Category Archives: USA
The bar district is eponymously called 6th street, which they seem to close off after a certain hour on the weekends. It runs from Congress to the interstate. Yes, the debauchery starts at Congress. It’s the opposite of irony, Alanis. This is a college town, not a beach town but it has some of the same feeling of a Panama City or Daytona. Faux real, rather than fo-real. But under the surface the real underbelly seeps through. That’s what I’ve heard has given the town it’s reputation. Keep Austin weird is the rallying cry.
So as I have the habit of doing I accidentally found a great spot. It’s called Shakespeare’s ale house. As I was walking up somebody was getting hassled for not meeting the dress code. An inauspicious start for someone of my wardrobe. But as it turns out they were dressed too nicely. No polos allowed. Fo-real. Walking inside the beer tub distributor called out “you want a beer?” I turned to see a bearded guy with a grimy shirt hovering over a keg in a plastic tub dorm party style. Oh yeah I’m home. As I explored the place I found it was huge inside with several other bars in a courtyard, around back and upstairs. Reminds me of a place I went to in Budapest that way. If it’s packed out front head down the alley off Trinity.
The great thing about college towns is the economy. Cheap drinks are plentiful, street food is more common and if you tip the bartender you’re made of gold. The bad thing about college towns is the economy. It’s hard to find a great meal because most of the nicer places are chains. And you can’t find a decent beer despite the neon signs that decorate the walls of the places because nobody buys them. Except in the places where professors and businessmen hang out. And who wants to go there?!
Or did I speak too soon? There’s a place called the Jackalope has unsavory characters, quality draft beer and good late night food. Naked women decorate the walls and menus. Obscure punk and beach boys music undertone the conversation. Run out to the back bar and get your ears peeled by Bad Religion, Social D and other punk favorites. Might be trouble for those who live here. Austinians? Austinites? Austinites I’m told by the bartender. That delicious smell near and in the Jackalope? Jack’s pizza. They’re connected. Get it? Also connected but less sensical is the Mooseknuckle.
I’m starting to get a feel for the place. The Austin beneath the capital tinsel and college teeny-boppers. A place where you’re likely to run into a Mod fresh from a Duran Duran video drinking with a guy dressed like he’s at a 70s disco, listening to NOFX and drinking Shiner. Their eyes ping ponging between a cult movie and a Rangers preseason game.
And further down the road toward I35 is Casino El Camino. A bar cum burger joint. Guinness and Shiner on tap. Good top shelf liquor and even port wine. Very eclectic jukebox. Monkees and Beatles mix with Black Keys and Cee-Lo Green. Hipsters mix with argyle shirt dockers wearers mix with tatted rockers. Good burgers. Not vortex quality but good. Made the mistake of doing the Amarillo Burger at the same time as what the bartendress called a “dark and spicy” bloody Mary. Fire in the hole!
If you continue on past the Interstate you’ll run into another, weirder part of town. On the left there’s a place called the East Side Show Room. Six quality beers on tap. It’s got the speakeasy feel without the pretense. This place seems like how a real speakeasy would operate – bartenders with their sleeves crumpled rolled up and their ties loosened, shirts untucked, constantly in motion. The band takes the spotlight and beats out a rhythm for the place. I’d call them all girl but three quarters of them are in drag as men. When the band takes a set break they throw a movie on the projector and a vision of yesteryear comes to life. The visage of Buster Keaton is cast upon a canvas framed by, well, a picture frame hung above the stage. But the star of the show is the real cocktails. Some are aged for six weeks. Sounds wild I will agree but just try them. The Norwegian Wood is aquavit (when have you ever seen this outside Scandinavia?), vermouth and other players, aged for six weeks in a whiskey barrel. Or the New Pal, also aged, which features a sweetness on your lips but a fiercely bitter aftertaste. Makes you want to drink more. But take note that the bar stools are not made for anyone with hips wider than 30″. It’d be painful if there weren’t ample anesthetic. I think I’ve got to add this as one of my top 10 bars I’ve been to.
Next door is a shack. In the back of the shack is a yard. In the yard there are food trucks and trailers. And picnic benches for eating on. On the benches are hipsters. This is a bar for them. And you if you want too. The place is painfully hip. I don’t think it even has a name. Keep Austin weird.
Initially on arriving I wasn’t quite sure whether Austin would fulfill its promise to be in Texas, but not really a part of Texas. But after having been here a few days I’m ready to pronounce the capital of Texas a state unto its own. It is a state of mind well away from the plains and reigns which are associated with the land around. Geographically, Austin is in what they call the hill country. Everything is bigger in the mind of a Texan. These aren’t so much hills as piles and ditches by most standards. But it’s not arid here like much of the state, nor is it overly humid like the coastal cities. It’s warm and pleasant tonight after a high of 90 during the day.
There’s a great outdoors area just south of the heart of downtown called Zilker Park. It’s packed this weekend since the weather is so nice. It’s free to come in and just wander around. There are many different areas but the one I was most drawn to was the Barton Springs Pool. This is a partially man-made rectangular-ish area with a diving board and life guards and a grassy hill on each side. But the water is constantly refreshed by a freshwater spring and at the opposite end it flows on down the river. The temperature hovers near 68F year round, which is just pleasant enough in the 85-90 degree days.
