Austin yet again

Last week, I went over to Fort Worth, to my usual flea market. I don’t think I bought anything, although I was sorely tempted by the offer of $20 for “all knowledge”. At my age, I have learned that you get what you pay for, so I passed on this one. If a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, who knows how “all knowledge” might work out!

I had to change my rental car, and they gave me a Chevrolet HHR – the “HHR” stands for “Heritage High Roof”, and I think is supposed to refer to its heritage as a “mini-Suburban” (a huge gas-guzzler, designed with the “soccer Mom” in mind, that is, surprisingly, still available). The reality is that it can’t seem to make up its mind whether it wants to be an SUV or a station-wagon, has virtually no acceleration (unless you think that an upright piano has acceleration), and makes you duck in and out of it lest someone you know might see you. Fortunately, it has tiny darkened windows, so that, although it’s difficult to see out, it’s also difficult to see in.

Dancers at the Broken Spoke

It made it to Austin and back this weekend, which I suppose is all you should expect from vehicular transport. Austin is just a fun place to be – there’s always something going on, for whatever mood you are in. I stayed at the same hotel as previously, but, because it was weekend, and because the University of Texas (the Longhorns) were playing Kansas State (the Wildcats) in the first game of the season of college football, I didn’t get the luxurious room I got last time. No matter – it had a bed, a bathroom and free breakfast.

On Saturday evening, I went to the Broken Spoke – a dance hall, or honky-tonk. We don’t have anything comparable in England. It’s very basic – plastic tablecloths over functional furniture – the type of place where everything goes quiet when you walk in, because everybody knows everybody else, and you’re a new face. But if you look around, there are young couples, old couples, families with young children, and singles of every age looking for a dancing partner. The music is traditional country, and the dancing mostly swing country, but with some jitterbug and more modern thrown in. I’d like to emphasize that nobody does line-dancing – I know that’s the popular image, but that’s all it is – an image.

In the men's room at the Broken Spoke

In the men’s room,  I fed 50c into “Pandora’s Box” (“a grab bag of sexy surprises – 6 different – you’ll want them all”) three times before I decided I didn’t want them all. On the way back to the hotel I stopped off at the Magnolia Café (open 24 hours) at about midnight for a “Siam Tiger” – noodles with stir fried vegetables in a soya sauce and spicy thai sauce. I’m not used to eating so late, but it was delicious.

Art de Vitalis at the Style Station

The road back took me past the “Style Station”, off Interstate 35. I almost passed it completely, until something made me double back to check it out. It turned out to be a “retro” store, at which I bought a pair of “vintage” boots, and spent a long time chatting to owner Art de Vitalis. He’s pretty much a retired hippie, who used to play in a band, is very anti-establishment, vegetarian, and seems to know antique/vintage dealers all over the world (including one from the Portobello Road). He was truly a character, but with “more rabbit than Sainsbury’s”. The store has no running water, and electricity that probably violates every building code regulation.

They want to flatten his store to widen the highway, but he’s lived through, and participated in, protest in its many forms. Good luck to them!