Austin Part 3: Riding the Rails

The best way to kick start a great night is with a great meal and a great drink.  Is it possible to have an incredible outing without?  Of course, but I wouldn't recommend it.

With our great meal in stomach, we enjoyed an after dinner, booze flavored coffee.  We watched the day crowd turn into the night crowd from Halcyon's fantastic viewing platform.  With darkness approaching, we morphed from men about town (daytime version) to men about town (night time version.)  Our night time selves started the night at: 

Place Number 7: Peché - One of the best fancy cocktail bars in Austin.

Peché refers to itself as a preprohibition/absinthe bar.  There is a a long story that the owner, who is usually present at the bar, will tell you.  For the case of this story read "preprohibition" as "fancy cocktail".  The drinks are grand, but the real appeal is the bartenders.  Correction, the real appeal is usually bartenders.

I would love to say that I found this joint on one of my daytime excursions through Austin, but alas the credit goes to my sister.  She had come down to visit me during Easter weekend.  I had the misfortune of being employed at the time, so after retrieving her from the airport I jet set to work and dumped her in downtown Austin with a key to my apartment.  When I returned to Austin I found my slightly more intoxicated sister at this gem of a place.  Luckily she was in good spirits . . . and was being aggressively hit on by the owner of said establishment, which worked out well for our bar tab.  

When I lived in Austin a bartender at this joint won bartender of the year from some publication.  I'm not exactly sure how prestigious bartender awards are on a scale from buzzfeed list to the Pulitzer for Exemplary Achievment in Mixological arts, but it briefed well.  The bartenders are incredibly knowledgeable and can craft a dynamite cocktail from a couple of adjectives and possibly some nouns.  For example tell them: I'm feeling sleepy and I've been watching the Walking Dead for 36 straight hours and bam, Corpse Reviver in your face.  

I always try to stop at whenever I'm back in town.  I had been by the previous week and had met a bartender who was dealing with some financial issues.  By financial issues I mean that her roommate robbed her and charged hundreds of dollars to her credit cards.  It would just so happen that when Dave, Andrew, and myself entered the bar on this night this unfortunate soul was tending the bar.  For the sake of this story I will refer to her as Penny.

The story begins as we mosey up to the bar to order a cocktail, err three cocktails.  I recognized Penny and asked about her unfortunate situation.  She was surprised that I knew about her situation and I was a little offended she didn't remember me (Me!), but it fueled the conversation.  She revealed a delightful anecdote about running across the street to a new bar inside a parking garage, aptly named Garage.

A quick clarification for future understanding.  Penny was snotty and curt, however she had two redeeming characteristics.  1.) She smiled and laughed on occasion and 2.) She was pretty.  A coworker of hers later described her as such: "She's a bitch, but she's cute enough to get away with it."  An apt description.  As our merry band was squaring our bill, Andrew observed Penny swipe his card twice.  This (greatly abridged) conversation ensued:

Andrew: "Did you just swipe my card twice?"

Penny: "Yep, I rang it up wrong the first time."

Andrew: "Well, can I get the receipt saying the first one was cancelled?"

Penny:  "No."

Andrew:  "What, why?

Penny: "That's not how we do it here.  I can get my manager to explain it."

Andrew:  "Sure, I don't understand why you can't give me a receipt."

The manager came and the conversation lasted for another 10 minutes.  Dave and I stewed in our ever increasing awkwardness, made forced conversation, and periodically looked around the room to ensure the decor hadn't changed.  Andrew gave up (thank the Maker) and we went to a happier place.  This place:

I don't know if I should be posting this, but . . . this is the sign
for the incredibly well hidden Garage Bar.  It's super secret.

Place Number 8:  Garage Cocktail Bar - A lounge style cocktail bar in the middle of a parking garage and possibly in an alternate dimension.

Garage was located in one of the ubiquitous concrete behemoths that sprinkle the landscape of downtown Austin, however we could not find it.  Clearly, this bar was doing a great job hiding itself from all the riff raff.  

Luckily we found a kindly parking attendant who pointed us towards our destination, and thus prevented us from being deemed riff raff.  The only identifier for Garage, is a neon sign that clearly states "Garage".  Boy were our faces red, having missed such an obvious indicator.  We hesitantly walked past the sign and into an outdoor foyer.  The bar opened up to a long lounge style bar.  I remember jazz playing in the background, or maybe it was in my head.  It was a very swank place indeed.

Andrew was still feeling a bit off kilter about the credit card fiasco, so our stay in the hidden lounge was short.  We decided to move to a scene with happier vibes:

Austin Music Scene:
People identify Austin with live country music.  Although the country is great, it is just the tip of the iceberg.  It has an incredibly eclectic music scene.  Live music can be found at almost every bar on almost every night.  Here is a brief, but all too short breakdown of some of the places that have Cale Bakken's seal of approval in the Live Music Capital of the World.  The White Horse: Super eclectic crowd, always a great country band.  Firehouse Hostel Lounge: Wednesday night open mic night, this where all the local performers in Austin come together to cut loose with other artists, the signup is filled 3 hours in advance.  Saxon Pub: Incredibly intimate setting where local Austin legends perform experiences, these are full scale entertainment extravaganzas.  Black Heart: A new favorite of mine, outdoor small venue with killer shows and a vintage/pinup/rockabilly vibe.  There are so many other places, such as Donn's Depot, Austin City Music Hall, Maggie Mae's, Threadgill's, The Broken Spoke, Elephant Room, Stubb's BBQ, and dozens of other great top notch joints.  I'm not even going to touch all the music festivals, which are great and as varied as the venues.  The great thing about Austin  isn't the huge amount (and it is a huge amount)of music venues, it's how unique all the great ones feel.  There is a place and vibe in Austin for everyone to groove to.  

