Fort Worth

St Paul's Lutheran Church

It’s been a Fort Worth kinda day. We went to the flea market this morning – the vendors take over the “small exhibits” barn at the Will Rogers Memorial Center –  it’s much larger than it sounds. On the way we passed a scene you seldom see in England – a Lutheran tent revival that, like all the churches here on a Sunday, was packed to overflowing. When I stopped to take a photo, the attendants rushed over to help me park. I explained that I only wanted a photo because church attendance in England is falling, and so it would be an unusual sight for “folks back home”. When they pressed me to join them (in the nicest possible way), I declined, suggesting that I (not alone, you understand, but as a representative, though not statistically valid, sample) was probably the reason for declining congregations.

Val at Joe T Garcia's

After the flea market, we headed north to the Stockyards – significant historically because Fort Worth was once the last outpost of civilization before the cattle drives hit the Chisholm Trail and the plains, bound for the railheads in Kansas. These days, they are more of a tourist trap. We had lunch at Joe T Garcia’s, a famous local landmark that has featured traditional Mexican food in an outdoor garden since 1935. This is the place to go for “real” guacamole and margaritas.

The Opry

Cattle drive

The Stockyards area has all kinds of entertainment for visitors. Some of it is fake (like the daily cattle drive down Main Street), and some of it is not (like many of the cowboys that drive the cattle, and the White Horse Saloon, where local musicians play most days of the week, and the Fort Worth Opry that play just for the fun of it). I’ve heard it said that the American love affair with Harley Davidson motorcycles is in no small part due to a latent desire to keep the “cowboy culture” alive. The Stockyards, particularly at night, is a magnet for both.

Cowboys old and new

Playing in the Love Shack next door to the White Elephant I found Brad Hines. I didn’t recognize him at first – he’s lost 220 pounds! It was his voice, and his chewing-tobacco habit, that gave him away. It’s amazing what lap band surgery can achieve – he certainly looks much better for it.

Brad Hines

Gruene Hall Again

The fastest way to New Braunfels (which is the nearest sizeable town to Gruene, home of Gruene Hall, the oldest continuously operating dance hall in Texas) is down I35, through Austin. The more interesting way is through the Texas Hill Country. The former takes about 4 hours; the latter, about 6.

I’ve been moved to a new hotel – from the Embassy Suites to the Holiday Inn. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The “Holiday Inn” brand is re-inventing itself, and the new hotel is not only new – it’s also half the price. Nevertheless, after 3 years of staying at the Embassy Suites, I’ve made a number of friends, and we went back to visit on Saturday morning. The maitre d’, Henry, welcomed us, and insisted on providing free breakfast.

Chili cook-off

After breakfast, we headed over to the Harley-Davidson dealership at Hurst, where a colleague from work was participating in a chili cook-off. His recipe incorporated venison, and, at my suggestion, chocolate. The combination of “venison” and “chocolate” led to the cryptic name “Ohio Convalescent Chili”; using only “deer” and “chocolate” yields “Doc Heat’s Creole Chili”. He won the last round, but, this time, managed only an honorable mention. Oh well – at least he promised me the recipe.

 Ken’s wife organizes social events for a Harley-Davidson dealership a few miles south on Route 20, and so we stopped off there on our way to Gruene.

Hector's bike

We arrived before the Mardi Gras celebrations got under way, but couldn’t help noticing a spectacular bike out front customized with a fairly dark theme. This was Hector’s bike. Hector is a Bandido. Most motorcycle gangs are benign these days; the Bandidos are not, and so we were not disappointed that we didn’t actually meet Hector.

We traveled down through the Hill Country, on Route 281 through Lampasas, Blanco and Marble Falls. I’m happy to say that I can save you some time here. If you’re ever thinking of visiting Lampasas, I’m including a picture of the only thing worth seeing, to save you the bother. Similarly for Blanco, the “lavender capital” of Texas. Unless you’re a particular fan of lavender, you can skip this, save time and fuel, and then I’ve done my bit towards saving the planet.

Lampasas mural

Blanco

Marble Falls is a different story. It’s worth going there to the Bluebonnet Café for pie and coffee, as we did. They’ve been around since 1930 (immediately after the Depression, which has to count as a gutsy move). I can particularly recommend the cherry pie ala mode.

