Texas: It's bigger than France
The song, according to Radiohead lead singer Thom Yorke, is "the product of a joke that wasn’t really a joke, a very lonely, drunken evening and, well, a breakdown of sorts" Her green plastic watering can
For her fake Chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears...
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out, it wears me out
It wears me out, it wears me out
If I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time, all the time Poring over shelves of trinkets I cam across the Laurel Birch line I'd forgotten about for several years, though they'd graced the shelves of my mother's own collection my whole life. There was even a scarf. Memories of so many years breezed by without order, too fast to hold onto, and my eyes began to betray my emotions, small burning tear after another. So many things, too many to hold onto. I remember the scarf I loved so dearly, a badge of her illness that I so painfully lost this Fall. So many things. The moment lasted forever... But then it ended. The room came back into view and the voices of people working were once again in the background. I felt so alive and human and full of feeling as I hugged Jovanna goodbye, because it was seven and time to carry on. I went to collect Marjorie (the girl who stopped when I was lost) and her boyfriend, and they were up and ready to go. They joined me for about 4 miles, a regretfully short time for such good company. When we parted ways, miles went by on an uncomfortably busy back road before green fields lured me into a little community. A lady just getting home called me over to offer me a sandwich. Her name was Maria. She let me in and started a pot of coffee. She gave me chips and her home-made salsa, which I can't say rivals grandma's (because that would be blasphemy) but I can say it was remarkably good. I was grateful for the food, but more so for her opening her home in love and trust. About 5 miles down the road, two guys in a big truck pulled over and handed me a Gatorade, one of them yelling "Never give up!!" I said "ok." As they sped off, he yelled again, louder, "Never give up!!" I enthusiastically threw my fists up high in the air, and with all my might screamed "OK!!" I had a smile on my face for at least the next hour. Next, a boy on a motorcycle stopped, after passing by a couple times. He lived nearby so I stopped to fill up on water at his house, and he then walked with me until just shy of Anthony, at the state line. Such a good day for company and conversation! I passed a house having a child's birthday party. They had ponies! I stopped to say hi to them, and a kind host handed me a heaping plate of food.
A passing car stopped to offer me prayer, and the driver handed me a slip of paper with the address of a place I could get a meal. I almost didn't go, mostly because I had just gotten the dinner thing taken care of, not knowing the profound impact the people there would have on me.
On my way in that direction, I crossed into Texas, beginning a new chapter of my journey.
All alone I leaped into the air, squealing and flailing. Passers-by stared in bewilderment as I unabashedly celebrated my private joy.
Following destiny via the directions on the aforementioned slip of paper I arrived at the Baha'i information center, totally unsure what to expect.
Would I again be forced to patronize a belief system of somebody else's preference in order to participate in this community? Who knew what awaited behind the glass-paneled wooden door that separated me and these unknown Baha'is. I knocked on the door, it opened, and I was greeted with such a warmth as would only be shown to an expected guest. Katherine, who opened the door, invited me in, and an enthusiastic welcome rose from the room of people behind her. I felt immediately at home, surrounded by this unlikely group, in a living room enshrined in art, with ample, comfortable seating, and pleasantly devoid of electronics.
An unusual brick fireplace with built-in shelves lent its charm and the smell of hearty food floated in from the kitchen.
I sat down and we all communed over some of the best coffee I'd ever had. They shared with me their faith in a most unassuming way. Though I cannot say I'll ever define myself by the parameters of any concrete ideology, I found that their ideas mesh well with mine in many ways. What is most important to them, and to me, is not the name of the faith. Any good Christian, Muslim, Jew, etc. will live by a fundamental principle that all of their faiths share: Love everybody, with all of your heart, and in all of your actions. It doesn't make sense to kill each other over the particulars--would it please your God, or whatever name you have for it? Probably not.
Just love. It's not that hard.
So these Baha'is, they're not so outrageous. They offered me a nice couch to sleep on, and as I ended my day here, I reflected on what a glorious day it had been, after all.
5/9/10
I left Anthony early, but the road brought many distractions, and the hours, slow progress. Knowing full well that a noontime break was not in order with 16 miles ahead, I decided... to take a break.
