Odessa and Midland

Texas is in the grip of a serious drought. Ranchers are selling their cattle because they can’t afford to feed them, and crops are either withering in the heat, or non-existent. Just today, the temperature at 8am was 80°F (27°C); by noon it reached 90°F (32°C); and by 5pm it soared to a brutal 109°F (43°C). No relief is in sight as new meteorological records are broken daily.

So it might seem a strange time to head for normally arid West Texas, but I did it anyway. There are only a couple of corners of Texas that I haven’t explored during my time here – Houston is one of them, but it’s just another hot, humid and crowded city, so it’s way off my list. I remember when I first arrived in Texas, I asked the hotel concierge where the desert was – I had the same image of Texas that most Brits probably have, of cowboys and huge ranches and oil in an essentially desert environment. The concierge wasn’t sure, since he’d never seen any. I’ve found out since then that it’s West Texas, and that a large part of Texas is anything but desert – I mean, they grow rice here! So I wanted to see West Texas for myself.

Odessa and Midland, two towns in the heart of West Texas, are 21 miles apart. Midland was thus named because it’s roughly halfway between Dallas and El Paso, and has the dubious notoriety of being George W and Laura Bush’s hometown; Odessa was named by homesick immigrant Russian railroad workers in the 19^th century. The only reason that these towns exist is oil. The guidebooks have nothing nice to say about either – for example: “… the area is dry, dusty and flat, with little physical or cultural interest.” Needless to say, my expectations are set low.

San Angelo mural

Midland is due West of Dallas on I20, but I chose an alternate route, to relieve the boredom of hours on the interstate, going via San Angelo to the south. I had lunch at Miss Hattie’s Café and Saloon – meatloaf and mashed potatoes, washed down with a Blue Moon beer and a tall glass of iced water. I decided against the Brothel Burger – “just the meat between the buns” – for which they’re well-known. The name is a tribute to the fact that the building, in times past, was a bordello, conveniently connected via an underground tunnel to the local bank. When the farmers and ranchers came to town with their families, they would send the family shopping, while they tended to their “banking business”. The restaurant brochure says that: “with deposits and withdrawals complete, they would rejoin the family for dinner.”

Nodding donkey, pumpjack, horsehead pump, ...

Driving from San Angelo to Midland, the landscape becomes increasingly unpleasant. The creeks and draws are all bone dry, and even the Colorado River looks brown and torpid. There are a few cattle, but not many – the sparse vegetation would not support a large herd. The terrain is desert scrub, and so flat that from the top of slight undulations in the road you can see for miles – the occasional vehicle on distant unpaved roads is clearly visible by the billowing clouds of white dust in its wake. Most of the landscape is peppered with the nodding donkeys that perpetually pump oil to the surface from far below; the parts that aren’t are either refineries or a graveyard for the rusting hulks of machinery that has outlived its usefulness. There is very little agriculture, although every now and then you pass a small oasis of crops that thrive only because of continuous irrigation.

Midland and Odessa are not towns I would choose to live in, but not as bad as I had expected. Odessa has a (passable) replica of Stonehenge, a (very good) replica of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, and an 8ft statue of a jackrabbit. I happened to be close to the First Christian Church when the church bells chimed the hour – on further investigation, I discovered that the church has a carillon that not only sounds the hour, but plays what sounded like American folk tunes for some little time afterwards – beautiful!

Midland has nothing of interest to me.

Stonehenge

Jackrabbit

Driving west another 100 miles brought me to Pecos. It took some time to escape the oil-defined landscape, but once beyond it, and certainly to the south of Pecos towards Fort Stockton, parts as yet not despoiled by humans have a natural beauty in the same way that English moorland does. The sheer expanse is awe inspiring. Pecos’ main claim to fame is as the birthplace of the rodeo – obviously somewhere has to be – but is otherwise nondescript. Fort Stockton has a long military history, and has done a good job of preserving and exhibiting it.

Something West Texas has plenty of is dust and wind. The latter is put to good use by some of the largest wind farms I’ve ever seen on the drive up 385 between Fort Stockton and McCamey – hundreds of wind turbines atop tall mesas, all elegantly rotating in time.