Gruene is not far from San Antonio, and only an hour or two from the Mexican border. Its main claim to fame is Gruene Hall, the oldest continuously operating dance hall in Texas – where George Strait, among others, got started. We can personally testify that the steak and ribs at the Grist Mill restaurant are excellent.

Cactus

Gruene Hall

On the way back, still through the Hill Country but via a different route, Val was fascinated by the cactus growing wild. It has been a dry winter …

Evolution

The world is constantly changing around us. This is nothing new, but what is new is the speed at which it is happening. We human beings are not accustomed to handle evolution at such a rapid pace. We like to think we are in control, that we influence the things that happen around us. And so we focus our feeble attention on global warming, endangered species, “conflict resolution” by means other than violence, world poverty, and the financial crisis, when, in fact, all these things transcend our existence – we are the only really endangered species. I have a collection of “reusable” shopping bags at home, because I always forget to take them with me, and feel obliged to buy more rather than ask for plastic bags. I suspect my collection has depleted the planet’s resources far more than the plastic bags that I would otherwise have used, and it is for that reason that, although I will dutifully recycle where I can, I think that saving the species is probably not in the best interests of the planet.

I’m not a Luddite – things have to change, and I know that. But there needs to be a reason for change. As many words do, the word “progress” has morphed into a synonym for “change”, and progress, as a result, is no longer necessarily a good thing. Realizing this takes the edge off the satisfaction of going to the mall and buying 4 shirts and a pair of jeans for $60 at the Western Wearhouse (sic), because they’re going out of business; and walking through the skeleton of Virgin Records, where even the fixtures and fittings are up for sale; and seeing any store that isn’t offering 70% discount devoid of customers. It’s evolution, it’s a natural process – the strong will survive, and the weak will not. But Western Wearhouse is where I bought my first pair of boots, and I’ve spent time at the listening stations in Virgin Records, discovering new artists. I’ll miss them both. Having said that, of course, it’s slightly hypocritical that I think GM, Chrysler and Ford deserve to go under – their arrogance is finally rewarded.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older that I have trouble with the ground shifting under me. These days it seems more like a threat than an “opportunity.” I went to see two movies this weekend – Gran Torino, with Clint Eastwood, and The Wrestler, with Mickey Rourke. In both, the protagonist is an older man coming to grips with the human frailty to which we all eventually succumb. They deal with it in very different ways, however – one with dignity, and the other, in the only way he can. I won’t spoil it for you by telling you which is which. I’d recommend Gran Torino for “guys and gals”, but The Wrestler probably for guys only – not because of the storyline, or the acting, or the underlying morality (which are all superlative), but simply because The Wrestler pulls no punches in representing the violence of the world of “fake” wrestling.

I was upset when they decided that Black Rod no longer should walk backwards at the opening of Parliament – that’s how much of a traditionalist I am. I’m sure there’s room for a happy medium, and I’m willing to negotiate.

Talimena Scenic Drive

The Talimena Scenic Drive runs between Talihina, Oklahoma and Mena, Arkansas. The name is, obviously, an elision of the two names – not unusual in these parts, to wit, Texarkana, a city straddling Texas and Arkansas, or Lake Texoma on the Red River, shared by Texas and Oklahoma. We decided to drive up to Little Rock, the capital of Arkansas on Friday evening, spend Saturday in Little Rock, and then drive back to Dallas via the scenic route.

It’s cold for this time of year – hovering around the freezing mark first thing in the morning, and when the sun goes down, and we weren’t, sartorially speaking, particularly well prepared. So when we arrived at the hotel on Friday evening, we decided to eat in the hotel. My experience has been that eating in hotels is almost always a bad idea – this one wasn’t too bad, even though they told me that ribs were off the menu when I tried to order.

Arkansas is one of the nation’s poorest states, and the capital reflects that. Downtown, the River Market District was quite disappointing, even though we knew that the “season” has been over for a few weeks. The Clinton Presidential Library, however, was a delightful surprise, especially since they’re in the middle of an “Art of the Chopper” exhibit. The restaurant served an excellent lunch, and the library, despite looking like a double-wide trailer on stilts, has a very comprehensive history of “the Clinton years”. Try as I might, I could find no mention of Ms Lewinsky, other than an oblique reference regretting the events that led up to his attempted impeachment. Not surprising, I suppose.