Place Number 3: The White Horse (at night)

A quick cab ride later and we found ourselves back at the White Horse.  It was packed with its standard nonstandard crowd. Dave was hell bent on finding bluegrass in Austin, country music was playing for an indefinable demographic of Austinites honky tonking the night away.  Not exactly bluegrass, but I didn't have the heart to tell Dave.  Needless to say the crowd was as lively as ever and people were happy.

Andrew and I slipped off to a few other staples (Yellow Jacket Social Club and Whisler's, see Austin Part 1 for a brief description of said rockin' joints) and returned a few drinks later.  Bar time was called and we cabbed it back to the hostel to the familiar scene of travelers hanging around outside chatting.  Always a lively bunch, the hostel crowd, and the conversation was as varied as the people.  As Andrew and Dave slipped off to bed I remained engaged into conversation with, Veronica, a young traveler from Los Angeles and an old hippie, Jordan, who was on his first Austin adventure.

Traveling surprises a person with the incredible and unexpected continuously.  The narrative of my night seemed pointed towards a story of drinking and dancing into the wee hours, but that's not how it ended.  The night for ended watching the sun come up across 6th street.  I spent 4 hours chatting with this girl about topics more personal than strangers usually do.

It is deceptively easy to open up to someone who you expect to never see again.  If, however the unexpected does happen and you do cross paths with the fellow traveler, there is already a deep connection.  We ended our chat at 7 in the morning so she could grab her things to catch a train back to L.A.  On further reflection she may have been traveling as a hobo, in fact the more I reflect I'm pretty sure she jumping the rails back to Cali.

I retired back to my bunk profoundly content.  Little did I know that around the time that I was retiring to bed a series of events was beginning that would shape the next day's events.  However, that is for the next time.

Takeaway: A great meal had led to a great coffee and cigar, which had led to a great drink, which had led to hidden parking garage lounge, which had led to some honky tonking, which had led to an incredible 4 hour conversation with a person whom I may never see again.  Did you follow the causal connections?  Me either, but sometimes your just have to hop on the train and ride the rails.

Austin Part 2: The Evolutionary Remainder: A Tale of Two Stories

The story continues . . .

Leaving the majesty of Hamilton Pool behind, Andrew, Dave and myself headed over to The White Horse to retrieve my debit card.  The White Horse is a staple for Austin locals because it is just so . . . Austin (ya'll).  At night it has a motley crew of patrons boogeying down to music (usually of a country variety) and during the day there are always a few locals in carousing with their favorite mates and bartenders.  This brings us to . . .

Picture of The White Horse's stage as seen through the eyes of Jack White.

Place Number 3: The White Horse (during the day)

We arrived at The White Horse around 4 in the afternoon and were greeted by this scene:  Two bartenders having a lively chat with an older gentlemen who was clearly a regular.  One of the bartenders was Eric from the night before.  He recognized me, we shared a cordial greeting and recounted the previous night's events.

Retelling #1: Cale's story.

The night at the White Horse was a lively one with people of all ages partaking in drink and honky-tonk with their friends both new and old.  I moseyed up to the bar and had a chat with a young female type as we waited for our drinks.  I heard the young lass tell the bartender that it was her birthday and this is where I stopped paying attention.  Next to me was a 40 something couple who I had been talking with earlier in the night.  We were mid chat when from behind I hear this exchange:

Birthday Girl, "Dude, it's my birthday.  Can't I get a shot?"

Bartender (and possibly a lumberjack) Eric, "I'm not giving you a God damn shot, and you can get the fuck out of my bar!"

"Woah" thought me, "that escalated quickly."

Later when we were about to leave I asked another bartender for my card, but he was unable to find it, so I just left, vowing to recover it the subsequent night.

From the story I remembered that bartender Eric was a dickhole.  However, the cordial bartender in front of me on this day and the retelling that he presented quickly made me change my mind about him and the state I was in the night prior.

Retelling #2 Eric's Story (as retold by me by exception).

Eric's story begins much the same as mine, except it wasn't a young female type that I was talking with at the bar, but a young long haired male type . . . The guy (apparently) did tell Eric that it was his birthday, but this dude was known at the bar for stirring up trouble and being an overall unpleasant Pete.  When I averted my attention to the couple, the young man(?) would not stop asking for free drinks and shots in an incredibly belligerent manner.

It was at this point that I overheard the aforementioned conversation.  

Given the new facts from the night before I am inclined to believe Eric's retelling.  I told him the story as I remembered it and we all had a good laugh.  Eric quickly found my card and returned it to me, which I immediately returned to him for a round a beers for myself and the Aussies.  They each got a local Pearl Snap and I, being a stickler for the old school, ordered a Schlitz.

The old patron whom I alluded to at the beginning of the tale said he would pay for mine since I ordered a Schlitz.  Turns out the guy was a local distributor and Schlitz was one of the beers he sold to the bar.  Score!  We talked about beers, especially the old guard of Hams, Shlitz, and Blatz, for a long time as Andrew and Dave explored the premises.

I emerged outside to find Dave and Andrew chilling on the outside patio next to a Taco truck.  Dave had a helping of Austin trailer food from Bomb Tacos.  It is near impossible to go wrong with food trucks in Texas, especially if they are parked on or near the premise of a great bar.  The food will always, always be great.

