Friday, January 27, 2012

Two Days, $200, One Backpack: Marfa, Texas


A friend of a friend summed up people who love West Texas as, "The Big Cloud Appreciation Society." He made a documentary about this that you should see.  
I love the clouds, but Marfa comes down to three things for me: the font, the light, and the stars. Well, I guess those three things and the weird people who want to make their living under the good signs, good light, and good stars.

I’m serious, though, about the font. Every single sign in the city is perfect. Some cities have proud architectural histories; Marfa has a glorious heritage of typesetting.

Then there’s the light.  Marfa has that unique combination of amazing, amazing light and low rent that makes a place irresistible to artists and low-budget vacationers alike.  Think of Normandy for the Impressionists, or Harlem during its Renaissance (only in that case the lights were gas, but just as magical). 

People from out of town used to only hear of this tiny west Texas town for the “Marfa Lights.”  The mysterious up-and-down, side-to-side bokeh of unknown origin out that you can see from Route 90 are indeed a wonder. But if you don’t lay back and look up in the dark for a long time while you’re waiting for glimpses, you’re missing the real show. How long is it since you’ve seen the Milky Way and thought, “Is that a cloud?”    I thought so.

I go out to Marfa every August, and this surprises people who know Marfa’s in the desert.  Thing is, it’s a mile high, and it’s dry.  Wind keeps the place feeling refreshed all the time, and when it’s really hot, you can drive down the pass to Balmorhea and dive into a 40-foot natural pool. It’s like Barton Springs, but with turtles. I love it.  I don’t think there’s anywhere better to be in Texas in the awful dead heat of the summer. 

After the jump is a list of Amarillo Girls recommendations for a Marfa trip. The main thing is to be quiet, open your eyes, and pay attention.  And if you run into Julie Speed, don't take a picture of her bike. She doesn't like that.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Sarah on Texas Travel

Growing up as a military brat is an exercise in anachronism.  If there’s one image that captures my childhood, it’s probably this: a family picnic by the river with cold homemade fried chicken and iced tea.  Watermelon for desert. Southern as can be; only, the river was the Rhine. 

 I’d lived in eight cities before I was ten. Then we came to North Texas and got stuck.  At least, it felt like that at first.  My suburb was treeless, uniform, and new. The food was terrible,and the summers were hot. I made some angry, blanket conclusions about the whole stinkin’ state. 

After we’d been here a while, my family started taking road trips.  San Antonio. Houston. Pedernales Falls. Somewhere along the line I ended up at Czech Fest, watching drindled Texas women dance to a Mexican polka. I started to suspect there might be a place for me in this crazy cultural layer cake.

Today, I love Texas fiercely; even North Texas *. I love our food, our diversity, our fair-weather-or-foul authenticity. I love that each region is defined by its take on chicken fried steak and/or tamales as well as the way they do the two-step or the cumbia**. I love that I can tell that someone’s from Tyler because they pronounce it Tahler.  I love the summers. 
Kelly and I are old college friends, and we are both adventurers. Texas works as a playground for two girls looking for trouble on a budget.  We’ve seen the hills and deserts unfold and produce jewels, like Marfa or—who knew?—San Angelo. We’ve definitely hit the real bottom of the barrel—remind me to tell you about Balmorhea weekend nights.  We’ve learned a thinger two.

Are you cheap? Do you like to eat? Do you want to see signs and wonders? We’re here for you: me, Kelly, and Texas.

*God bless it, I can now conclusively say it’s the least geographically interesting part of the state.
** East Texas, I disapprove of your two-step. We’ll talk about this later.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Kelly on Texas Travel

I grew up in a tiny town, deep in the forests of East Texas. When the nearest city (and I’m being generous with that term) is 30 miles way, you spend a lot of time in the car. My family thought nothing of driving an hour just to see a movie. What else were we going to do, go cow tipping?

My dad always enjoyed going off the beaten path whenever we were driving somewhere, just happy to watch the scenery pass by as he drove us down winding dirt roads. That was all well and good unless you were hungry and just wanted to get to Casa OlĂ© already, or you really needed a restroom. With my dad at the wheel, you quickly learned the art of side-of-the-road-peeing and careful-squatting. To this day, I always keep a travel roll of Charmin in my bag on road trips. It’s saved more than one of my friends from an accident in the rental car.
Driving and road trips have always been a part of my life and a long-time love, provided that I have some company. I get bored easily. I don’t just love to take trips; I love to plan the trips. I love to find out what makes each little town along the way interesting. Does the town have an exceptionally large rocking chair? Did Elvis ever eat at the local diner? Is there a book store where I might bump into Larry McMurtry and perhaps pester him for an autograph (I have unsubstantiated reports that such a book store does exist)? I need to know these things and get a picture of them.


All little towns have a “thing.”: a museum dedicated to the Columbia space shuttle crash, a series of large rabbit statues scattered throughout the city, or even art installations in the post office! Almost every town has something. I say almost—I can’t think of anything in my home town. We were supposed to convert the old train depot into a museum, but my high school GT program never really followed through on that. Museum-building probably shouldn’t be left to 15-year olds.

My mission in life, and for this site, is to find the interesting, the odd, the amazing, the unbelievable hidden just off the main road throughout this fine state. If you never leave the highway, you’ll miss the cool things. You won’t see the random castles or the Stonehenges (plural, there’s more than one). And I suppose that’s true in life too. If you just go on first impressions or that first glance, you usually miss out on something amazing. You may miss out on a beer-drinking goat.