I’m not a biker, but even I could appreciate the bikes, designed and ridden by all the great names of Harley-Davidson-dom. Particularly poignant was a picture of Indian Larry, standing on the saddle of his moving motorcycle (which is, ironically, how he died) alongside one of his bikes.

On Saturday evening, we went to Murry’s Dinner Playhouse, to see a performance of “There Goes the Bride”. Not great literature by any standard, but very reminiscent of the old Brian Rix farces at the Whitehall Theatre, and an ideal accompaniment for a buffet-style dinner and a couple of glasses of wine.

Food for the winter

Val talking to Jay Jones

On Sunday, we set off reasonably early on the “scenic route” to Dallas. We stopped on the way at a gas-station cum diner for coffee. I don’t think they get too many visitors from the outside world, because an old lady got up from her table to speak to Val, because she’d “lived here all her life, and just wanted to say hello”. We also stopped in Mount Ida, for two reasons. One was because we were about to cross the Oauchita mountains, and had no idea how to pronounce it (“Washiter”); the other was because we’d seen so many “crystal and rock” shops that we were curious. We chatted for a while to Jay Jones, from whom we learned that there are numerous open pit crystal mines around Lake Ouachita. We bought a chunk of crystal from his shop, a book written by his father, and I photographed a couple of his buddies butchering a deer – I should say that, although I don’t at all appreciate hunting for sport, I have no problem with hunting for food. They’re allowed, by law, to take 3 deer per year, and that’s enough to provide meat for the family. In the picture, they have just removed the tenderloins.

"Vista Point"

The Scenic Drive is spectacular. I can’t begin to tell you how spectacular the views are. No – I really mean that. I can’t begin to tell you because the visibility was down to about 100 yards, and, despite the numerous “vista points”, we could hardly see the trees in front of us. But I’m assured that the scenery is wonderful, and I have no reason to doubt it.

From Talihina, we headed south through the Choctaw nation in Oklahoma, down Route 75, past the gambling casinos on the reservation that are the result of legislation that was inadequately thought through by Congress (much to the delight of the native population – and more power to them!). The increased traffic on the highway signaled the proximity of Dallas – and our return to the hustle and bustle of the Metroplex.

The Choctaw Nation

I never cease to be surprised by the poverty I see in rural America – Arkansas and Vermont are peculiarly similar in that respect, despite apparently being at opposite ends of the geographic, cultural and climatic spectrum. I also never cease to be amazed by the friendliness of the people.

My hope is that the current financial upheaval we are experiencing favors the rural community, and that we may once again appreciate the value of living closer to the land.

Frequent flying

Air travel isn’t what it used to be – I’m sure you know this already. But you have to take your pleasures where you can, and they can still be found, even in the air, if you know where to look.

Many airlines these days board “by group number”. This is nothing new – they used to board by row, but the objective is the same: people seated at the back (with the exception of those with children, or a disability, or needing “special assistance”, or first class, or business class, or platinum, or …) board first. This makes perfect sense – or it would if the majority of people were not morons. If you’re a flyer of any frequency, you’ve probably worked this out for yourself, but, in case not, here’s a handy tip: don’t wait for your group number to be called. Wait only for the number before yours. Once the initial rush is over, join the end of the line. By the time you get to the front they’ll be calling your group anyway.

You are then ideally situated, comfortably in your seat, for what is probably the most enjoyable part of the trip: watching your fellow travelers trying to fit what they think is reasonably sized carry-on luggage into the overhead compartments. Giant hold-alls, and backpacks that are overstuffed with what seems to be half a camel, do not fit into this category. It has to be the most entertaining part of the journey – because it surely isn’t the food, or the movies, or the half-drunk Germans a couple of rows behind you.

If you have headphones, preferably noise-cancelling, put them on early, otherwise you risk being introduced to the person in the next seat – in my case, Anita. I shook her limply proffered bony hand as she explained that she and her husband were on an “outreach mission” to Turkmenistan. It’s so nice of the Turkmenistanis to take these American outcasts and show them life on the other side. It’s all about balance – if we didn’t have crime, we wouldn’t need law enforcement; if we didn’t have taxes, we wouldn’t need government; if we didn’t have third world countries, we wouldn’t need charitable organizations. So, for our part, we endure democracy, capitalism, and the consumer society, while they suffer violence, hunger and war. It’s difficult sometimes to figure out who’s better off, isn’t it?