Having accomplished our mission we decided to head back to the hostel to freshen up after our outdoor adventure at Hamilton Pool.  I suggested dinner at one of my favorite places in Austin and another expertly hidden gem.

After you high five Bucky on your way into Lavaca Street Bar look immediately to your right.  
You will be greeted by this magical sight.

Place Number 4: Surf and Turf - Best Fish Tacos and Bar food in Austin which is inside:

Place Number 5: Lavaca Street Bar: Service Industry Bar and Home of the Austin University of Wisconsin -Madison Alumni Association

Surf and Turf is connected to and serves the food for Lavaca Street Bar.  Lavaca Street Bar a shining example of a service industry bar in Austin.  It always has great drink specials and is always full of bartenders, cooks, and servers from other places around Austin.  It holds an extra special significance for me because it is the University of Wisconsin Alumni Bar.  Every Saturday there is a huge Buckingham U. Badger outside that always brings a tear to my eye and a high to my five.  It just so happens that Surf and Turf serves some of the best food in Austin.  The fish tacos are the main attraction and they are out-fricking-standing.  It is by far the best fish taco I have ever had the good fortune of eating.

Upon arriving I wrangle us up a round of $1 Tecates and move over to the restaurant to place an order.  We sit, we drink, we talk about my plans for us the evening, and we wait for the food.  The food arrives and the table goes silent, nothing but contented chewing.  I ask the guys what they think to which Dave replies "This is the best meal I've had since I've been in America."  

God damn right it is.

By the time we finish eating and slam down a few more Tecates it's getting close to sunset.  I suggest we head to: 

Place Number 6: Halcyon Cafe - Best Boozy coffee and people watching in downtown Austin.

Picture of one such weirdo that you will observe on 4th Street.

Halcyon is conveniently situated next door to Lavaca Street Bar.  We each grab a booze infused coffee drink, I grab a stogie and we head outside to watch some people as the sun starts to set.  Halcyon is situated in one of the most interesting corners in Austin.  Fourth Avenue is referred to as the warehouse district.  It is an interesting assortment of all types of bars from the white table cloth fine dining to Irish pubs and everything in between.  The warehouse district starts at Halcyon and moves east down 4th.  North and West of Halcyon are the business type bars that cater to the banking crowd that works in the heart of the city, and on the opposite side of the street is the beginning of the gay district.  At Halcyon you can see all varieties of people moving off to their different scenes for the night.  It is one of the most eclectic neighborhoods in Austin.  It makes for a perfect place to plan for an evening out in Austin.



As the day turns to night we watched the menagerie of people scuttle, swagger, and saunter by in all their different types of attire.  We carefully formulate a plan for the evening that begins at one of the best cocktail bars in Austin (Peché) and move generally back towards The White Horse.  However, that will be a tale for next week, chock full of snotty bartenders, garage bars, and bluegrass boogeying back at The White Horse.

Before I conclude . . .

The Moral of the Story:  People aren't rude, we imagine it dude.  

I feel that most slights that I have experienced have really just been products of my imagination.  The daytime interaction with jovial bartender Eric showed me that he wasn't an uptight hipsterjack, but instead a bartender doing his job.  I have a theory as to why our brains automatically make these snap judgments.  In order to make myself sound smart I will call this theory: The Theory of the Evolutionary Remainder (as told from a soap box).  

It's not for everyone, but those who really get what cereal is trying to do will like it.

There was once a time where people were cold, hungry, and fighting for their lives against all comers.  In this state of nature it is better to be alive than to be curious (we all know what happened to the cat, am I right?).   A hint of danger, or an awkward/unfamiliar situation in this state is one to be avoided, for safety.  Eventually, people banded together, humans created a buffer against the raw natural world, and laws governing interactions between people became enforceable. Therefore today, I don't think about getting mauled by a bobcat or bludgeoned by a random passerby as I walk down the street.  However, mankind has honed this survival instinct for so long that is still prevalent in us.  Today, it is possible to be mortally afraid without actually being in danger.  The fear is still real, but it's no longer directed towards anything substantial.  I would also postulate that we feel more mortal fear today than our ancestors precisely because of the product that keeps us safe.  Society creates safety, which allows for people to live closer, which allows for more opportunities to feel awkward, which creates more opportunity for this survival fear to manifest.

This fear is now a negative.  Today sociability is such an integral part of our life that anything that hinders it is a negative, a huge negative.  However, our brain needs to focus this survival fear on something so we don't become paranoid schizophrenic wrecks.  Thus the people around us become the convenient scapegoats.  

That's my theory based on my own experience and no research.  Has someone else already thought of it?  I don't care.  it's called the Evolutionary Remainder, because I said so.

Now that I've descended from my soap box, I believe that Austin is the methadone for this fear addiction.  People in Austin are so nice and outgoing, that beginning to see them as rude is so incongruous with reality that it makes you reconsider your entire world view.

Ipso facto Austin makes you a better person.

Austin Part 1: How to Find Narnia

There are few things better in this world than being a tourist in your own city, except perhaps being able to drag some unsuspecting schmucks along for the ride.  If said schmucks turn out to be a couple witty fun-loving blokes, well then America Joe you have all the edibles, drinkables, and explodables required for one heck of a 4th of July blowout . . . or to say it another way (if you're the Un-American Commie sort) a grand ol' time.  Funnily enough, I found myself in said circumstance when I returned to Austin.

