A Cheap Vacation? You Can Bet on It.

To wit: While I was watching a morning TV program at my hotel, Neil Patrick Harris of "Doogie Howser" fame urged viewers in Albuquerque to stop by Perennials, his parents' restaurant, and say hello. Well, when Doogie tells me to do something, I respond. (The actor also repeated the restaurant's name three times, so it became a refrain I could not shake.)

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And that is why -- and how -- I ended up at the breakfast table of New Mexico natives Sheila and Ron Harris, a warm, gregarious couple who freely chatted about their famous son ("He used to come back more, when he had time"), their favorite activities in town (eating) and the all-important difference between red and green chilies (the latter are the less ripe and generally less fiery varieties). In addition, I arrived early enough to take advantage of the $1 breakfast discount. A celebrity-by-association sighting and a cheap meal -- better than L.A.

Urban-design-wise, Albuquerque appears to have been planned by a roomful of real estate developers and one conspiracy theorist. Strip malls junk up many roads leading to the foothills, while not too far away abandoned plots seem ripe for UFO abductions. Yet flashes of rough beauty cut through the extremes: the tawny Rio Grande, which curlicues through the flats; the blackened volcanic mounds and tribal rock sketches of the Petroglyph National Monument; the Sandia Mountains, whose rock face changes with each passing cloud.

Downtown, the mid-size buildings defer to the bright blue sky, and after dark, restaurants and bars bathe the area in a neon glow. Farther along on Central Avenue, the old strip of Route 66 goes retro, with such time-capsule establishments as the Stardust Inn and the Standard Diner. The road eventually passes by the University of New Mexico and its colony of cheap eats, and the hipster-in-training neighborhood of Nob Hill, where on Sunday nights amateur dancers tango in a renovated Ford dealership.

The city's tourist center, however, is in Old Town, a packed grid of stores, eateries and museums, open squares and claustrophobic lanes. The "village" harks back to the first settlers, who in 1796 built homes and livelihoods along the river banks. The central plaza is ringed by the 18th-century San Felipe de Neri Church, an unadorned adobe structure surrounded by flowering cacti, and shops selling Southwestern standards.

Along a section of shaded sidewalk abutting La Placita restaurant, a handful of artists squat on low chairs and blankets while passersby browse their designs. To display here, the artisans must create their own works -- nothing mass-produced or stamped by Asian factory workers. "The shops can buy from China," said jewelry designer Lisa Carrillo, referring to the touristy trade in Old Town. "They are not regulated."

But while the craftspeople are tightly monitored, the prices are hardly fixed. "It's $98," Carrillo said about a multi-strand silver and turquoise necklace, "but I'll sell it for $45." Love that Albuquerque discount.

Though bargaining is not declasse, in some places I would have felt like an utter cheapskate asking for a price cut. Or griping about the admission fee: My $3.50 charge at the American International Rattlesnake Museum, for instance, which probably bought half the reptilian residents lunch.

The conservation center claims to display the world's largest living collection of different snake species. That translates to 67 snakes trapped and stacked in aquariums that cover two cramped rooms without a quick escape route. Ophidiophobes should wait in the gift shop. (A sign on the door leading to the exhibition reads: "Keep voice low. Turn phone to vibrate. Keep kids close." Interpret as you wish.)

I am a lover of all living creatures, except mosquitoes and snakes. I don't trust the latter. But with the snakes secure in their cages and full from frequent feedings, I was able to gain a new appreciation for the slitherers. Indeed, you have to admire an animal that, according to the adult-appropriate placard, can cause serious tissue damage and "prolonged hospital stays." (The kid-friendly version for the Mojave rattlesnake, by comparison, reads, "This kind of rattlesnake has stronger venom than any other rattlesnake in the country.")

So that you don't walk away with the notion that all snakes are evil, museum owner Bob Myers will trot out Babe, the friendly 42-inch royal python. You can pet her, pose for pictures with her or regard her from a safe distance. Just don't make any belt or boot jokes.

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