USA Email Series 18: Norman Bates, pit helmets, Paint the World and sandy sliding‏

(First sent: 20th October 2009)

Saddle up you beautiful people,

Welcome all to this week's round up of my Texan adventures and, like a cowpoke in a brothel, I've come over all giddy at the prospect of sharing my wealth. The wealth of experience that is, that comes from spending any time in the lone star state.

This week I marvelled at the natural beauty of Texas whilst travelling through the huge landscapes, that go from horizon to horizon at times. It truly has beautiful views that bowl and rise across the horizon,giving the impression of passing through a desert of heaven.

Surely nothing can spoil the majesty of the jagged mountains of the Rockies, speckled by hawks and vultures that frequently hover above an unseen prey? Of course something can, and that's the unrelenting titery of the people who live here.

It's not that Texans are all bad, just living on a different plain of reality to the rest of America and the whole world. Hollow eyed and no necked, the average Texan wanders around, their minds seemingly struggling to comprehend the sights, colours and shapes their eyes provide, and after some confusion, settle on tethering their insecurities to semi-annoyance that such inconveniences as 'other people' and 'other ideas' exist and wrestling them to the ground then riding them around like cattle at a rodeo.

Take, for example, the owner of the hostel I'm staying at. Not withstanding that he lords over a hotel / hostel riddled with cats and peeling paint, he possesses the charm and easy going demeanour of Norman Bates having just lost a scrabble competition with one of the cats. He is a man of such petty annoyances that the inconvenience of people actually wanting to stay at his hostel, manifests itself daily in his fury.

The first indication of his fury came as I attempted to secure the whereabouts of his hostel. Alone and confused, I called him from the bus:

Me: I'm a little confused, which stop do I need to get off at?
Bates: (suffering sigh, followed by an inaudible..)New Bruninininnnfsffet (sic) and Carson.
M: Sorry..?
B: (pause, for effect) 'Humph' NEW....BRUNS....FELT....AND....CARSON

The self satisfied tit might have well have added "AM... I... GOING... TO... QUICKLY... FOR... YOU". I held my tongue

M: So that's New Brunsfelt and Carson, thanks very much.
B: Yes, hurry up, it's nearly time I left.
M: I'm on the bus now.
B: whatever, just make sure you are here before eight.

Charming.

Nothing like a warm welcome to a new city. So, I arrived (well before eight, despite temptations to wait outside until 5 to, just to make sure he didn't leave on time) and we began the tooth pulling that was checking in.

B: Name?
M: Richard, Richard Adams.
B: No. (What do you mean 'no', YES, THAT IS MY NAME) Reference number?
M: Sorry, I booked through Hostel World (a website for travellers)
B: 'humph' Well, sign in here.
M: This page?
B: Noooooo... this one...

And so it went on. The full process took about twenty minutes and I signed in on a grand total of three of the little pages of his book as he had no idea where to put me in his little book. Frankly, I was amused by his ever growing annoyance, which he seemed to think was somehow my fault. You should have seen his face when I enquired if there was Wi Fi. You'd think I'd just asked him to gold plate my room and allow me to use his open mouth as a toilet.

But my hatred of the Texan isn't restricted to stormin' Norman. Upon checking into a hostel that can only be described as a trainee prison, I was confronted with Rob. A Texan who actually frightened me with the singular determination that he was worthwhile. We chatted. Actually, he talked. And talked. I learnt, with some difficulty (due to his non stop monotone, white noise voice) that he was a poet so I cheerily declared that I went to school in Stratford. He immediately disappeared to his room and reappeared with about forty lovingly printed copies of some of the worst poetry this side of the Vogon's.

It was dross of the highest order. Really, really terrible. But being the polite chap that I am, I read with interest and learnt that he sells these around the town and his inspiration comes from the scriptures. It was the kind of poetry that imbeciles write for chav weddings. I think that a bit of sick came up in my throat when I read the one titled: LOVE. He pointed out that it was merely 'PART 1' ...don't you threaten me.

But, you have to admire the guy. Despite little or no talent, he was persistent in his efforts to sell me some and as I left for the night, he stated 'We'll don't say I didn't give you the chance to buy some. I always try to cut a deal' I'd rather he'd cut out the part of my brain that stores memories with a rusty masonry drill.

I don't mean to sound like a pompous asshole, scoffing down my nose (which I probably do, however, it's my email, so get bent) but there's something about people who choose to spread their life out to total strangers the second they meet them that makes them about as warm and cuddly as a razor blade flavoured hot chocolate. He was so assured that he even asked me if I had heard of him in my studies. Are you kidding? It would be like spending a term studying the jokes on lolly sticks, or a fine art student majoring in 'street vendors'. "No", I replied. "I hadn't".