I decided to give my patronage to an old firehouse turned into a hostel, aptly named the Firehouse Hostel.  Talk about a cool vibe.  Upon entering the hostel the receptionist informed me about the hostel bar's happy hour.  The entrance of the hostel was tiny.  There were stairs to my left, the receptionist dead ahead, and a bookshelf to my right.  I took in my surroundings and did a bit of spacial reasoning, and was a tad bit perplexed.  I asked where this obviously mini-bar was located.  To which the receptionist replied with this event, which I will explain visually:

     Why that just looks like an ordinary                  A handle!?  Well this bookshelf is                . . . Sweet Mary mother of Jesus;
      bookshelf.  Wonderfully firehouse                    becoming increasingly intriguing.                       Narnia!?  A magical place
      and Texas themed, but an ordinary                 What could possibly lay behind this                where fanciful creatures frolic
    bookshelf through and through.  Hold               gateway.  Could it be?  Dare I dream?             and the duchesse de bourgogne
the phone, what's that next to the firetruck?                                                                                                   flows like wine.

A God Damn Bar behind a bookshelf!  I transformed into Charlie walking into Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory for the first time.  I stood, eyes wide, mouth agape, taking in the majesty.  The receptionist drug me (against my will) back to the real world and gave me the key to my room.  I ran upstairs (no joke, I literally ran) to throw my stuff on the bed and check out my new favorite place in the whole wide world.  As I opened the bookshelf and passed through into Narnia I was greeted by an empty, dimly lit, divey type of bar with a singular bartender.  It was as though he had been waiting there 29 years for me to find him.  We chatted about Austin for a bit, he caught me up on how my city had changed in my absence.  I decided to grab a beer, seeing how it was a bar and all.  They had two beers on tap, one of which was a rotation of local microbrews and the other was the house beer: duchesse de bourgogne.  My favorite beer on tap, at a bar behind a bookshelf, at a hostel in an old converted fire station.  I challenge anyone to present a better way to start a trip.  Trick question, it's impossible.  

Fast Forward: 

Place: Narnia/Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory/Firehouse Lounge  
Time: Early Evening.  
Atmosphere: Awesome with a few people at the bar.

The New East 6th:
 East 6th was the place to go in Austin
 for dive bars.  However, with the prolonged, sustained growth
 that Austin has enjoyed over the past few years, the scenes
 have changed.  The old local spots have become infested with
 new arrivals and tourists.  This has created a shift in the
nightlife.  The touristy Dirty 6th infiltrated the yuppie West 6th.
 The yuppie crowd moved down to the chill local strip
called Rainey Street.The self proclaimed 'true locals' moved
from Rainey  to the ol' divey hipster refuge on East 6th.  This
created some great outdoor bars opening east of I-35.
  Where did the hipsters move?  Who cares.

I had an amiable chat with a few recent Texas State grads at my new favorite place for a bit and decided to venture off and take on the night solo.  As I walked about I ran into the grads and said to myself, "Nuts to a night out alone; I'm hanging with these fine folk."  We combined our forces and had an entertaining, but not entirely memorable night.  We went to a jazz club, explored the new and much improved East 6th, and the people at The White Horse stole my debit card.  After a bit too many drinks these nice young Texas State Bobcats dropped me off at my hostel and we parted ways.  Back at the hostel I was greeted by an lively group of people partaking in a particularly energized chat.

The Soul of East 6th:
This picture above accurately portrays the soul of the new East 6th.  The old counterculture vibe can still be felt, but it's an after image of a time past.  The late 90's/00's Austin rebels still inhabit the area, but they have traded in their screw 'the man' mantra for families.  Now most patrons on East 6th want cool neighborhood bars with great food, great drinks, and  a great atmosphere.  The melding of the younger crowd moving over from Rainey and the old guard keeping it real while keeping it family friendly, have created some of the best places to go out in Austin.  Whisler's (best brandy old fashioned in Austin), the old standard:The White Horse, and the above pictured outdoor gem, Yellowjacket Social Club (which isn't on a road, but rather off railroad tracks) are the figureheads of the new East 6th.

Enter the Aussies.  I began talking with Dave (Aussie #1) inside the hostel and revealed my plans to venture to Hamilton Pool the next day.  We looked up some pictures and Dave was sold, so he asked to join.  To which I said, "Sure."  After a bit more energized conversation I ventured up to bed.

The next day Dave and our other roommate Andrew (Aussie #2) made preparations to head to the Pool of Hamilton.  I suggested that we grab some grub before we made the journey out to the Pool.  This is where I began dragging these unsuspecting Aussies to all my favorite places in Austin and all the places I had missed when I was a local.

Place number 1: An old favorite, Easy Tiger.

This is a gem hidden in the heart the touristy part of dirty 6th street.  It has a great selection beers, homemade breads, and in house cured meats.  It produces the best pastrami sandwich I have ever put in my mouth (New York delis have nothing on Easy Tiger).  We had a couple brews, some rockin' homemade beef jerky, and some gigantic sandwiches and headed to place number 2.

Place Number 2: Hamilton Pool - An Austin must visit . . . that I had never visited.

Hamilton Pool with its insane looking natural dome.  The
stalagtites are covered in plant growth.  It makes for a very surreal
point of view.  The stalagtites take on the guise of conifer trees, so
the dome's ceiling looks like an inverted ground with trees
growing upside down.  The green water is usually swimable.
On most days the pool will be packed with people, except for
the days when there is too much poop in the water.  On this day
there was too much poop in the water. 

