When I arrived in Texas, I didn't really know what to expect. I came with an open mind, definitely some cultural bias, and an eagerness to immerse myself in the 'wild-west' until you had to peel me off the mechanical bull to take me back home. I was there with two friends/colleagues, who, to maintain a bit of anonymity, shall be called Double and Strike. Double because he elicits the reaction: 'You look just like a friend of mine!' in most strangers he meets, which is then followed by the showing of a picture of his supposed Doppelganger, who usually looks nothing like him. Strike because against his inconspicuous appearance, he will suddenly hit you with suggestions and moves that will change the trajectory of your day and maybe life.
The first night, we explore the notorious 6th street, a strip of bars that stretches across the town reaching from the upper-middle class into dirty 6th, the hangout spot for crackheads and hookers. We find ourselves somewhere in the middle of both. We hit a few bars and settle down behind two swinging saloon doors, listening to the country twang of a Mexican Garth Brooks playing some apparently legendary songs, as the guys in sleeveless flannels and trucker hats are singing along passionately. I start talking to the bartender, trying to get a local's tips and tricks. He suggests paddleboarding on the lake. Pretty but maybe a bit mundane, I think, so I ask: 'Do you have anything faster than that?', hoping for some jet skis or a boat. The guy replies: 'I dunno, Meth?'. Ah I found a reliable tour guide. At this point, we've knocked back a few beers and Strike reveals he wants to experience a 'seedy, all-American stripclub, to eat BBQ chicken wings as half-naked girls swing around us', you know the stuff from the movies. Of course, I fucking love the idea, so I ask my new pal behind the bar where we could go. The man has clearly been around the block and suggests several places, but the name that sticks with me is 'Yellow Rose'. We explore the strip a bit further, and while at times questionable, I would actually recommend 6th street. Not only to listen to a wide array of pretty good live music but also to meet interesting people from different backgrounds and have entertaining, but entirely useless conversations out on the streets with bachelorettes, college students, and small-town folk visiting the 'big city'.
The next day I spend most of my time exploring the prettier things Austin has to offer and trying to find the perfect pair of cowboy boots, so we'll skip ahead to the night. After being served fried asparagus and trying to drink that pain away, we go to another dive bar. At this point, the country music had already grown on me, and to be honest, any live electric guitar playing will get me going, so I was enjoying myself. The boys bring up the stripclub idea once more, and this time my reaction simply is: 'I've got you lads.', as I order an Uber to 'Yellow Rose'.
We arrive at the stripclub, get checked at the door, and realize Double has left his ID. Since his height and beard make him look at least 27, the bouncer calls over the boss. This medium-sized, Joe Pesci look alike with a southern accent arrives, takes a look at our English friend, and calls for back-up in the form of, I kid you not, a dwarf. The guy looks him up and, well, up and decides to let him in. So finally, we enter. Carpeted floor straight from the 80s, dark neon lights, a few men spread around the area, including a broke, dejected Bill Gates, but the place is pretty empty. We get shown to our seats right by the stage. Girls of all ethnicities, hair colors, and sizes walk around in stilts. Whatever your fantasy, you could find it here.
I'm sitting there, observing everyone, nursing my drink, and loving it. A few more Tequilas down, I decide I want in on the action and go to get some cash. Strike comes with me, and before I even get the chance to take out money, he hands me 100 dollars that the lady at the desk exchanges for singles in a millisecond. Armed with a stack of cash each, we return, and like seagulls by the seaside diving down at you right after you finally get your fish n chips, the girls start descending upon us. I watch some impressive dancing and throw some bills until Double, who, unlike the rest of us, isn't single, unloads the girl flirting with him onto me. A very pretty blonde excitedly sharing she had family from London. We start chatting. She asks if I want a dance, and at this point, I was curious about what else this night might bring, so I agree. We go to a quieter area of the club and just sit down to talk a bit more before she'd 'do her thing'. We talk about the industry and how she enjoys her job cause she gets to meet interesting people, she likes being actively appreciated for her allure, and is treated very well at this club. Chanel also has a beautiful little daughter that she shows me videos of, an ex-boyfriend that doesn't pay alimony and threatens to reveal to her mother that she is an exotic dancer if she takes him to court, and a dream to move to London. She tells me about her brother tragically passing and her father's recent death, and as I'm getting to know this woman, I'm really connecting with her. Despite all of these honestly shitty obstacles in her life, Chanel beams with positivity and genuineness, and it feels weirdly refreshing and insightful speaking with her. I forgot to mention that at some point during this very emotional conversation, she began dancing for me…and on me. Even as a straight woman, I can appreciate the fact she did an excellent job, but at this point, I was too distracted by her person and her story to give her performance the attention it deserved…and I really just wanted to give her a hug. And so we sat there for a minute, her on top of me, embracing each other.
