In the spirit of state theme songs for crossing borders, I played Lyle Lovett’s “that’s right, you’re not from Texas”. In his version “Texas wants [us] anyway” in real life we couldn’t seem to catch with anyone who wanted us.
(Houston skyline)
Houston was the first night stop and we ended up staying in the
Houston International Hostel. It was a little run-down, a little battered and forlorn, but still functional.
I felt like the charm of the place grew on me. The owner’s daughter and I talked about our intentions for transforming our communal hostel spaces into a place of sharing cultures, through various events. Her idea was to have a weekly story-telling night. I’m thinking more of a music night, where people from different countries trade and enjoy each other’s music. But I have to figure out a way to have the non-performers not disenfranchised.
Rob and I took a walk by the “river” downtown Houston before jumping town. We ran into a Cheveron sponsored marathon; looks like big oil really tries hard to maintain a “good guy” image down here.
Also, a killer skate park where kids of all ages (4-64) were rollerblading and skateboarding around the impressive cement system of dips, rails, slants, pools, edges and 180˚ concave jumps. Apparently, this skate park is ranked one of the top ten in the world and looks to be an excellent city sponsored outlet for alternative youth sports. We heard from the guy who works there that Houston is planning on building an even bigger one. Go Houston for being so progressive!
Austin was our next stop. I’d been anticipating Austin for a while. Hearing what a neat town it is and knowing fellow Portlanders had transplanted there. For all of that I don’t feel like I got a true taste of Austin.
Again, no in-town contacts got back to us, the Austin-HI was booked tight (on a Sunday night no less), the B&B the hostel had referred us to was full too and no CSers where getting back to us with lightening speed. Time for a different plan. Rob is always looking for National Parks and his radar blinks wildly when we’re near one and have the chance to get out in the wilderness.
Lucky for us
Mc Kinney Falls National Park is within Austin city limits.
We picked up some provisions, it was dusk and right outside the supermarket were thousands and thousands of birds (it was a dazzling sight).
In a short drive we’d reached the sanctuary that would be our campsite for the night. We chose “primitive camping” from the menu in the office, which really just meant that we couldn’t drive directly to our campsite and that there was no electricity.
We trekked down gear and I brought the firewood down while Rob worked on starting a fire (wood purchased for a $1/log at the office. Whew, expensive.) We had a Korean American family as neighbors. The two boys were inquisitive and social, over at our campsite watching disbelieving as Rob started a fire and drooling over our dinner of sausage, onions and peppers. I finally shooed them away as we sat down to eat because it was like being watched by seagulls. I was amazed by how much these boys knew about outer space, Rob’s first dream was to be an astronaut so the boys found much to discuss; the younguns quizzing Rob on what would happen if you walked on Mars, Jupiter or Saturn and what kinds of terrible deaths would befall you.
A definitive sign that we were in new territory was coming across a scorpion hanging out in the warmth of the women’s bathroom.
The next day we checked into the
Austin Hostelling International (HI). It was my first stay at a HI affiliated hostel and I learned a lot! Interviewing the director of the non-profit hostel I was given the HI – standards sheet that will come in mighty handy as I plot and plan my own hostel.
It was Martin Luther King Jr Day and we found (thank you Google) a celebration downtown with live music and lots of people promoting their chosen causes. Back at the car there was a flier stuck under the wiper advertising a free showing of a documentary on Palestine. Being a day for social awareness we made our way to that viewing and while it widened my scope of understanding I would NOT recommend that documentary. Zero plotline, gratuitous violence without me even being sure who and what was the “good guy/bad guy”. The message of the gathering was FREE PALESTINE. But when the only message I got clearly from the video was Palestinians wishing God to come and smite all the Jews in Israel, it doesn’t make me want to side with either party.
Rob and I ended the night with a beer sitting on the end of dock just outside the hostel, looking out over the city lights of Austin. It was clique, just like we always seem to be. Complete with two white swan swimming past and coming up to say hello.
The next day (Tuesday, January 19th) we did some grocery shopping (Rob had to stock up for his rafting trip) before hitting the road for a 9 hour drive to Carlsbad, NM.
Two of my most proud roadtrip schemes seem to be a bust. 1. I’ve never used the curtains that mom and I fashioned for all of Falkor’s windows. 2. The crockpot cooking in Falkor with a power converter ended with slight catastrophe.
Mid-day, maybe ¾ of the way across Texas I started cooking Shakshuka (a favorite Israeli dish that I learned in Guatemala last year). When we stopped for lunch we cut up onions and garlic ahead of time and they cooked down quite nicely for an hour, then in went the cans of diced tomatoes (I would have liked to use fresh ones, but car cooking, means using what’s easiest) and spices.
The final ingredient to be added 20 minutes before eating is eggs, which get poached in the hot tomato-ey liquid. We were near Carlsbad by this point and faced a conundrum of needing to drive around to keep the Shakshuka hot enough to cook the eggs. While driving around town, looking for a good place to guerilla camp for the night, a corner was taken a little too fast and OVER went the crockpot.
Steaming Shakshuka dumped all over the floor and center console of poor little Falkor. It was disgusting. And at the end of a long day, just about more than I could bear. Rob was a champ, immediately jumping into action to fix the mess. My spirits improved as I looked at the disaster in the car and simply saw the humor of the whole situation. Laughing at the tomato, egg, onion goo as I scooped it out of the car, Seren meltdown was averted.
I had no idea who John Dillinger was before this celebratory day. Charish posted a last minute note to the group asking if anyone wanted to accompany her to Dillinger Days, downtown at Hotel Congress. The details of Public Enemy No. 1 would come out slowly over the day.
Slowly because there was a antique car show and a fair vibe that didn't seem to have anything to do with relating the history of the event. 
I was taking a photo of all the people in 1930s period dress who were standing at the bar, when this gentleman told me that I should take a picture of him. Never being one to turn down the opportunity to take a portrait, I obliged. Charish and I got to talking to him and his cohort. The shit-kicking went on for a good 20 minutes, we were offered rides in their antique autos they had displayed. 
where just for the day the actually Tommy Guns that were confiscated from the Dillinger gang were on display. 
Then, being peckish, we meandered over to Barrio Anita for a very tasty burrito recommended by my cousin Shya. 
The walk back downtown was speckled with stops for "picture opportunities." Charish was just as into stopping as I was. 
This was the back of a mailbox post, nothing like a little inspiration! 
This is the Bike Church, constructed out of old rims and forks, spokes and frames. The sun shines thru the gels and casts colorful shadows around. I love public art.
Typical Tucson homefront.