Hamilton Pool is a beautiful pool partially covered with an insane looking natural dome. When we arrived at the pool we were greeted by an incredibly awkward park ranger who informed us that the e-coli levels were too high for swimming.  Drat.  Apparently the e-coli levels rise when the rains come.  This is due to the fertilizer runoff from the farms above the pool.  Translation: too much cow poop in the pool to swim.  Gross.  After having some very odd conversations with the young park ranger (see below) and tens of minutes of gawking at the natural beauty we loaded in the car and headed back to civilization.

This is a venomous snake that the Hamilton Pool
park ranger was guarding.  Not be be confused with a
poisonous snake, as the the ignorant Andrew
inaccurately assumed.  The kindly, and in no way
odd, park ranger cleared it up for us: venomous
animals deliver a toxin into their target
that debilitate said target.  Poisonous animals,
however, deliver a toxin into their target that
debilitate said target.  

Picture of a turtle not giving a fuck.

Back in civilization we began another epic quest to recover the credit card that had been stolen from me by Eric: a kindly, misunderstood lumbersexual bartender type.  However, the tale of Cale getting his debit card back will be told in the next installation of Peregrine Discipline.

Quick Tangent to End the Tale: There are two modern day bastions for wandering souls. Coincidentally these are two of my favorite places in the whole wide world.  What are they?  Airport bars and hostels.  

First up airport bars: Every person who ambles up to an airport bar alone is there to meet other adventurers.  It is the most social place in the world.  Any spark of conversation and all at the bar become instant friends for a few minutes and possibly longer.  An added bonus is that everyone is either heading on an adventure or coming back from one, so the conversations are always interesting. 

Segue to . . .  

The Moral of the Story: Hostels are where interesting people gather and this people meeting resource is grossly underutilized by Americans.

Where interesting people gather

Very few people stay at hostels to avoid human interaction.  At every single hostel I have stayed (except for my first experience in Houston) I have chatted up, made friends with, and hit the town with people from the hostel.  Hostels naturally attract the fun, independent, and social. However, hostel culture is foreign to us yanks.  It's odd for Americans to share a space with strangers. However the trade of privacy for a social sanctuary for adventurers is more than worth the price of admission. My return to Austin would have been a much different experience without my new Aussie friends, and what made it possible? Hostels.

Start hosteling America. 

The Resonance Friendship: San Antonio

There are friends in our life that we will have forever.  I do not mean our closest friends (although of what I am about to speak may apply to them as well), or the friends we see every day.  I am talking about a resonance friendship.  

These are the people who we instantly connect with and the connection never weakens.  No matter the years or the miles apart, the resonance friendship never degrades.  I have been fortunate to have many of these in my life (#blessed).

Some are probably thinking, "But Cale aren't those your closest friends?"  Good question nameless reader, but I say nay.  A close friend to me is one who we make the time to see either weekly, monthly, or yearly based on proximity.  A resonance friend is a different breed.  

I will explain this context in great detail using the following anecdote.  In order to give a starting frame of reference: I consider Jason Voss from my previous post to be one.  

I packed up my beam machine and left College Station to meet up with another; Christopher Robinson.

This is the friendship that began my brain bubbling with the notion of the resonance friendship.  I met Chris at reception (good ol' 30th AG to those of you in the know) for basic training back in 2008.  In my 6 year army career (to include 2 deployments, my tutelage under at least 1 megalomaniac, and my graduate level study at Ranger School) reception was by far the most miserable period.  Weird sleep deprivation for in-processing tasks (hair cuts, briefings, and line standing), the slow revelation that I knew nothing about the army, and being surrounded by others which knew less: these all coalesced to make reception into a special type of misery.  

Luckily, I was older than the average GI Joe.  This gave me one decided advantage: I knew bullshit when I heard it.  Well, I usually knew bullshit when I heard it.  Chris was older as well, so we were able to chat about topics other than our inevitable 50 year army commitment.

It sounds like the beginning of a wonderful friendship, right?  Well we hung out for all of 3 days and then shipped off to basic.  We were in different platoons in basic training, which meant we saw very little of each other.

This is the last time I saw Chris before we met back up in San Antonio.  This is basic training graduation circa 2008 with our good friend Robert Chiang holding down the middle spot.

Let's move this story along 2 years.  

I am a fresh faced Lieutenant on my first deployment, slowly learning the ways of war on my patrol base south of Mosul, Iraq.  Chris is keeping army jets from colliding from the control tower in Mosul.  We became aware of each others' close proximity and scheduled a meet and greet.  However, this meeting never came to fruition.

Pretty anti-climactic eh?  Well let's fast forward to the more recent past.  When I started this blog I initially posted my route so old friends could contact me.  Many of them did.  Chris, however, was not one of them.  

The end.

Just kidding, he let me know that he was in San Antonio, so I penciled him in for the post College Station trip.  This was my first San Antonio trip as an adult.  

I met up with Chris at his place and we began by chatting.  We talked about the different paths our army careers had taken.  The experience of an officer is much different than that of an enlisted soldier.  I would hear this tale at few more times on my trip.  It is 100% true.  I can say with absolute certainty that I would be a different person if I had enlisted rather than commissioned.

Following a few war stories, we hopped in the car and headed to a local brewery called Freetail Brewery.  It was a brewery with some rocking food (the brisket cheese-steak was so nice I had it twice) and some really nice beers.  They had 3 sours on tap, if you know Cale Bakken, you know he's a son of a gun who likes his sours.  We drank, we ate, we got some cigars and returned to Chris's place.