There was this junk shop, as the proprietors themselves saw fit to call it. I explored the grounds, appropriately guarded by dinosaurs, and basking in the quite unexpected and equally opportune sprinklers before heading out again.
Canutillo, a true to definition border town, with local shops of bright colors and outdated signs.
Still hours away from the heart of the city, I entered El Paso city limits.
I joined him for a trip to the store to handpick a few of the finest beers El Paso had to offer. Back at his house, a few more friends came to join, and I enjoyed an evening more like my real life than any other since I'd left Portland in January.
5/10/10
I woke later than usual, having slept inside. I was planning on walking alone today, but got Brent to walk with me, as a result of my strategy to ask while he was intoxicated. He said "No, I have to work. What time should I meet you?" He showed up at about 7:40, with coffee and granola bars in hand. It goes to show, although I'm known as "the friend that will drop everything to go on that spontaneous 3,000 mile trip with a stranger on a workday," I'm equally often the stranger you'll ditch work to hang out with.
It was only a couple hours' walk to downtown El Paso, so we had the whole day to sight-see. Miles of sprawl encompass the city in infinite pavement. You can't stop and pee whenever you please, and that's proof enough that pavement is not suitable for human beings.
There are things worse than this, even, about pavement and the chaotic hurry it encourages.
:(
In a way, all the El Paso nay-saying that came out of New Mexico turned out to be a good thing; though the city doesn't require a low expectation to be enjoyable, I am sure that I appreciated my arrival much more after anticipating much less.
Entering downtown, I walked into "Plaza De Los Lagartos" where fiberglass alligators greeted me amidst high-rise and historical buildings. The sun was shining, not too intensely, which was fortunate for me becauase I lost yet another pair of sunglasses.
It may surprise the reader, but in a way downtown El Paso reminds me of parts of the Magnificent Mile in Chicago, where different styles of architecture, from Gothic Cathedral to Bauhaus skyscraper, harmonize with the trees and the people.
Every corner has relevance within the history of the Mexican Revolution. The Rio Grande serves as a natural border to Mexico, and its manmade counterpart, the new border wall, is stirring much controversy, and is of course less appealing to look at.
Fantastic pockets of unique culture remain, though in some cases development has altered, or completely eradicated, historic elements of the city. This particular pocket park is in a neighborhood that's been a focal point of redevelopment, now resembling the re-vamped meat-packing disctrict of Manhattan. I'm told, unfortunately, that largely the redevelopment aims at creating nightlife, but there's a lot of potential for artist lofts, coffee shops, and community space.
I've always said the worth of a city can be determined by how much public space is devoted to art. In this neighborhood, a not yet open coffee shows the promise of uniting locals.
More walking around...
Another park-sit was well merited after all the walking around on this day off. Baby morning doves graced us with their presence as we relaxed our tired feet.
Albert picked us up, dropped Brent off at his car, and we continued our discussion of music over a sunset at the river.
5/11/10
Getting out of El Paso was just as lengthy an endeavor as getting in, as the pavement doesn't stop downtown. It's tentacles stretch another 20 miles and even then it's hard to tell where the city "ends."
Graffiti, Interstate, Nowhere.
5/12/10
Harvesting tumbleweed from nearby shrubs, I ended the day covering the entrances to a piney bungalow and settling to read the last article in my science magazine. The needles created a nice warm bed for me, a welcome comfort on a day that passed mostly without human contact. Except for the occasional "dammit" when a wayward thorn found my foot, I hadn't heard the sound of my own voice all day.
There will be many days like this, alone, but not lonely.
5/13/10
Fabens, TX.
I found a lake that turned out not to be a mirage, the first of real water in...who knows. Needless to say I ran over that hill like it was nothing and jumped in.
I arrived in Ft. Hancock in the evening, ready to rest my weary head behind the police station. Apparently there were a lot of shootings and otherwise crazy trafficking stuff going on, so I decided this would be the best place to camp. I stopped by Angie's restaurant, where the locals go to hang out, and tonight was no different. One by one they poured in, asking all sorts of questions, and one by one leaving me with a donation to help me on my way. One man, after all the others, slipped some money in my hand, telling me to stay at the hotel across the street. I told him that, really, I had more than enough money (and I did!) But he insisted that I take it so I could enjoy a nice, warm shower, and a soft bed to sleep in. I don't usually stay in hotels, but it didn't seem honest to pocket the money and camp out anyway. So I enjoyed it, feeling unusually spoiled.
