Nov. 11 – Columbia, MO
Autumn is the only time to hang out in a college town. Brick, ivy and neo-classical masonry have a way of harmonizing with the color of the leaves and sky, and if it's Veteran's Day and the temperature gets into the 70s for no discernible reason, you have a bonus.
"College town" is a misnomer; we'd been to college towns: those that have no apparent function other than as the seat of their institutions (see Cleveland, Mississippi). Columbia, of course, is a university town: the University of Missouri. And just as Mizzou's various disciplines and departments amass into an amalgam of learning, the admixture of students, teachers, professionals and entrepreneurs makes the University Town a community of living.
I knew this about Columbia on Election Day in 2004. I knew I would be driving that day, home from Colorado, and wanted a stop-over point that I knew would be friendly to my side, where I could sit among peers and watch the results roll in. I chose Columbia, but for some reason I didn't find my peers that night. I ended up watching the debacle from the lounge of my truck-stop motel next to Interstate 70—suffice to say, it was the wrong crowd.
Three years and a week later, redemption came. This time I knew where I was going for food, drink and conversation, because William Least Heat-Moon, in River-Horse, writes that the Flat Branch brew pub "is a place of excellent ales and pilseners, with a dictionary and world almanac behind the bar to settle wagers." Be that endorsement as it may, for me it was also a comfortable place with a patio, open until midnight on a Sunday. And as "Will" (with whom our waiter plays softball) also writes, it was probably also "a direct contributor…to my social health" since the dozen-and-a-half people I dragged with me had the majority of a good time, saving me from the ignominy of a poor suggestion.
We closed the city down that night, with no sign of the college crowd (the University Town stays open, crowd or no), but the Eastside Tavern's owner was happy to see us anyway. With his well-reasoned yet liberally disseminated views on how Things Ought To Be Around Here, it was no surprise to read later (in MU's student rag The Maneater) that he's running for city council [proof]. That's one election night outcome I might be happy about.
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Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Decaf, please, it's after six-thirty…
Nov. 9 – Fayetteville, AR
For some reason we had Friday night off, so we did Fayetteville. Anchored by the University of Arkansas, there's a surprisingly robust strip of nightlife in this compact downtown. For a good four blocks along Dickson Street we found every kind of nightclub, bar, music joint and eatery, something to suit every style—as long as you're still in college. The truth is, while we enjoyed having a scene to immerse ourselves in, I kept wondering where it was that the old farts liked to hang out. There's a mellowness lost when Having a Great Time, through the exuberance of youth, becomes an end in itself.
Still, we made a valiant effort to absorb the experience, and I found a wide selection of Different-Looking People to enjoy watching. Fayetteville is situated on some pretty substantial hills, and there's something about being on a slope that makes an urban area seem more vital, with deep layers of architecture brought into one focal plane, as if viewed through a telephoto lens. So while the overall vibe may not have been my cup of tea, it was nice to feel enveloped within a locality rather than feeling always on the edge of it, overlooking some flat plain of humanity as if from on high.
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For some reason we had Friday night off, so we did Fayetteville. Anchored by the University of Arkansas, there's a surprisingly robust strip of nightlife in this compact downtown. For a good four blocks along Dickson Street we found every kind of nightclub, bar, music joint and eatery, something to suit every style—as long as you're still in college. The truth is, while we enjoyed having a scene to immerse ourselves in, I kept wondering where it was that the old farts liked to hang out. There's a mellowness lost when Having a Great Time, through the exuberance of youth, becomes an end in itself.
Still, we made a valiant effort to absorb the experience, and I found a wide selection of Different-Looking People to enjoy watching. Fayetteville is situated on some pretty substantial hills, and there's something about being on a slope that makes an urban area seem more vital, with deep layers of architecture brought into one focal plane, as if viewed through a telephoto lens. So while the overall vibe may not have been my cup of tea, it was nice to feel enveloped within a locality rather than feeling always on the edge of it, overlooking some flat plain of humanity as if from on high.
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Saturday, November 17, 2007
It'll do in a pinch
Nov. 8 – Salina, KS
Our first day in Kansas was spent on the fringe of Salina, in a surprisingly vast patch of asphalt retail on the south side of this small city. Although nothing would entice you to leave your room and venture into such wilderness, this was okay because for the first time we were enjoying living in suites. More accurately, these were single rooms with kitchenettes, but still our best appointed lodging so far. There was a pantry across the hall from which I could take groceries back to my room, paying through a slot on the honor system. And with free laundry, it doesn't get much better!
The second day, we got to see the town. I'd been through Salina once before and remember it as small, out of date, somewhat dilapidated. This time, it was bigger, busier, more alive. I don't know what changed other than perception, but there were lights, traffic, activity downtown. I thought perhaps we'd mistakenly landed in Canada, for there were people walking, of all things. (That might have to do with strategic placement of parking lots, actually.) The Stiefel Theatre was somewhat cramped inside, better decorated than the Waco Hippodrome but not much roomier. Outside, its marquee had genuine incandescent flashing lights; it gave me a bit of a headache, but at least it was authentic. It was a little like looking at those black-and-white photographs inside delicatessens, showing you how much more happening your downtown used to be. This one still looked similar to the photographs; I wonder what Salina knows that Abilene doesn't?