We talked all night, we smoked all night, we drank all night, and I woke up the next morning feeling a full cigar enhanced mega-hangover.

Now this is where the story loses its force.  Old friends falling back into an old rhythm hardly makes for a good read.  We didn't go anywhere, we just drank, and talked for 2 days and 2 nights, and it was great fun.

San Antonio ended unceremoniously.  There was no grand farewell, there was no grand blow out night; it wasn't need.  It was a great time, chatting and chilling with a friend.  Allow me to apply an old adage to resonance friendship. "The ability to pickup where you left off" is the enduring characteristic of a resonance friendship, be it 15 minutes or 6 years.

According to Google this is a map of San Antonio . . . allegedly.  The red pin to the north is the part of San Antonio I saw.

Since this is a pseudo-travel blog here is my final analysis of San Antonio:  No idea.  Could be a cool city, could be the worst city in the U.S.  I have no idea.  I saw Freetail Brewery, which was rocking.  

So,

My reformed take on San Antonio:  Freetail Brewery is awesome.  That is all.

Old friends and God Damn Bowie Knives

After saying farewell to Houston I set off for a series of events in Austin.

I have completed 2 Austin trips in my travels.  The first trip I spent wandering around a city that was formerly my home.  I rambled and I roamed through a city that was once mine.  Austin had gone and changed on me.

I will delve into Austin in later posts.  Suffice it to say on my first trip, I merely wandered around the old stomping grounds.  I walked West 6th, and I people-watched with a pint on the new Rainey street (in the rain funnily enough).  

I felt like a ghost shambling through my former city.  I saw it through a spectral haze.  Everything was vaguely familiar . . . yet different.  I had become a stranger in my former home.  

This is one of the most famous Austin landmarks.  It is scrawled on the side of Jo's Coffee on Congress Ave. and it accurately represents my first trip to Austin.  It was painted over, but then painstakingly recreated because it had become such a landmark.  In summation, Austin I love you so much, you are the same yet so God damn different, but I still love you so much.

Perhaps that's a little melodramatic.  I still managed to have fun, meet some great people, caught up with some old friends (Note: 'caught up' can be read as 'got irresponsibly shmamered') and enjoyed the new city for what it had become.

'Twas a quick meet and greet with my old friend Austin.  From Austin I headed to College Station for a quick meet and greet with an old human friend.

College Station (Home of the Texas A&M Aggies) is perhaps the most extreme version of a college town I have ever experienced.  The college dominates College Station.  The college is the heart of the city, with every aspect of the town permeating from the college in concentric circles.  Here is an accurate, nearly to scale map of College Station.

Using this map I was able to deftly maneuver my way around College Station.

I began my trek through college station at the local Starbucks.  I wrote, I stared at people, and I drank 4(to 7) coffees.  Overall, it was a good time.  I moved along the bar scene (street name I cannot remember) where I window shopped and saw people partaking in the finer things in life (booze) at 3pm.

At this point I should note: I had planned to meet my friend in college station at 6 and it was 3.  Needless to say, I had some time to fill.

After I saw the drunks/college students at bars at 3, I moved to the bookstore.  The bookstore was small, but it had an admirable array of pencils, so I bought one for 77 cents (For a Draftline?! What a deal!. . .  I think).  Having bought an instrument of writing, I needed an instrument of writing . . . on.  I went to a gas station around the corner and purchased a small 50 cent memo pad which I still carry (although much more battered and tattered) to this day in my back left pocket.

I found a nice little spot for me and Jason to meet at.  Time warp a few hours later, (after a bit of student ghetto wandering and bench sitting) I met Jason at the Blackwater Draw Brewing Company.

This place was righteous.  However, the service was not professional.  Not bad, but thee barkeeps were prone to get caught up in conversations for extended periods of time while leaving other patrons parched.  

When I first arrived it took me 25 minutes (while sitting at the bar) to get service.  It wasn't because the guy was intentionally being a dick; he was so into the conversation he was having he forgot he was working.

My first trip to the Blackwater Draw Brewing Company.  Notice the incredible purse to my left!  Also notice that I don't have a drink yet . . .  (Note: The glass in front of me was empty and was there when I arrived, busing is indeed a lost art.)

It's one of those service models which leads to the patrons having either an incredible or a horrible time.  If you ever head to the BWDBC give it time, it will be worth it.  The brews were good and they had goll dang bowie knives as taps!  Dangerous place to get in a bar fight, but a great place to drink.

Jason and I grabbed some food and reminisced about the good ol' days and the tough times.  We talked about our times securing the northern cultural border in Iraq at Patrol Base 1.  We talked about what we really thought about our former soldiers and where they are now.  We talked about the difficulties and freedom of leaving the army.  

We fell back into rhythm.

Jason and I had instant rapport with when I arrived at Patrol Base 1 in Gware, Iraq, and we fell back into step at Blackwater.  Conversation has always been easy between us, not because of shared experience or life views, but rather because we have the same sense of humor.  I believe to this day that sense of humor is the greatest indicator of friendship.

As the night wore on he told me about his new job and family, and I regaled him with tales of my travels; we moved outside to say farewell.  It was a farewell that meant until I see you again.  There are certain people in all of our lives whom we will drive 100 miles out of the way to go see, and Jason is and forever will be one of those guys for me.