We exchange details and decided to stay in touch in case she ever made it to London. By this point, the boys were also ready to go, so we made to leave, got into an Uber, and drove off. Chanel messages me to tell me Strike had left his ID. Ah, the perks of befriending an exotic dancer. We turn the car around and wait for him to retrieve his driving license. I must have zoned out a little, but I remember rejoining the conversation to our driver showing Double pictures of shirtless men on his phone, very clearly defining his ideal type of man. We are just baffled, staring onto the screen as he flicks through six-pack after six-pack, until we briefly come across an image of this bald, overweight man, standing in the mirror, completely naked, holding his knob. Whilst he pretends to be embarrassed for flashing his nude, it seems more like he was trying to elicit a reaction from the tall, handsome British man in his front seat. I decide this is a perfect time to use the bathroom. Upon my return, I find one of the strippers, clearly wildly intoxicated, sitting next to me. Apparently, she had just jumped into the first ride she saw after finishing her shift. She insists on coming with us, even after I clarify that we are going in the opposite direction of her home. There's no getting this woman out of our Uber. So we drive back to our hotel and are greeted by police cars with flashing lights blocking the adjacent roads for what seems to have been a shooting. America eh?
Now not wanting to abandon the stripper, who seems like the type of girl to seduce you and then steal your wallet, we try to get her to call herself an Uber home. She refuses and instead wants to 'get a ride with the police' by asking: 'Can you take me home, daddy?'. She staggers to one of the cars, and all we see is her rear sticking out of the window as she performs her bit but gets rejected by the uniformed men on duty. At this point, it's 4am and there's no reasoning with this sub-par version of Mia Wallace, so we leave her in the hotel lobby, hoping she'd sober up soon and we never see her again.
The next day I strap into my new cowboy boots, put on a matching hat, and rent a pick-up truck. You'd be surprised how liberating it is driving that thing down the highway listening to a genre of music you had stayed away from for years. We’re going through the stations, trying to find songs that could be coming live from some haystacks at a Western fair. The country spirit had got to us. But we're starting to get a little sick of all the heavy fried food that seems to make up the majority of most menus, so Double's solution is to buy a whole grilled chicken at the mega Walmart we go to. We drive off, and only when we attempt to eat do we realize we have no plates or cutlery. So like feral animals we sit in this truck and dig our fingers into the chicken. Honestly one of the best meals I've had in a while. After I navigate us towards a beautiful waterfall at Barton Creek, and after a 20-minute hike in the midday sun, the three of us stand, beers in hand, at a dried-up lake. Well, nothing ever goes as planned; we hike back and instead go to 'Barkin' Springs, a little lake section where people come to refresh after work. Booze, dogs, and a DJ in the water, a perfect afternoon. It was the DJ who told us about Native Bar, a hostel hangout spot with exhibitions and shops by up-and-coming artists. Our plan for the night was sorted.
Shortly after we get to Native, this ruggedly handsome guy, who looks like he'd longboard down the streets with a can of beer in each hand, comes up to me. Upon closer examination I can see he is wearing a cap that reads 'Ass Pro', classy. 'Yo! I just got a tattoo. You wanna see it?'. I nod, and he pulls down his pants, revealing his right ass cheek, which is easily the brightest thing in the room. It had newly been decorated with the words' Big D'. Obviously, I laugh, and he goes: 'That's me, man! I'm Big D!'. Big D was a walking cartoon character, Shaggy meets Rick Sanchez, every writer's inspiration for the loose cannon in a movie ensemble, a 31-year-old frat boy going grey. But with a charming Southern twang and very kind eyes, he could draw any woman in to try and find out what's hiding behind the drunken mask, at least for a minute or two. For a filmmaker, this man seemed like the holy grail. So I engage in conversation. To be honest, there wasn't much more to get out of him other than 'It's tough being me, man!' and 'Aren't you a sexy little minx', entertaining nonetheless. After he shows me his tattoo for the 15th time, some of his friends come over to rescue me, including Mr. Baltimore: attractive, funny, actually interesting to talk to, and knows just the spot for us all to continue our night. 'Barbarella', a club that draws in a diverse crowd from every stereotype you could imagine, with good music and really good vibes. On our way there, we lose Big D, Strike disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a phone number and the name 'Bunny' written across his entire arm, and drunk Double gets coerced into hugging a homeless woman because she says he'd be racist if he didn't. You should know drunk Double is the happiest and kindest person on this planet.
After a great time dancing, we should have called it a night, but instead, a group of cross-dressers convinces us to drive out to a Barn in the industrial area that would be hosting a rave. Our Uber is a pick-up driven by a guy in all denim with a red bandana. And drunk Double cannon-balls into his cargo bed, which causes the owner to be pissed and Double to have a bruise across his ass the next day. A 20-minute drive later, we arrive at this barn right by the train tracks in the middle of nowhere, and it's entirely empty except for the DJ that is playing for absolutely nobody and the guys at the door. Whilst they want to charge us for entry at first, when we start to leave, they virtually beg us to stay, and the 200-pound Mexican man sitting in a lawn chair on the deck offers us Ketamine in exchange for sticking around. This is where even we draw the line and make our escape from the potential meth-lab. Our Uber on the way back is the same redneck trucker who is clearly amused by this quick turnaround.
Austin was a wild rodeo and one of the best trips I've ever had. So good that it made me start a blog just so I don't forget this and the many future adventures I'll get to experience. Weird stories aside, This incredible little city has a variety of things to offer: a beautiful lake and nature I wish I got to explore some more, a fun culture that's a mix between the stereotypical wild-west and a progressive, slightly weird crowd, great live music for any genre: country to techno, a party scene that literally has everything to offer if you know where to look, and the classic southern hospitality that allows you to make friends wherever you go. I would highly recommend planning a trip to Austin, Texas.