I know that wind turbines are not to everyone’s taste, but to my eyes, they are majestic. Nodding donkeys and other artifacts of oil-based technology are ugly, and belong to a time that should by now be far behind us.

East Texas

It’s the 16^th straight day of triple-digit temperatures – above 100°F (38°C). It’s too hot to do anything much outside. One of my favorite routes out of Dallas is Route 80, eastbound – just past Fruitvale and down a small country lane, hardly even signposted, is Caney Creek cowboy church, which is where I headed. I’ve been there before, though only for the rodeo, and not for a service. The people, as in every cowboy church I’ve been to, are friendly, and not pushy. I lost count of the number of people that came up to welcome me, and shake my hand. Donations are purely voluntary – no plate is passed around. It’s not necessary to get dressed up, and you can get up for coffee and doughnuts from the kitchen anytime. You don’t have to sing unless you want to, and you can just clap along or tap your feet if you prefer. The band plays Christian country and gospel songs, and the octogenarian fiddler keeps up just fine. And always, the final song is Happy Trails.

After the service, I took Route 80 back west as far as the intersection with Route 19, and then headed north. At the intersection there’s a fruit stand, where I bought purple hull peas and melons – fresh fruit and vegetables are abundant at this time of year, and I’m staying in a “long stay” hotel that has cooking facilities – pure joy! About 15 miles north is the small town of Emory, where I noticed that many cars were pulling into the Y’all Come Back Café, so I stopped for lunch. Nothing fancy about the place, but it was packed, which is always a good sign. There was a single space at the counter, and I sat down next to an old guy who goes there every Sunday. His hands shook with a slight tremor as he ate the same lunch he always has. It turns out he was stationed at RAF Brize Norton during the war. I ordered Chicken Fried Chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, and sweet tea (yes – that’s it in the picture), and we chatted about his time there until my food arrived. It was delicious – succulent chicken, crispy on the outside, potatoes generously covered with gravy, with an extra dish of gravy on the side for good measure.

40 miles further on I passed through another small town – Celeste. I don’t know if anyone that lives there is proud of it – it sure doesn’t look like it. Almost all of the storefronts were boarded up, and the “City Hall and Police Department” building is seriously in need of refurbishing. I know it’s tough to keep rural communities going these days – we see it in England, too – but if nobody steps up to the plate to do something about it, we’ll all be living in cities like rats in an overcrowded cage. 

Today, the US Women’s Soccer team played Japan in the final of the World Cup. They lost after a penalty shootout, which is never a satisfactory end to a game – especially such an important one. After the game, the US team goalie, Hope Solo, had this to say:

“We lost to a great team, we really did. Japan is a team that I’ve always had a lot of respect for, and I truly believe that something bigger was pulling for this team. As much as I’ve always wanted this, if there was any other team I could give this to it would have to be Japan. I’m happy for them and they do deserve it.”

I wish we heard more of this sentiment in professional sports – I’ve had enough of these “overpaid soccer stars, prancing teens, Australian soaps, American rap, Estuary English, baseball caps”. I think it’s way past time we kicked men out of positions of power, and gave women a shot at it – they certainly couldn’t do worse.

Football

It’s been a football-themed weekend – American football, that is. Superbowl is coming up (this year it will be in the new Cowboys Stadium in Arlington – visible from my hotel room on the 7^th floor) – and we’re in the middle of playoffs. Superbowl is big. As well as athletes and fans, it is expected that 15,000 prostitutes will descend on the area.

A little background, perhaps, would be helpful. There are two “conferences” in American pro football (similar to “divisions” in the UK) – the AFC (American Football Conference) and the NFC (National Football Conference). Each conference contains 16 teams, and during the year, they play each other within their own conference. At the end of the year, the playoffs establish the best team in each conference, and the two winners play each other in the Superbowl.

The pro football teams are populated almost exclusively from the best college team players, and this, of course, means that college football is big money. The annual NFL draft, when the NFL teams select from eligible college players, is a huge, nationally reported, event.

The weekend is football-themed because there’s also a lot of college football activity locally – Texas A&M, the Aggies, played LSU, Louisiana State University, at the Cowboys Stadium; and the hotel is full of teams of cheerleaders from high schools across the country, competing in the National Cheerleaders Association championships. This is one of the things I like about football: a high school not only has a football team, but supporting cheerleaders and a marching band. It’s not only the “jocks” that can achieve.