It was a farewell to Jason and to College Station  A place that will forever signify good friends, good times. and God damn Bowie Knives.

Houston Part 3: The Importance of Being Earnest . . . Errr Not a Prick

There is 1 immutable rule when traveling: Don't be a prick.

If you follow this one rule everything will fall into place.  The locals will be more friendly, the tips you get will be better, and your overall experience will be greatly enhanced.  This is the baseline for starting a good trip, whether it's a weekend excursion, a four day blow-out, a week long get away, or a half year escape from all responsibilities and decencies.  

It must be remembered that everywhere you go while on vacation you are a guest, so act accordingly.  This, not being a prick attitude, will be the difference between the locals wanting to show you, Traveler Joe/Jane, the hidden hot spots of the city, or eyeing the sketchy stranger suspiciously (that's you, prick) from across the bar.  

And with the stage set, the story of the last night in Houston begins.

We (Dan, Eric, and myself) began our day in Houston by meeting with an old friend of mine, Sarah, at a delightful place called the Hobbit Cafe.  It was an entirely J.R.R. Tolkien decorated hovel that had an incredibly cozy feel.  We were joined by Sarah's own personal hobbit, which gave the cafe an even more authentic feel.  It was delightful, it was fun, it made me appreciate parents (especially in public), and it was entirely unremarkable.

We said our farewells to Sarah and Frodo and headed on our way to explore the city.  The day continued with a series of unremarkable events(of which I will remark upon in a section called 'Unremarkable Remarks'), and as the day dwindled we returned to Dan and Eric's Hotel to plan for our last night in Houston.

Bucky Badger standing regally above Houston.  He was spread throughout the city; guiding us, watching over us, protecting us.

After careful deliberation, we decided to find a bar near the hotel and make the best of it.  We were searching for a near beer, if you will.  I carefully selected an establishment by searching for 'bar' in google maps and off we went.  I had apparently selected 'warehouse in the darkest, most murdery part of Houston' instead of 'bar', because that's where the cab took us.  The cabbie was kind enough to allow us to remain in the cab and not get murdered.  He suggested a local place called 'Cedar Creek' that he assured us was 'cool'.  With such a stellar recommendation we were pumped and primed to hit the night.

The place turned out to be awesome.  It was a very cool indoor/outdoor vibe with an actual creek (I'm assuming the Cedar Creek) flowing through the expansive outdoor seating area.  It was a super friendly local spot (much respect kindly cabbie).  It did not take us long to start schmoozing up the locals.  With a smile on our faces and an alcohol fueled sociability we chatted up bartenders and patrons alike. 

We met two local Houstonian mavens, who educated us about the inner workings and history of Houston.  We learned, we laughed, we drank a lot of booze.  During the chat I decided it was time to explore the rest of the establishment.  

I moved 10 feet down the bar and chatted up two lady types. They were attractive, quite nice, and soon they had assimilated into our rag tag group of party people.

Fun is perhaps the most contagious condition that one can contract.  If you are having fun, those around you will be drawn to you and vice versa.  We were nice, we were having fun, and we were clearly from out of town.  

The locals regaled us with stories of the bar, the neighborhood, and local drink specialties.  I attribute this warmth to not being a prick, we were clearly fish out of water, but we embraced it, were respectful, and were having fun, so the Houstonians adopted us for the night.

One of the bartenders was kind enough to create an artistic rendition of our little group.   However, it is of an adult rendition of our group, so in order to keep this post PG-13 it has been censored for inclusion.

An artistic interpretation of our rag-tag group of party people by a Cedar Creek bartender/artist.  

  

At midnight the bar closed and we were invited to travel with our new companions to a local joint down the road.  We shared stories, I saw a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tattoo, and we all made some Facebook friends.  It was Facebook Officially a great end to a great trip to Houston.

Houston Part 2: The Paradox of Choice

Houston Part 2: The Paradox of Choice

I left for Houston following a whirlwind cleaning and packing of my apartment in Columbus, Georgia.  A few days prior I had estimated what I would need for my road trip and put the rest of my belongings into storage.  My planning had worked out (surprisingly) well and I jammed the rest of my personal effects into my small SUV.  I left my house sleep deprived, smelling of bleach (and a little high from the industrial strength cleaning products), and ready to get the hell out of Dodge . .  .err Columbus. 

 I was in optimal driving condition

Twelve hours, a can of Copenhagen Wintergreen, a nondescript packaged meat product, and 2 gallons of caffeinated products later I arrived in Houston.  I was riding an adrenaline (and caffeine) high, but I was more than a little apprehensive for these 3 reasons: 

First, a mild onset of caffeine induced paranoia coupled with dehydration and the coffee jitters had set in. 

Second, before my arrival, the cronies I was to meet with that night had battled the city of Houston and had been defeated.  And with the cavalry (that's me) only minutes away . . . had they but known . . .  So, I was to be alone when I entered the city.

Third, I was staying in a hostel for the first time.  To be honest, I didn't know that hostels were a thing in the U.S. until I scoped the stay in Houston.  I had no idea what the experience was going to be like.  I read some good reviews for the place I was staying (The Morty Rich Hostel - Hosteling International - Houston, TX), which helped put me at ease.  Still, I was alone in a strange land staying with a group of strangers.  The hostel turned out to be fine.  There were lockers in the room to lock up my gear and the beds were bunked, but adequately spaced to allow for freedom of maneuver.  The bathroom was attached and everything was clean.  Good enough for the first night, but not a place that puts a mind at ease.

