Quick editorial note: So, I’m so sorry. I made a mistake. On my posts for days 2 and 3, I had referred to the Flatirons as if they were this sprawling range of foothills. After more research, I discovered that the name only refers to the five large sandstone formations that dominate the foothills on the west side of Boulder. (I’m so sorry.) So, when we ventured into the foothills on days 2 and 3, driving on Left Hand Canyon Drive, James Canyon Drive, Peak to Peak Highway, and Magnolia Road, we were actually in what’s called the Front Range, the range of mountains in the Rockies that runs from Casper, Wyoming to Pueblo, Colorado. I’ve since gone back and made those corrections in my posts for days 2 and 3, striking through the error and adding the correct geographical name.
Okay, now that that’s over, let’s carry on…
On our third morning in Boulder, we decided that we wanted to have a super hearty breakfast. Our research online led us first to a place on Pearl Street called Snooze, self-proclaimed as “An AM Eatery.” However, the wait for a table was 30 minutes, and we didn’t want to bother with that, so we went next door to Foolish Craig’s Cafe, which had no wait and was apparently famous for its crepes. If you recall from my previous post, I was worried that when we ate at Bar Taco that we were in store for a week of generally okay/fine food albeit it with great service. Foolish Craig’s, sadly, continued this trend. Mark my words, though: it’s not that the food is bad or the staff is horrible and dining out in Boulder is a waste of time, it’s just that the food and dining experience is just, well, fine. It’s not offensive but it’s also not ravingly good. It’s just nothing to write home about (even though I’m writing about it now). I could go into the details of our time at Foolish Craig’s if I wanted to, but before I could finish saying, “At Foolish Craig’s Aaron and I got the southern breakfast combo and a bloody Mary and it was all fine, and Amy got a breakfast burrito that was mediocre,” you’d be long asleep, so I’ll just carry on writing about what we did after breakfast and stop wasting your time.
Following breakfast, we visited one restaurant that I do recommend you check out (and one that the clerk at Alpaca Store and More in Nederland had recommended we check out), a certain tea shop located in a building strikingly adorned with colorful mosaics called the Boulder Dushanbe Teahouse located downtown right on Boulder Creek, a stony waterway that babbles its way west to east through Boulder’s midsection just north of Arapahoe Avenue. I unfortunately can’t speak to the food at the teahouse, as we had just loaded ourselves up on a bunch of mediocre standard American breakfast fare, but their tea selection is absolutely enchanting. I opted for a pot of Himalayan Golden, a lighter black tea that really does shimmer golden in the sunlight and which the menu described correctly as “mellow, smooth, and buttery.” I also elected to have a mixed berry cobbler (which was maybe actually just a tad bit too sweet, and this remark coming from someone who adores sugar) and also took home some loose leaf tea: a Boulder breakfast blend and an herbal tea called Tranquility. So, again, I would definitely go out of your way to enjoy some tea at Boulder Dushanbe Teahouse.
Following our pleasantly lovely tea, we wanted to visit Chautauqua Park over a bottle of rosé. We decided to take a walk there from the teahouse via a route along the Boulder Creek Path which traces Boulder Creek, where we got to see such sites as the Boulder Bandshell and Boulder Public Library. We then walked south on 6th Street, cut over to Columbia Cemetery on Pleasant Street (I do love a good walk through a cemetery), and then finished the trek to Chautauqua by walking south on 8th Street. This walk actually ended up being a little bit strenuous on account of a long hill on 8th street with a somewhat steep grade. Even on our third full day in Boulder in these higher elevations, we still found ourselves out of breath over walks that normally wouldn’t be so strenuous. We kept hoping, however, that our bodies would soon adapt. (And, indeed, they will!)
Chautauqua Park is a modest, small, square-shaped park with trees and shrubs on its perimeter with few options for shade anywhere else. The park does, however, provide some lovely views of the Flatirons (those five, large sandstone formations that dominate the foothills on Boulder’s west side), and if you can manage to catch some shade, the park makes for a lovely, lovely picnic. The word chautauqua comes from the Iroquois language, and it translates to a bag tied in the middle, and this word accurately describes the shape of Chautauqua Lake in New York, where the Chautauqua Institution was created in 1874. This institution started as an organization to promote the “professionalization of teaching,” but rapidly broadened its mission to include “earnest, but high-minded, activities that aimed at intellectual and moral self-improvement and civic involvement.” This movement rapidly spread across the United States with chautauquas forming across the country, including Boulder, where today it exists as the Colorado Chautauqua Association, a non profit organization that leases and preserves 26 acres of grounds and various other facilities on and near Chautauqua Park.
It was here at this park over our bottle of rosé, however, where we all felt we were suddenly witnessing an episode of Portlandia. Nearby was a young man, shirtless, wearing ill-fitted pants that were awkwardly cinched at the waist and overly baggy everywhere else, and he was doing yoga while his friend was “entranced” in a meditation using a pose that Buddha knows well. A little while later, two other people came up to the pair, and they all talked about all sorts of New Age nonsense that would make Marianne Williamson feel right at home, and all spoken in that accent that’s a mixture of west coast surfer dude, stoned pot head, and Bill and Ted: “Ooooh, yeaaah, wooow… that’s tooootally aaaawesome. I went vegan about 10 years ago, and it cured my cancer, maaan; it was aaaawesome. And, yeeaaaah, I live in this house with six other guys. Yeaaaah, it’s so aaaawesome. Two are yoga instructors, one’s a massage therapist, two are healers, and one’s an astrologer. Woooooah, are you a Libra? That’s soooo Libra what you did just then. And, duuuuude… you should totally try reiki. I mean, like, mind blooooown. It totally aligned all my chakras. So aaaawesome.”
All right, I might be exaggerating a tad, but seriously: the whole conversation we overheard could have been transcribed word for word and used in a Portandia episode. It made us chuckle a bit, and at that moment we knew that Boulder’s reputation as a communal, hippy, artist town was now validated with a little grain of truth. And I mean that as a sincerely warmhearted endorsement of Boulder’s unique and vibrant culture with no malice nor hostility intended.
Following our bottle of rosé in the park, we concluded our evening with a bowl of ramen at Chimera Ramen, and it was so disappointing I’m not even going to bother writing anything else about it.
At this point our adventures were already quickly approaching halfway over, but we still had so much to do and to see. My next post will summarize our visit to Rocky Mountain National Park.