butte in Monument Valley. Watching the sunrise in this magical place is an incredible start to our day, on an already incredible road trip across America’s southwest.
My friend Robyn and I have been driving for two weeks now, and Arizona’s Monument Valley has marked the westernmost point of our journey. Today we head back east, returning, eventually, to Georgia. There’s a loose destination in mind for this evening: Las Vegas, New Mexico. I say ‘loose’ because no accommodation has been booked. And today’s drive is 465 miles (750 kilometers)—around nine hours. A long day.
I’m heading to New Mexico’s Las Vegas with a former resident—Robyn used to live there until the pandemic forced her to return to Australia. Her stories, and sentimentality, about the town are the driving force for our visit.
Vegas, as it’s known locally, is a picturesque spot located in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, about 65 miles (105 kilometers) east of Santa Fe and 122 miles (196 km) northeast of Albuquerque. With just 15,000 residents, Vegas hasn’t grown large like its surrounding towns. Maybe the locals like it that way.
On our way Andre points out a staircase that was used in a scene from the four-time Academy Award winning Coen brothers movie, ‘No Country for Old Men’. It’s cool to think Javier Bardem ran up these same stairs.
We aim for an 8am departure from our cabin inside the Navajo Tribal Park at Monument Valley. By late lunch, we’ve reached the halfway point—Pagosa Springs, Colorado. On the banks of the San Juan River we soak our feet in a deliciously hot spring pool heated by geothermal energy from the world’s deepest hot spring. Impressive.
Confident that we’ll reach Las Vegas by early evening, we phone the Plaza Hotel (one of Robyn’s favorites) to enquire about a room. The phone goes straight to message bank. As we cross New Mexico’s huge Rio Grande Gorge Bridge—with spectacular sweeping views 650 feet above the river—the Plaza calls back. There’s one vacant room.
It’s dark by the time we roll into Vegas. The three-storey Plaza Hotel is easy to find; overlooking the town square, the hotel’s red-brick Victorian facade is illuminated by twinkling lights. Inside, we receive a warm greeting from the young night manager Andre, who explains that the hotel is full due to a group of bikers. “Las Vegas hosts a Motorcycle Rally every summer in the park,” he says. “This isn’t the rally, but the town is popular with bikers year-round.”
A vintage dover elevator harking back to the 80s delivers us to the third floor, and we follow Andre down a maze of hallways to the back of the hotel. On our way, Andre points out a staircase that was used in a scene from the four-time Academy Award winning Coen brothers movie, No Country for Old Men. It’s cool to think Javier Bardem ran up these same stairs.
The room is spacious and fitted out with period-style furniture. Robyn, recalling a town rumor, asks if ours is near the infamous haunted room. “The haunted room is 310 and not far,” Andre says. “The room is allegedly haunted by Byron T. Mills, the hotel’s former owner. Guests have reported feeling his presence on the third floor.”
That’s it for me. I suggest we try their sister hotel.
The Castañeda Hotel is just a five-minute drive from the Plaza. Built in 1898 as a grand railroad hotel, its claim to fame is that President Theodore Roosevelt once stayed here. After the Great Depression, the hotel was abandoned. It sat neglected for 70 years until developer Allan Affeldt and his wife, painter Tina Mion, purchased the derelict property in 2018 and extensively renovated it with period antiques. Each room is themed—ours is ‘Bright Angel Lodge’ named after the Grand Canyon Harvey Hotel and it has the biggest bathroom I’ve ever seen. Party for 10? No problem (and no ghosts!)
The whole road trip Robyn has been salivating for The Skillet’s green chile skillet burger and green chile fries. “Their fries are strips of cut green chiles that are crumbed and deep-fried,” she tells me. “They have an addictive heat and you can’t stop eating them.”
Unfortunately, The Skillet is closed. So is the Prairie Hill Cafe. It’s 9pm, not technically that late, but in a small town, we struggle to find somewhere open. We end up at Dick’s Pub, with its long bar lined with stools occupied by patrons mostly of the Gen Z demographic. As we commandeer two of our own stools, Robyn tells me that a lot of students live here and study at Las Vegas’ New Mexico Highland University. We order a couple of salt-rimmed margaritas and munch on the complimentary bowl of corn chips and salsa. A bona fide road-trip dinner.