In downtown it’s strange to say but you’re not reminded as much of Texas as you’d think. Even though you’re in Texas and the state capital is at the center of the city, it just doesn’t feel like what I’d expected. Granted I haven’t spent a whole lot of time in the state, but most of it has been driving through desert or underwhelmed Dallas and Houston. And just outside of Austin you get back to the sprawling suburbs and suburbanites that you expect from the state. But the city itself seems out of place. And that’s a good thing.
Much of that difference is probably linked to two factors – University of Texas and the city’s status as “live music capital of the world”. The first brings a constantly refreshed pool of youth and diversity. As an example, when I was here there was a festival going on at the campus called the Forty Acres Fest. Lots of students out walking around, booths set up for the various university clubs and organizations. Games on the side like inflatable obstacle course, climbing tower, slam dunk, etc. Talked with the folks in the Travel Club of Texas – a group dedicated to talking about where they’ve been, where they want to go and raising money to go.
And there were dozens of student union groups for different nationalities. I got a Malaysian drink and brownie from one fundraiser. Other groups included most of the nationalities of Asia. That’s surprising for a state often known more for its xenophobia than its openness. But this is Austin, not Texas.
And the festival featured the other feature Austin is known for, live music. There were some local groups and some comedy improv during the changeovers. The groups were good – even the ones during the day. And I didn’t hear any country and western music. One band was clearly in the pop-rock scene. Another an indie group. One was a weird funk band that was as entertaining to watch as to hear. But the real highlight of the show was Big Boi of the group Outkast. Another Atlanta boy in town for the weekend.
“We got red and white. Which one you wont?” Not what you want to hear at a bar in the heart of America’s wine country. Must have winced. “They’re Mondaby.” I didn’t ask if she meant Mondavi.
“I won’t. Beer?” I said, playing off her mispronunciation of “want” earlier. I didn’t expect her to catch the subtle jibe. I was rewarded when she didn’t miss a beat and described their selection of bottles. Sometimes it’s little games that get you through.
I settled on a local brew I’d never heard of and sat back to imbibe the local flavor. Of the brew and of the bar. The Green Door is definitely a townie spot. Those are hit-and-miss affairs depending on the night. Mondays are a miss.
So I continued to trek toward town. Over the interstate. Past the Butter Creme Bakery, closed but still fragrant from a day of pumping out pastries. Heading toward downtown Napa is a sprawling series of sleepy little streets that look residential but which host professionals 9-5 during the week and silence on the weekends.
The downtown area is alive like a resort town tends to be on any given night. Mid week, not on or off season, a mix if full and part time locals and tourists sit and stroll along the sidewalks.
Downtown Joe’s Brewery beckons me in for a pint (12oz really) and to soak in more atmosphere. It’s a lite version of the last place. More upscale, the locals aren’t as drunk and are younger and there are a few fresh faces who don’t spend every hour and dollar here. Some in this room will doubtless end up at The Green Door someday.
The town reminds me of many I’ve visited. Older place that has seen a revival in recent years. Quaint redone buildings downtown, new places built to strict codes, gorgeous restored homes from the turn of the century or before, upscale restaurants, suburbs inside the official outskirts. And more police than crime.
Old women and girls on bikes populate the dimly lit street I’m walking along. A testament to the town’s safety. Mostly quiet and dark excepting the occasional car, the skies are alight with twinkles of suns whose light may have been snuffed out millions of years ago. Trees as dark silhouettes against a slightly brighter sky. This is Main Street a couple of blocks from the city center.
I was in San Francisco – one of my favorite cities – this week and went to a Filipino restaurant out there. I had no idea what to expect from the food – I was guessing pork-based or heavy on the seafood with Spanish influences. But beyond that I wasn’t sure.
If you can read the menu you can see that it is pork and fish based with Spanish influences. But they’ve also got some stuff that I’ve never seen on a menu before. Like paella with squid ink rice and squid flakes. And grilled cuttlefish stuffed with a fresh salsa-like concoction.
Everything was excellent. My favorite was the cuttlefish. It was less chewy than squid typically is with a little more flavor. You could taste the grilledness in it and the salsa fresca was excellent. The squid ink gave the paella a slight sea taste, though not quite fishy.The squid flakes were dried tentacles and were slightly crunchy.
It was an odd feeling putting my socks in their drawer. I unpacked my bag and washed my clothes as usual. But instead of packing them back up, I folded them and put them in drawers. It was a solemn end to a long trip.
I haven’t put socks into a drawer in almost two years. I’ve traveled just about every week for the last 23 months. When I wasn’t traveling I was taking short trips or was parked in some foreign place. Although my house has remained in Atlanta over that time period, I have considered the “Away” my real home.
I initially passed on this new job because of the pains of staying in one place. Traffic. Living expenses. Ironing. Neighbors. Permanence. Stagnation. Complacency. It was many of the things I wanted to do next in my career. But…the same views of the same things and the same people in the same places…these things bothered me.
I wrestled with the idea of the job. I struggled with the idea of not traveling. I dreamed about the idea of taking my knowledge and creating bigger things. I came to the conclusion that it was time to either move on or move out.
It’s not that I couldn’t move up in the same path, but I decided to move on to this new position because consulting was beginning to show its own pains. Travel. Expense Reports. Ironing. Businessmen. Change became permanence, my personal life was stagnating and I was becoming complacent anyway. The consulting lifestyle still had a great attraction. But…the same views of the same things and the same people in the same places…these things bothered me.
So now I have an office. I have an office. A singular place in which to work. I’m moving back to Atlanta from Away. For good and for bad.