What prompted me to investigate the ruins of this historic church in the middle of nowhere? I could…read moreregale you, Dear Reader, with a tale of the supernatural and/or metaphysical ("I felt inexplicably drawn here, as though the spirits of the 18th-century settlers had beckoned me all the way from San Antonio"), but the truth is much more mundane. I was on a road trip and needed to tinkle. The New Mexico Department of Transportation is stingy with rest areas, so this seemingly abandoned adobe structure seemed the perfect place to evacuate my bladder. Now, before you cry "blasphemy!", let me assure you that I did not desecrate this holy place with my sulfurous, asparagus-scented urea. No, I did my business several feet from the entrance.
That's when I noticed the eerie beauty of the structure before me. My knowledge of New Mexican history is lacking, so I consulted Wikipedia and found the following article, which I have quoted verbatim.
"Santa Rosa de Lima was an early 18th-century Spanish settlement in the Rio Chama valley, near the present-day town of Abiquiu in Rio Arriba County, New Mexico. All that remains of this settlements are the ruins of its church. The church, on the plaza, was built around 1744, and was in use until the 1930s. Repeated raids by Utes and Comanches caused the settlement to be abandoned in 1747. In 1750, the Spanish founded a new settlement at the present site of Abiquiú, about a mile from Santa Rosa de Lima.
Today the site of Santa Rosa de Lima is a ghost town, with substantial adobe ruins of the church, and mounds where the settlers' adobe houses stood. The site is private property, belonging to the Archdiocese of Santa Fe.
Santa Rosa de Lima de Abiquiu was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1978."
As I poked around the ruins, I felt a sense of presence, the inexplicable kind of energy so common in places with long, storied histories. Just like sound is recorded onto vinyl, emotions and events often weave themselves into the very fabric of a structure, its bricks, its wood, or (in this case) its adobe/mudbrick. I touched the walls, closed my eyes, and visualized the religious rites that occurred here, the bloodshed, the suffering.
Santa Rosa de Lima's palpable vibe is made all the more eerie by the cluster of crucifixes, sage bundles, and bottles of holy water placed at its northernmost wall. Is the Archdiocese of Santa Fe trying to keep some unspeakable evil force at bay? The lighting in my photos adds a vaguely sinister/ethereal patina reminiscent of the visual motif of Juan López Moctezuma "Alucarda," a delightfully sleazy supernatural Mexican horror film from the late 70's.
I seldom post reviews of landmarks, but I wanted to document this strange little place. I imagine most travelers stumble upon Santa Rosa de Lima the same way I did. Did you over-imbibe on Hawaiian Punch? Do you suffer from benign prostatic hyperplasia? If so, then pull to the side of the road and make a golden offering to symbolize the birth and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Explore the grounds and bask in the odd energy of Santa Rosa de Lima.