We spot everything from Victorian and Queen Anne to Mission Revival and Italianate styles, all quaint and charming. And the best part? Over 900 historic buildings on both sides of the Rio Gallinas river have been listed on the National Register of Historic Places, meaning they’ll be preserved for generations to come.
The next morning, Robyn suggests a breakfast burrito at Olivia’s Café which is, apparently, “the best burrito in New Mexico.” A big call… We walk to the Plaza in search of Olivia’s. No sign of it. We ask a shopkeeper who is sweeping the front entrance of his Plaza Antique store. “Oh, they moved to Grand Avenue,” he says.
His antique store looks tempting, but our tummies are grumbling. Olivia’s Café is an understated establishment that describes itself as making “authentic Norteño food our abuelitas would be proud of.” My warm tortilla-wrapped burrito is stuffed with bacon, egg, hash brown and both red and green chile sauce. It’s delicious. Best in New Mexico? I haven’t tried every burrito in the state, but I’m sure their grandmas are very proud.
Walking through town, I feel like I am on a Western movie set. I’m half-expecting a couple of brawling cowboys to tumble out one of the doorways and onto the street. But it’s not all Wild West movie scenes.
Occupation of New Mexico dates back around 11,000 years to a group of hunter gatherers—the Clovis Culture. Following, came the Ancestral Puebloans (around 1000 BC) and the Mogollan Native Americans (300 BCE to CE 1150).
The first settlers in what would become Las Vegas were a group of Mexican farmers who received a land grant from the Mexican Government in 1835. They settled west of the Rio Gallinas River, the geographical divide between east and west Vegas.
During the Mexican-American War, spanning 1846 to 1848, Vegas was relinquished by Mexico and became part of the United States. The town then became a popular stopping point for travelers on the Santa Fe trail, a historic route transporting people and goods between Missouri and New Mexico.
The arrival of the railroad in 1879 brought more immigrants: Spanish, American, German, Jewish and French Canadians. This multiculturalism is reflected in the town’s diverse architectural styles. Walking from downtown Castañeda Hotel to the Plaza square, the buildings we pass are colorful, quirky, some lovingly restored, others requiring tender care. We spot everything from Victorian and Queen Anne to Mission Revival and Italianate styles, all quaint and charming.
And the best part? Over 900 historic buildings on both sides of the Rio Gallinas river have been listed on the National Register of Historic Places, meaning they’ll be preserved for generations to come.
The railroad’s arrival not only brought a new wave of immigrants, but some shadier characters to town. Thieves, gamblers, gunmen and swindlers were attracted to East Las Vegas, transforming it into the ‘seedier’ side of town. Soldiers based at the Fort Union Army post, 20 miles (32 kilometers) north of the town, would regularly visit Vegas for the ‘nightlife’.
One notorious visitor was Doc Holliday and his girlfriend Big Nose Kate. Doc was suffering from tuberculosis, and Kate had heard that there was relief to be found in Vegas’ dry air and a good soak in the nearby hot mineral springs.
So they moved to Vegas. Doc frequented the Montezuma Hot Springs, six miles (10 kilometers) northeast of Las Vegas. He opened a dentist practice. But Doc was also a prolific gambler and poker player. The story goes, Doc Holliday fleeced many soldiers of their wages.
You can still visit the healing hot springs, which are open to the public and free to access. The rustic rock tubs are located along Gallinis Creek, and range in temperature from scalding to soak-worthy. Doc Holliday was really onto something.
Later, as we’re hurtling along the picturesque backroads with our GPS set for Nocona, Texas, I recall Andre’s words from last night: “Our town is a little gem that not too many people out in the world seem to know about.”
If it wasn’t for Robyn, I wouldn’t have added Las Vegas to my itinerary. I’d never have had a brush with a New Mexican ghost, learned the story of Doc Holliday, or eaten the “best breakfast burrito in New Mexico”. And I definitely wouldn’t know that this ‘other’ Vegas has more character and history than a hundred casinos combined.
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Jennifer Johnston is a freelance travel and lifestyle writer from Brisbane, Australia. She loves traveling to places where the outdoors and nature happily coexist, hiking, exploring lesser-known regions of any destination and delving into culture and history. Averse to sitting still, she prefers adventure over relaxation and conversation over contemplation.