By the time I had settled in it was 11:30 PM, so I decided to wander around the neighborhood a bit and get a feel for the city.  A friend of mine had given me an impressively extensive breakdown of the city and one of his favorite joints, called the Hay Merchant, was a couple of blocks away.  I entered it into my phone and set off for my first Houston bar.

A short walk later I entered the Hay Merchant.  It was chill, moderately sized, with a fair amount of people.  It was midnight on a Friday, prime bar time, and it was comfortably full, but no where near packed.  I walked up to the bar and took a look at the blackboard style beer list, and was pleased to find one my favorites among the 30-40 beers listed (Petrus Aged Pale, a recommendation for those with an adventurous palette).  I grabbed a seat, took a sip, and the negative effects of sleep deprivation and caffeine overindulgence hit me with a vengeance.

I sat there with my stomach turning, both exhausted and artificially energetic, and felt irrationally uncomfortable.  I was twitching, sitting by myself, and the Badger game was the next day.  So I chugged my beer and quickly left with my tail snugly tucked between my legs.

The next morning I woke up early and decided to go for a little run to explore the neighborhood.  Shoes laced, music queued, and short shorts pulled up high, I hit the street.  However, I did not take my phone with me, a decision I would soon regret.  

*First Hard Learned Lesson of Traveling Alone: Always bring your phone in an unfamiliar neighborhood, no matter what the activity.*

 I was feeling pretty good when I set off, a little dehydrated, but the after effects of the caffeine overdose had worn off.  I ran up the road I drove in on, passing a few bars and restaurants that looked familiar.  I came to the end of the neighborhood and decided to follow the loop around.  I was generally aware of the direction I had to travel to make it back to hostel, so I took the turn without a second thought.  Shortly after I ran into a school complex that looked like a prison for children.  It was approximately 800 meters long and surrounded by 12 foot high razor wire (at least that's the way I'll always remember it).  By the time I got to the end of mini internment camp I was in a neighborhood, but I felt confident in my navigational skills so I kept on running.  

When my watch hit 30 minutes I was tired, sick of running, and lost as hell, so I started walking.  I resigned myself to walk for 2 minutes and then sprint for a minute, a technique that we call 60/120s in the biz, and tried to navigate myself back.  I walk/sprinted around the skyline, under an overpass, around a park, and past the same restaurant 3 times.  Eventually I resigned myself to ask for directions.  I was very discerning in my selections, looking only for locals.  One guy was running, one girl was walking her dog, and another was carrying groceries.  I picked 3 distinctive land marks to ask about: 1.)The Hostel, 2.)Hay Merchant (recommended so I figured people should know of it) and 3.) Uchi (the Houston version of the best restaurant in Austin).  It felt like a can't miss approach to find my way back.  It missed.  Every person stared at me like I had asked how to get to Europe by way of motor-carriage.  They were confused, curt, and completely unhelpful.

Houston is a city that suffers from the paradox of choice.  The paradox of choice is a theory which was advanced by an American psychologist Barry Schwartz.  Part of the theory states that the more choices a person has the more miserable they are due to a number of different factors (being overwhelmed, fear of missing out, regret over what was chosen vs. what wasn't etc.).  Houston is huge and the choices are abundant.  In order to deal with the enormity of choices available each neighborhood/block has become self contained.  There is cool stuff to do everywhere, but there is no one social center.  Therefore, in order to counteract the negative effects of the paradox of choice, the Houston in which each Houstonian lives is incredibly small.

So, when I asked these Houstonians about places 8 block away I may as well been asking them where the Old Fashioned was located in Madison, Wisconsin.  I was forced to rely on an old friend to get me through: blind, dumb luck.  Eventually I found a bar I recognized and was able to make my way back to my hostel.  My 30 minute run turned into a 30 minute run with a 45 minute sprint workout.  I had overachieved quite extraordinarily.  I showered, threw on my game day attire and set off to find a coffee.

I found a coffee shop, but arrived at a revelation first.  Everybody in the Montrose neighborhood (or nearly so) has a dog, but nobody carries a doggie bag for leavings.  You would think, given these two bits, that there would be dog shit everywhere . . . and you would be correct.  There was dog poop everywhere.  I stepped in poop twice, before I realized that I was in a veritable minefield of dog poo.  My training taking over, I deftly started identifying the doggie bombs, made deliberate, decisive movements, and safely made my way to the coffee joint then back to my hostel without a third incident.

From the hostel I left for the game.  The story of which can be found in my previous post (Houston Part 1: Badgers in Tigerland).

Post game, dejected but willing to rally (recap: the Badgers lost), we made our way to the Hay Merchant.  The Hay Merchant took on a whole different appeal with a small group (and without suffering from caffeine induced paranoia/tremors).  It was a perfect little neighborhood joint.  Small enough to enjoy the conversation of a small, intimate group (our conversation was an extended lament of the Badgers performance), but large and inviting enough to foster interaction between groups.  We met some newscasters and cameramen from a local TV station and had a lovely chat.  We called it a night shortly after and each headed back to our respective dwellings for the night.

End of Part 2.

When I said Houston would be a 2 part entry I lied, it will be 3 parts.  This concludes part 2 of the Houston trilogy.  Tomorrow's entry will include hobbits, pictures, the Galleria, amateur art, and the kindness of strangers.

Take away from Houston days 1 and 2: Montrose is trendy and covered in dog poop, you (probably) won't get murdered in an American hostel, and caffeine is a hell of a drug.