Me and "the" Angie!
I took the opportunity to soak in a bath, which for me doubles as a laundry facility. My dress needed a good washing, as did my feet. I took a long time to stretch my muscles, catch up on my journal, and watch some news. I know, ew. I've been out of the loop.
This is my day to day:
5/15/10
Sierra Blanca, my hard earned place of rest, stretches out its barren hand a mile away from its heart, offering for an unbearable 20 minutes only the false promise of food or water. Even the recently-lively-looking gun and grocery store is void of human life.
Where is everybody? Did they die of the plague? The girl at the gas station I finally found did not find amusement in this question. Shame, my first human all day and no sense of humor. But Delfina and her daughter at Michael's restaurant made up for this, and abundantly so. Politely as I could, I declined and offer to be adopted, but promised I would be back for breakfast, on them. Finding myself somehow with an uncomfortably ample 40 dollars, I decided to be ectravagant and stay in the only motel that looked open. Its lights were shining beacons in the sea of all things past, and long since, at that.
5/16/10
My attempt at breakfast went unrewarded-Michael's restaurant is an unusually popular spot at 6am. Although, really, it isn't that unusual that the only place serving breakfast for 20 miles would have all the breakfast-goers in it. I moped back to the room breakfastless, took a shower, and walked for 22 miles. On the way, I hit my 1,000 mile mark, though it wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be. I took a picture anyway, hoping I would be excited later.
5/17/10
On the way to Van Horn.
Today I passed into the Central Time Zone!
I was excited to wake up this morning, having inadvertantly fallen asleep on a woodrat's nest that looked like an innocent mess around a fallen yucca tree. Through the night, carefully harvested prickles lodged themselves into my flesh, infrequently enough to make moving dreadful, but often enough to make morning a treasured anticipation. After my short morning of 12 miles, which was actually quite long because of ceaseless incline and winding, I arrived in Van Horn.
The fact that it didn't appear everyone was dead was welcome enough to the social animal in me. I meandered around town, taking advantage of the leisure time on my hands. And I was surprised to find, of all things, a coffee shop! I arrived at the Cornerstone just as they were closing shop, but I thought to myself, with this new oasis at my fingertips, that tomorrow would make a most excellent rest day.
Before I left, though, I picked up a book from their book exchange, What is the What by Dave Eggers. Based on the life story of a Sudanese refugee, Valentino Achak Deng, this account of forced and desperate pilgrimage makes me feel my day's work is easy. The hardships I encounter are trifling compared to the dangers and deprivations faced by refugees. I went to sleep absorbed in gratitude for the conveniences afforded to the modern American traveler. I really do have it pretty easy compared to most. It's a welcome reality check I think we could all afford to face.
5/18/10
Taking a rest day turned out to be a most fruitful impulse. My new friends, wanting to take care of me, offered me the use of their laptop for the day so I could post my blog and upload some photos. Once again "adopted" by nice people, I felt I could almost stay in this town and hang out for a while...almost...
More on Van Horn later.
Love, always,
Shay
http://picasaweb.google.com/FakePlasticShay
and here: (most recent)
http://cid-d97b248810ba5cf6.skydrive.live.com/browse.aspx/New%20album
http://fakeplasticshay.blogspot.com/
Slow down. Live simply. Seek Wonder.
So! Onward!
I am an adventure traveler. I am not a tourist seeking a distraction from my discomforts and worries. I am a lover of life seeking to submerge myself in the world outside myself. The nature and quality of my experience are based on some questions:
-What do I want from the road?
-Why will I travel?
I want to see amazing things
I want to meet amazing people
I want to do a lot of walking
I want freedom
I want stories
I want to see and try new things
I want all of these things at the expense of taking risks and encountering uncertainty.
_____________________________________________________________________
specify your own amount as a gift, and help me get one day and one
city further!
As always, anything helps and is so very much appreciated!
Thank you all so much!
Love, Shay
