In 2023, the stars did not conspire in my best interests. Something you need to know about me is that, although I don't know much about astrology, I believe in it. I'm one of those people who, a month before my birthday, runs to the astrologer to find out what the new year has in store. And, of course, to find out where the stars want me to be on that day. My father jokes that my astrologer must be a partner in my travel agency, but I can assure you: Oscar Quiroga has no connection with Teresa Perez. I really wish he did. The more trips and the further, the better. And I silently wished that the stars would send me to Japan.
"Texas," he told me, with that Spanish-Portuguese accent.
"Texas? Really?" I thought, somewhat disappointed. I went back home trying to recall all the interesting things about Texas that I had etched into my memory. I remembered the Rothko Chapel in Houston, but still, it wasn't enough to get me excited about a trip to Texas when my dream was Japan.
Until: wait! How did I almost forget about that little town lost in the desert?
Before I talk about all the "interestingness" of it, I need to confess: what made me discover its existence was an image of the famous Prada "store" in the middle of nowhere. It seems futile, I know, but that's not what it is. The scene seemed unreal, the kind that you would swear was the result of artificial intelligence. But it was 2012 and no one talked about creating images like that (not in my universe, of course).
That intriguing image made me want to know more about it. Why would a Prada store be there? Who would shop in the middle of the desert? And so, my curiosity made me come across the name Marfa and, soon after, there I was researching the nano city and putting it on my bucket list for a thousand and one reasons – the “Prada store” was not even close to being a determining factor for its inclusion.
But satisfying that curiosity wasn’t easy. Marfa is a seven-hour drive from Austin, and Texas wasn’t a destination that my friends were excited about. The result? I never had company. I never went. Until the stars mapped out my destiny, and who am I to defy them?
Flying into Austin, I spent one night there and the next day I headed towards the desert. But not just any old way:
"May I have a convertible Mustang, please?"
Because, of course, as a lover of driving and memories, I needed the full experience. And there I went, alone, with the wind in my hair, on my way to Marfa (Cliché No. 1).
Driving from Austin to Marfa, watching the landscape turn into desert, to the sound of MacArthur Park, was an almost unforgettable experience. Everything seemed like a movie version of myself, and Marfa was starting to materialize. I researched hotels and discovered the famous Paisano, known for having hosted Elizabeth Taylor and James Dean during the filming of Giant, but the one that really won my heart was the El Cosmico.
El Cosmico is, let's say, a glamping "cluster". Several different camping options on a single plot of land. While I was still in Brazil, while browsing the options on the website, the teepee seemed the most charming and authentic. I made the reservation without hesitation.
When I arrived at El Cosmico, the first thing they gave me was a handcart to carry my things to the tent. One of those really well-made ones, you know? Americans, I have to admit, know how to sell anything, even the lack of comfort. There I went, pushing my cart, laughing to myself. That was just a taste of what was to come. I just didn't know it yet.
My teepee was no more than 4 square meters. If the fireplace in the center created a cozy atmosphere, the same could not be said of the huge gap between the floor and the tent, which left enough space for my imagination to run wild. I thought silently about all the crawling creatures that could come in to say hello. I tried not to think too much, but the flyer next to the bed betrayed me: "Make sure to keep your suitcase closed... you never know what might get in while you sleep." Needless to say, my suitcase was locked for the five days, and my sneakers were hanging up. And the night I left the suitcase open? I spent sleepless hours in bed, imagining the possible spree that the nocturnal animals would have on my clothes. But I'm alive, so it seems that everything went well.
Most people I know wouldn't pay for that, especially in dollars. I myself would have thought twice, if it weren't for my aesthetic obsession. Let me explain: if I had been at least a little bit rational and taken practical aspects into account, I might not be there, alone, in the middle of a desert with no hospital, in a country where not even medicine is easy to buy. But I'm one of those people who, when faced with the possibility of experiencing romanticized scenes, leaves all rationality aside in favor of the experience. I ignore everything else.
And the rest? Well, here it goes: “Hey, wait a minute, where’s the bathroom?” Walk 80 steps to the left of the teepee. I know that from the comfort of your home it may not seem like much, but imagine this journey in the middle of the night, in a freezing desert, with no light, and all the local wildlife lurking around. I implemented a survival tactic: no liquids after 6:00 p.m. The communal bathroom, made of slatted wood, with no roof and no mirror, was the final destination. I didn’t look at myself in the mirror for five days.
But I saw Marfa from top to bottom, a city that looks like it was designed by Wes Anderson down to the smallest detail.
Marfa became iconic in the 1970s when artist Donald Judd decided to settle there. Donald Judd always had a very clear vision for his art: he wanted his works to exist permanently, something that museums and galleries, with their temporary exhibitions, rarely allowed.