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Our first day in Kansas was spent on the fringe of Salina, in a surprisingly vast patch of asphalt retail on the south side of this small city. Although nothing would entice you to leave your room and venture into such wilderness, this was okay because for the first time we were enjoying living in suites. More accurately, these were single rooms with kitchenettes, but still our best appointed lodging so far. There was a pantry across the hall from which I could take groceries back to my room, paying through a slot on the honor system. And with free laundry, it doesn't get much better!
The second day, we got to see the town. I'd been through Salina once before and remember it as small, out of date, somewhat dilapidated. This time, it was bigger, busier, more alive. I don't know what changed other than perception, but there were lights, traffic, activity downtown. I thought perhaps we'd mistakenly landed in Canada, for there were people walking, of all things. (That might have to do with strategic placement of parking lots, actually.) The Stiefel Theatre was somewhat cramped inside, better decorated than the Waco Hippodrome but not much roomier. Outside, its marquee had genuine incandescent flashing lights; it gave me a bit of a headache, but at least it was authentic. It was a little like looking at those black-and-white photographs inside delicatessens, showing you how much more happening your downtown used to be. This one still looked similar to the photographs; I wonder what Salina knows that Abilene doesn't?
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Friday, November 16, 2007
Closed
Nov. 6 – Abilene, TX
Some cities are boring because they're unremarkable. Abilene was remarkable for being boring. The city is square buildings on square blocks formed by streets with square names like Walnut, Pine and Hickory. The civic center auditorium looked like an overturned shoe. We'd been told the hotel lounge would be closed for renovations, but not to worry, since there was a new place open nearby that was the only game in town. Well, it was, and it turned out to have closed after lunchtime. Just as well, perhaps, since it looked more like an insurance agent's office than a cool hangout. But that was the end of the line; there was nowhere else to eat, nowhere to drink, nowhere to hear music in downtown Abilene after sunset. So we ordered pizza, I found some beers that I had left over from New Orleans, and we played our own music. The only instrument I could find for myself was my empty beer bottle, which worked as well as any.
In reaching Abilene we had completed our survey of Texas, both geographically and culturally. En route from McAllen we'd crossed that odd mixture of desert and coastal wetland that is South Texas. We had traversed the fabled Hill Country, gold dusted from the early November. We breezed through San Antonio, which tantalized us with intrigue. We saw Fredericksburg, Texas' answer to a quaint New England resort town, a good place for antiquing and a light lunch with your tea (though we forwent it at our lunch stop in favor of some place called Brady). We landed in the so-called Big Country, where Abilene lies far enough from the major population centers to register as a cipher, though not so remote as to engender an identity of its own, as in the Panhandle.
We had seen trendy Austin, sultry Harlingen, motley El Paso, and ambrosial Orange; the inimitable Waco and the epiphanous Palo Duro Canyon; Lubbock rising and oh, Amarillo. We had touched the five points of the Lone Star State, by its very expansiveness both arresting and compelling, like a dramatic pause.
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Some cities are boring because they're unremarkable. Abilene was remarkable for being boring. The city is square buildings on square blocks formed by streets with square names like Walnut, Pine and Hickory. The civic center auditorium looked like an overturned shoe. We'd been told the hotel lounge would be closed for renovations, but not to worry, since there was a new place open nearby that was the only game in town. Well, it was, and it turned out to have closed after lunchtime. Just as well, perhaps, since it looked more like an insurance agent's office than a cool hangout. But that was the end of the line; there was nowhere else to eat, nowhere to drink, nowhere to hear music in downtown Abilene after sunset. So we ordered pizza, I found some beers that I had left over from New Orleans, and we played our own music. The only instrument I could find for myself was my empty beer bottle, which worked as well as any.
In reaching Abilene we had completed our survey of Texas, both geographically and culturally. En route from McAllen we'd crossed that odd mixture of desert and coastal wetland that is South Texas. We had traversed the fabled Hill Country, gold dusted from the early November. We breezed through San Antonio, which tantalized us with intrigue. We saw Fredericksburg, Texas' answer to a quaint New England resort town, a good place for antiquing and a light lunch with your tea (though we forwent it at our lunch stop in favor of some place called Brady). We landed in the so-called Big Country, where Abilene lies far enough from the major population centers to register as a cipher, though not so remote as to engender an identity of its own, as in the Panhandle.
We had seen trendy Austin, sultry Harlingen, motley El Paso, and ambrosial Orange; the inimitable Waco and the epiphanous Palo Duro Canyon; Lubbock rising and oh, Amarillo. We had touched the five points of the Lone Star State, by its very expansiveness both arresting and compelling, like a dramatic pause.
View Larger Map
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