An NFL football team (that is, in both conferences, 32 teams) obviously needs “understudies” for each position. If it’s possible to associate any cerebral activity with football, then the position of quarterback is possibly the most cerebral. For an important position like this, there are typically 3 players on the team. A statistic you won’t see quoted very often is that, out of the 96 quarterbacks on the 2010 roster, exactly 8 are black. This is a little on the low side, given that blacks constitute 12.4% of the population. Just another example of the many dual standards that exists this side of the pond – “racial equality” is sacrosanct, but football is even more so.

But I shouldn’t be negative – it is, after all, only a game. Which is why I wonder why they get paid so much …

Movies

It’s been a two movie weekend. The hotel was fully booked, mostly with supporters of the Corn Huskers – the football team from the University of Nebraska. They played the Sooners, from Oklahoma University, at the new Cowboys stadium in Arlington.

College football is almost more popular than professional football in the US. We don’t really have anything comparable in England, but here, sport of all kinds is big money to universities. Although athletes can’t be paid, they usually receive scholarships, which is often the only way they would ever be able to afford a college education. And the professional teams are almost exclusively populated from the ranks of the college teams. The only sport that doesn’t follow this model is baseball – I’m sure there’s a very interesting sociological story that could be derived from this.

On Friday night, the Nebraska supporters were quite vocal. They were a little more subdued this morning, after their team lost. It was quite close – 23-20 – but the right team probably won. I have a fairly independent view, with no real affiliation (apart from working with an Okie) to either team, but the Huskers’ quarterback really sucked. I feel sorry for the guy I chatted to in the elevator who had driven down – 12 hours. The journey back would have been so much easier if his team had won.

The movies. Yesterday, Black Swan. The same director as The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky), which I loved, and with an IMDb score of 8.9/10 – very impressive. The matinee, at 2pm, was packed, which I’ve never seen before. It was great – very well acted, and with a good storyline. There were a number of scenes that made you wonder what was going on, but these all fell into place once you saw the ending. I love movies like that – very satisfying. Summarizing the storyline doesn’t do it justice, but here it is: lead ballerina in a production of Swan Lake is obsessed by achieving perfection.

Today, 127 hours. Director Danny Boyle, who most recently did Slumdog Millionaire. It’s based on a true story – the guy who had to hack off his own arm to free himself from being trapped by a rockfall while canyoneering in Utah. It’s not an easy story to make into an engaging film, and, of course, reviews have often focused too much on the hacking-the-arm-off scene. I didn’t find that unduly disturbing. It’s interesting (in an odd sort of way) to wonder at what point you might be able to do the same thing in similar circumstances.

My taste in movies almost certainly doesn’t coincide with yours, but I did recommend Winter’s Bone, that I think is now up for an award. So I’m not too far off.

Staying Local

I’m “on call” this weekend, so I can’t venture far afield – but I can always find something to do locally. A couple of weeks back, I discovered an old VHS tape that Lucy had recorded, of me on Breakfast Television in Cayman. I brought it to the States with me, with the intention of getting it transcribed to DVD, and thence to AVI format. As luck would have it, at last week’s Diwali festival, I saw a video/photo company advertised. One of my Indian colleagues tracked down his address, and I set the SatNav with the address this morning. To cut a long story short, I finished up outside his house, and he’s transcribing it for me. It seems that he (Krishna) was responsible for all the video at the Diwali festival – quite impressive.

 

There are no movies on that I want to see, so I headed over to Dallas to the Farmers’ Market to pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables. As well as getting lunch – two “brisket tacos”, with soft tortillas, barbecued brisket, avocado and pico de gallo – I bought blueberries, corn and pears. As I made my way back to the car, I passed a country band, playing C&W music (you never see anyone of this age busking in England – I suppose we’re too reserved, which is a shame), and then a guy on blues harmonica. He was very good, and I told him so. He detected my British accent, and asked if I had ever heard of Larry Adler – of course, I had, and he was bowled over. We chatted for quite a while about what an influence Larry Adler had been on him, and he told me that, after Adler had escaped from the US after being hauled up in front of McCarthy’s witch hunt, he came to England. He never left, and, among other things, performed privately for the Queen Mother every New Year. I asked if he could play Sonny Terry’s “Whoopin’ the Blues”, and he tried very gamely – it was good, but it wasn’t Sonny Terry!