He wanted to escape the chaos of New York, find space, silence and a direct connection with nature. The vastness of the desert allowed him to create on a grand scale, without the pressures of the art market.
He saw Marfa as a blank canvas, a place where he could build a lasting legacy, immune to the volatile trends of the art market. By acquiring several properties in the town, he was able to create something unprecedented: an “open-air museum” where his sculptures and installations could be permanently displayed and preserved, free from the constraints of the traditional art system. Judd wasn’t just looking for a space to create; he wanted an environment that reflected his aesthetic ideals and that offered him the freedom to explore his ideas without interference.
Over time, Marfa has become a meeting point for artists and lovers of contemporary art. Despite its retro, almost frozen-in-time look, the city has a very modern spirit. Even the shops, however simple they may be, boast an authenticity and sophistication that is immediately obvious. Each store, gallery and restaurant seems to have its own carefully thought-out visual identity, and it is impossible not to notice the city’s peculiar touch of humor — noticeable right from the opening hours of the establishments, which, by the way, do not follow any rules. Or rather, they follow: Marfa’s rules.
Most businesses are only open from Thursday to Sunday, and their hours vary unpredictably. It is common to find doors closed during the week, or even establishments that only open for a few hours a day. I took a photo of a sign at one establishment that read: "Opening Hours: We Give Up". The phrase made me laugh, and it was one of the many proofs of the sarcastic and ironic sense of humor that I would see every day that followed. The town, small and isolated in the middle of the desert, has become a cultural icon, and this fusion of remote location and artistic effervescence has created a unique atmosphere, where the mundane and the sublime coexist side by side.
Marfa also plays on its own fame. Many businesses have signs and merchandise that poke fun at the hype surrounding the town. In a side street, the sign “City of Marfa, run-walk-jog at your own risk” greets visitors with a doormat that reads, “Here the client is always wrong.” This self-deprecating humor is part of the soul of the place, reflecting how Marfa deals with its reputation as a hip arts destination.
A classic example of this is the famous Prada Marfa, the store that made me discover the existence of Marfa in the world and which, in fact, is not a store, but an art installation by artists Elmgreen and Dragset. The piece, which mocks consumerism by placing a luxury "store" in the middle of the desert, far from any buyers, is a critique of capitalism and the void of status, but done in a visually impressive and comical way.
Most of the time, I walked through the streets without meeting a single soul. When I did see someone, it always seemed to be the same pair of English friends. After bumping into them several times, I ended up asking them to take a picture of me, since, traveling alone, I couldn't do anything better than a hurried selfie (Cliché No. 3) that would be useless later. It was at that moment that one of them asked me: "You're staying at El Cosmico, right? We saw you there."
They had just graduated and were taking a road trip up and down the coast as a graduation present. “How mature,” I thought to myself. In my 20s, I was doing much less important things. We talked briefly about our plans in Marfa, and then they mentioned, “We really want to go to Prada Marfa, but we don’t have a car.”
Well, I had a car. We met at the hotel reception at 4pm and went together. When they saw that the trip would be in a Mustang convertible, their reactions were a mix of "Oh my God!" “what do you do?” “You have your own Business and you travel alone on your birthday?” “Oh my God you are so Iconic” (Cliché No. 4). They were so excited that, thanks to their incessant “you are so iconic” I really felt iconic. And it was good, lol.
I asked them what they wanted to hear on the ride, and here I present to you clichés No. 5 and 6: Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus, with “Flowers.” It doesn’t get any more American than that. But it always can be more cliché. Let’s move on.
We went to Prada Marfa and, on the way back, the sunset dyed the sky lilac and peach - that Monet sky that I love so much - the wind in my hair, the feeling of freedom (cliché no. 7)… the young women next to me laughed, took selfies trying to immortalize that moment but also let themselves be carried away by it. They enjoyed the landscape. To the sound of Mystery of Love I was also flying high. I looked back in the rearview mirror and thought: "Wow, this is real", while one of them fought with the wind that messed up her hair and I laughed silently, aware that that moment was as surreal as the city itself that took me there.
And do you know what it feels like to be living a great cliché? Well, yes. But clichés are not clichés for nothing — they survive because they capture, in a simple and true way, the feelings and moments that all of us, at some point, have lived or dreamed of living. Sometimes, letting yourself be carried away by the stars and the unpredictable is exactly what makes it possible to live inside our own movie, creating memories that seem unreal, but that are exactly what make us feel alive. And that's exactly how I felt when I turned 35: in a cliché movie, with a protagonist with bright eyes, disconcertingly radiant, all thanks to the stars who gave her what she hadn't asked for.