The self assured nature of Texans that rubs me so far up the wrong way it practically puts me into orbit is true of in most of them that I've come across. From the bus driver who repeated EVERY message eight times, each repetition getting gradually slower, to ensure they were conclusively patronising, to the store clerk who insisted that the bus stop I needed was in precisely the wrong place. Physically, they are all identikit versions of each other. Not exactly fat but perfect rectangles, like they have been prepared for stacking and shipping off to the next town in the back of their monster trucks; trucks that, by the way, are seriously called names like 'Avalanche', 'Ram' and 'Rancher'. I was waiting to see a Ford 'Hugecock' or a Chevy 'Daterapist' chug past but I'm sure they are in production.

However, there is one exception to this rule. Just one. His name is Antonio. Although he lives in Texas he is originally from Kansas (which explains a lot) and for no reason at all took it upon himself to guide me around El Paso. We saw beautiful sights, mountains and the 'Amaaaasssssiiiinng' (sorry) New Mexico national park of White Sands.

OK, so he kept telling me how his girlfriend was 22 (he is at least 55), and that his Chinese girlfriend (another one - god knows how) had an excellent body (uuurrrrggghh. Get the drill again) but his wit and passion for the area he lived in was infectious. And the guy wore a Pit helmet. All the time. Without irony. A genius among psychopaths.

So, that's about it for today. Antonio and I are off to get married now, but before the nuptials perhaps you'll take the time to peruse my list of happenings from this week? Or perhaps not...

1. Was alarmed to read 'Missile test centre' on the way into the national park. My ability to run like a squirrel from danger at a moments notice might not be enough, especially with the American Army pastime that is 'friendly fire'.
2. Visited the Alamo and was a bit surprised that the 'battle that symbolises Texan strength'(TM) ended with everyone getting massacred by the Mexican army. Hmmmm. History isn't what it used to be.
3. Was overwhelmed by how good the El Paso art museum was. For a tiny, run down, town it was superb. I had a lovely chat with a very fat lady in the gift shop to boot.
4. Was underwhelmed by the 'History of El Paso museum'. I learnt they have an airport, and it's good for planes to land in. Whoop. De. Fookin. Do.
5. Noticed that, uniquely in San Antonio, only the ethnic minorities ride the bus. Everyone else has massive trucks. It's INSANE.
6. Was appalled by a sign outside a hardware shop that said 'Paint the World' and had a picture of a pot of paint being poured on top of a globe. The climate change crisis hasn't yet reached Texas it seems.
7. Perhaps this attitude problem is to do with Texan history, where I learnt that, after various battles with Mexico, it became an independent state with their own army. Maybe that has lead to a defiant attitude ('Don't mess with Texas') and feelings of separation from the rest of America and indeed the world.
8. Or perhaps they're just wankers.
9. They do have a lovely library in San Antonio and a beautiful city with some of the best architecture I've seen so far. A striking mix of Mexican influences and modern functionality. Or something.
10. My hostel in San Antonio can generously be described as 'crap'. It's attitude is summed up by self righteous messages (probably typed by Norm himself) such as 'This hostel has been established since 1983 with no help whatsoever from state or government funds'. A sad fact that would have had me weeping into the threadbare carpet or slitting my wrists into the filthy sinks were it not for the fact that they actually charge for the rooms. Poor them. No funding apart from the rates that they charge. Boo, and indeed, hoo.
11. Noticed the 'Davy Crockett Hotel'. Ah, dear, sweet America. Cashing-in as art form.
12. Had a lovely stroll around the river in San Antonio. Like I say, it is a lovely city. Apart from the people.
13. I can't do justice to my trip to White Sands with words. It was formed as the land dropped to form a bowl, about 10 million years ago, creating a crater surrounded by mountains which slowly filled to form a lake. The surrounding rock was eroded over time to form a seabed of gypsum and, now that the sea has dried out, what remains is miles and miles of sand dunes of pure gypsum. The shadows and sweeping curves against the backdrop of the mountains was superb (and made for some delectable pictures) especially at sunset...
14. ...and also, when sliding down them on the sledges that Antonio brought with him. Told you he was a legend. The sight of him bombing down a dune head first and crashing out will live with me forever. Genius.
15. I am experimenting with facial hair (what there is of it). Pictures coming up on facebook for you to add comments to. I might turn it into a Big Brother style vote on whether it stays or goes. As if I had any interest in your opinion anyway. HA.

So that's your lot. Ranting but secretly delighted with everything, I continue apace. Next up is Austin for what promises to be a very different and altogether more liberal side of Texas. Austin is famous for it's excellent music scene and I hope to God that the hostel is better. Can't be less welcoming than this toilet.

Until then, as always...

Byeloveyoubye. xx

...I met a Japanese gent in Denver who had been there and had also met Antonio. He was dragged into Mexico to meet his 'girlfriend' at the local strip bar. Funnily enough, my new friends English seemed to fail him when I asked what he got up to that night. Amasing how that happens...