Los Poblanos Historic Inn & Organic Farm

Georgia O’Keeffe: I’m nuts about her.

I’m fully aware I’m not the first person to profess such borderline-religious fanaticism, but let’s just say I’d been dreaming about visiting O’Keeffe Country, New Mexico, since the first time I saw her paintings of the Black and White Places.

As my plane dipped down alongside the melting sun, I could already feel the draw of this bucolic mountain state. A short taxi ride from the centre of Albuquerque and I was delivered down a long tree-lined path to a neatly lit grove at the foot of two enormous silos that read: Los Poblanos Ranch est.1934. Not your usual hotel reception, I thought, as a peacock waltzed by on its way to bed.

There was a sudden heart-skip moment as it became pitch black night time in a matter of seconds and I’d forgotten what it felt like to be in such a quiet dark place. With my wits about me, I followed an eclipse of moths towards the one bright light that was shining atop the main door of the Inn. It’s a nice feeling to be lost and then found again so immediately…

When my eyes finally adjusted to the candle light, what laid before me was the most enchanting of courtyards; strewn from the ceiling were velveteen Bougainvilleas and traditional hanging pueblo chilis. In the tiniest of nooks sat pale rose petal confetti in jars on antique oak tables. This wasn’t a place trying to be beautiful, it just was.

Perhaps this is down to the nostalgic charm of the main building: all poised original New Mexican simplicity. It was here that I exchanged my name for a key and was shown to my Farm Deluxe Room overlooking a lavender garden and a wishing well. The door swung open to a large airy space with a cast-iron four poster bed, organic white cotton sheets, a writing desk and a quaint fireplace. I cranked open the windows with the hope the floral breeze would fill my room with some ancient wisdom. But first, supper.

My Mrs Smith for the evening was a girl called Jane. We met in Los Angeles many moons ago and she had recently quit her job and relocated to nearby Santa Fe to become a full-time clairvoyant. She drove up to meet me for supper at the Inn’s field-to-fork restaurant – I couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting for such a reunion. I was ripe with giddiness on locally brewed beer by the time she arrived.

We ate duck and lightly sautéed vegetables in a plethora of shapes and shades, all plucked from the farm that morning. Sides of roasted roots and black rice – or ‘soil’ as they refer to it – made for one of the loveliest dining experiences of my life. We ordered three desserts just because. The honey cake (made with a little help from their resident bees) was on another level entirely. Mrs Smith was beside herself to discover such a hidden gem on her almost-doorstep.

I wandered back through the night garden to my room and crawled into bed. The following morning, I woke from a sleep so deep that I’d missed breakfast – something I never do. Luckily, the Inn staff are prepared for guests under the influence of unadulterated zen and so they gave me a coffee to-go and boxed up some pastries.

I stuffed them into my backpack and borrowed a bicycle to explore the grounds in daylight. Beyond the blossoming rose garden beside the saltwater swimming pool, past the cheerful llama farm and around the sleepy local neighborhood full of picture perfect adobe architecture – it was a workout well spent. I later found myself at the door of the Inn’s own (and expertly curated) organic Farm Shop where I bought an entire shelf of homemade jam. You can take the girl out of England…

That morning, I made sure not to miss breakfast. Ground blue corn and chia pancakes with fresh fruit set me up for a solo road trip I had planned for the afternoon. I hired a car and set out on my journey north to Georgia O’Keefe’s home and studio, just under two hours away in Abiquiú. I took a slight detour to visit the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks: massive tipi-like structures leftover from a volcanic eruption six million years ago.

The sky met my mood as I arrived at the gate of Ms O’Keeffe’s home. Greeted by a guide who took us in and around the property, I was happily spellbound. This was nothing less than a pilgrimage for me.

On my (satisfied) return to the Inn, pulling up the path by the dappled light of the willow folds, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a line from one of my favorite children’s books, The Minpins by Roald Dahl: ‘And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.’

This is what the Los Poblanos Inn does best: magic.