As soon as you’re at “cruising altitude”, the flight attendants will come round with drinks. There’s a reason for this: they want to get you liquored-up before they serve the food. My advice is to heed the warning. When I was much younger, I saw the band Queen in concert. This was on the university circuit, and before they were famous (they were spectacular even then). My only complaint was that they were a little too loud, and when I mentioned this to a friend who happened to know one of the band members, he told me that they turned up the volume when they were a little nervous about how they would be received. It’s something like this with airline food. It’s not good – we all know that – but it seems as though the chefs (chefs?) don’t know that adding salt doesn’t make it better.

When the food is thankfully over, you’ll need your mp3 player – otherwise you’ll be subjected to what the airline believes constitutes “entertainment”. “David Letterman” and “The New Life of Old Christine” weren’t funny when they were on TV, and they still aren’t. Neither are the 2-star movies, especially since most of the even remotely interesting parts have been cut (for the general audience).

Oh, and try to ignore the Americans doing gymnastics in the aisles in the vain hope that it will prevent a DVT – they haven’t yet figured out that it’s really a lifestyle issue.

Longhorn Harley

Before I start, I should apologize to all the recipients of this newsletter of the female persuasion. As you know, I’m not usually interested in “guy” events that feature motorcycles, live music, free beer, free barbecue, Hooters girls and ex-Playboy bunnies. But a friend of mine at work is a biker, as is his wife, and she organizes “social events” at the Harley dealership not far from here. So I gritted my teeth, and went along.

Old bike

The band - a "Heart" tribute

If you’ve never been to a biker event, I should emphasize that it’s not at all a threatening environment. For a start, the guys are largely not too much younger than me – who else can afford a Harley? Interestingly, their female companions are typically much younger … hmmmmm. But it is almost pure testosterone. Beer, barbecue, loud music and louder motorcycles.

Hooters girls

New bike

"Kisses" for Gerry

Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many motorcycles, let alone so many Harleys, all in one place. There were old ones, new ones, outlandishly customized ones – and all absolutely immaculate. Because my friend Gerry is a biker, I made the supreme sacrifice and got in line for a signed picture of “Miss Longhorn Harley-Davidson” and ex-Playboy bunny Nancy Patton.

I’m not a biker of course, but if I was, the Hooters girls are probably the best way to get it cleaned. I mean, you can’t take it through a car wash, can you?

TXOU

Sunday afternoon – a good time for laundry. Everyone who came to town for the “Red River Shootout” has checked out, and the business-folk coming in for next week haven’t yet arrived. In case you’re not aware, the Red River forms the boundary between Texas and Oklahoma, and the “Shootout” is the annual “derby” match between long-time rivals Oklahoma University (“OU”, or the Sooners) and the University of Texas (“UT”, or the Longhorns) – serious college football. I didn’t see it (either live or on TV), but the game, played at the newly refurbished Cotton Bowl in Dallas, was apparently pretty good. Certainly the victorious local fans (beating their number-one ranked opponents) were celebrating late into the night.

On the theme of football, The Dallas Cowboys are playing the Arizona Cardinals, and I’m watching it on TV. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and no doubt fathers and sons all over the country are watching it on ESPN. I wonder how some of the dads respond to questions from their younger offspring when commercials come on for Viagra. Impotence may have morphed into Erectile Dysfunction, and then to seemingly innocuous ED, but that’s no more than a deliberate marketing ploy to confuse the censors.

At breakfast this morning, a young man in a cowboy hat sat opposite his partner. She was eating her omelette, and drinking coffee, while he was immersed in reading his bible. At the next table, a mother and father, with 3 children seated round one of the larger tables, paused to collectively say grace before eating. This is not at all uncommon.

“Little Britain USA” aired for the first time this week on HBO. It was made in the USA, and features many of the usual sketches and themes, but with an injection of American characters. I’ll be very interested in the reaction to a show that pokes fun at the disabled, the fat, and the gay (and any other normally taboo subjects). In the UK, I think we have the admirable ability to find this amusing, as long as it is done well, and there is no malicious intent. In the USA, political correctness is taken literally, and to extreme.

 As you can see, there’s a curious double standard – not only here, but throughout the “bible belt”. So I also wonder how mums and dads, driving along the major highway I-635 at Farmers Branch, explain the billboard that features a young lady with her knickers around her knees.

Don’t blame me – I only work here.