They’ve had “mid-term” elections here this week, with disastrous results for the incumbent Democrats. The electoral system seems to be designed to almost guarantee constant gridlock. What little Obama has done over the past two years, the Republicans have vowed to undo. I have no faith in any of them (any more than the politicians in England). As the saying goes here, “They couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the sole!”

Sketches from the plane

What’s the purpose of wearing a hat? In cold weather, it’s commonly believed that most body heat is lost through the top of your head; while this isn’t true, it’s pervasive enough to make people wear hats. In hot weather, it can shade your eyes and face from the heat of the sun. Both good reasons, if slightly misguided. But on a plane? It could be that you’re hiding a huge boil, that’s ready to burst; or a bald patch in the shape of the Queen Mary; or a third ear. My imagination can make the reasons so much more spectacular than reality. So … take the hat off, asshole. Especially if you’re wearing headphones.

 “Chicken or beef?”
It’s a simple enough question – don’t over-complicate it. Chicken is the “lite” option; beef is the heavy, over-salted one. Just pick one, and don’t bother asking, “What vegetables does it come with?”, or, “Is it free range?”. It’s airline food – it’s supposed to fill time, not your appetite.

When they come round with the drinks trolley, get one. Better still, get two – you never know when they’ll come round again. Air travel used to be a pleasure; these days, you need an anaesthetic.

 Relax. Get on the plane as soon as you can, and watch the cabaret – the other passengers trying to fit oversized “carry-ons” into the overhead compartments. It’s the most entertainment you’re going to get. You’ve either seen the movies already, or there’s a good reason why you haven’t.

Take your shoes off – it’s amazing how much more relaxed it makes you feel. But if you need to go to the restroom, put them back on first. Just trust me on this one.

 Flight attendants are not your personal assistants. They may seem as if they are, but that’s just the way they’re trained. The best routes, like the transatlantic ones, are allocated by seniority (otherwise known as “age”). That’s why, when they talk about “wide-bodied”, they aren’t necessarily talking about the planes.

Denison

The movie “The Social Network” was released on Friday. There was quite a lot of advance “buzz” about it, and it’s being shown in just about every movie theater in town. My favourite local theater is the Angelika, in Dallas – I refer to it as an “arts theater”, because it tends to show non-mainstream movies, except when a mainstream movie warrants exposure. This one does. There are enough reviews about it already, so there’s no point in adding mine, but I will say that 8.6/10 on IMDb.com is no mean feat, and I thought it was well worth the price of the ticket, and, more importantly, well worth 120 minutes of my time.

The Katy

Because I anticipated crowds, I went to an 11am performance. Before the movie started, an advert extolled the virtues of “Downtown Denison’s Arts & Cultural District”. Since I had an afternoon to fill, it seemed like a good idea to check it out. Denison is about 75 miles north of Dallas. It was founded in 1872, as a depot for “the Katy” railroad – that’s the Missouri-Kansas-Texas, or “the K-T”. It’s the birthplace of a few notable people – Dwight Eisenhower (the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces during WWII), John Hillerman (of Magnum P.I. fame), and, most recently, “Sully” Sullenberger, who “landed” US Airways flight 1549 in the Hudson River last year. Denison has suffered the fate of so many railroad towns, and the “historic downtown” area is depressed, and depressing.

A mural in Denison

It may seem that there’s no relationship between the movie and Denison, but there is. It’s history repeating itself. The railroads made people and cities rich, because they fulfilled a need at the time, as do internet social networks (or internet anything, for that matter) now. But we humans are fickle, slaves to fashion and “progress”. Just as Denison has been unable to reinvent itself as the railroads decline, or become more automated, so Facebook will ultimately be surpassed by the next generation of “killer apps”. The principals, of course, will get out long before they lose money – it’s the derivative industries, the supporting infrastructure, and the people that depend on it, that will be left holding the bag. It’s evolution, I suppose – the survival of the fittest. But sometimes I wonder just how fit we need to be …

A mural on Main Street

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